VittlesVamp

Still Ill

I am better, but I'm most certainly not well. Moreover, at this point I've definitely OD-ed on honey.

Time to turn to the tried and true: drugs and childhood comforts.

Drugs come in the form of over-the-counter stuff with glam names like Gualfenesin and Phenylephrine.

Childhood comforts will come in the form of tonight's supper: Kraft Macaroni & Cheese straight out of the box with the fortifying addition of chunk light tuna straight out of the can. A bright red MacIntosh apple will serve as dessert.

Mock this meal all you want, but I'm looking forward to it. And to top it off, I'm planning to tuck into my hearty supper while watching a classic kid's vid -- The Little Mermaid.

Heck, if this remedy doesn't set me to rights, at least I'll have had a good time. (Besides, I'm into the whole thematic thing between the tuna and the sea-themed flick...Yeah...I'm sick alright...)

The Sweet Life

I'm sick. Not sick in a cool, hip, twisted kind of humor way. Sick in the sniffling, coughing, hacking kind of way.

My throat has been seriously sore for days and lozenges weren't cutting it.

So, I turned to copious amounts of tea. It didn't work either.

So, in turn, I turned to the Internet to discover that if I really wanted to soothe my throat, I would need to down a sweet, thick, viscous substance: honey.

Luckily, I have a jar of some high-octane organic honey from Italy in my cupboard.

A few spoonfuls later and I'm starting to feel a bit better.

Still, I think it's best to down a few spoonfuls of Haagen-Daz Vanilla Honey Ice Cream later too, just to keep myself on the road to recovery.

The Recipe For Happiness

As I learned on Saturday night, happiness is a very straightforward concoction. It's comprised of four key ingredients: starch, fat, sugar and alcohol.

I know this because I found myself in a state of unhappiness on Saturday night and fortuitously discovered the recipe by accident.

The evening had been going swimmingly, catching up with my friend Kendall over Roasted Cornish Hen and Grilled Treviso Radicchio at Bellavitae in the West Village.

Then we made a wrong turn. A very wrong turn. A turn downstairs to the performance space at The Cornelia Street Cafe, where we had expected to see the advertised jazz chanteuse Gretchen Parlato along with bassist Alan Hampton. Sadly, the performance was a disappointing game of bait and switch. Ms. Parlato only sang one song during the set. For the rest of the hour we were subjected to the whiny musical renderings of Mr. Hampton.

To make matters worse, I was foolish enough not to have ordered alcohol when the waitress came by before the set.

That situation needed to be remedied -- quickly. Alas, the space was so small and intimate that Kendall I felt obligated to stay until the set was over. But, no sooner were lights turned back on then we hightailed it out of the cafe and around the corner to Perilla for liquor and solace.

Grabbing two seats at the bar (pictured above), the bartender immediately assessed that we were in dire need. Two cocktails were placed in front of us. Then, a stroke of genius, she set the dessert menu there as well. This was service at its finest. We didn't even take a minute to peruse the list and let her order.

Soon a platter arrived, cradling four warm, sugar-coated Vanilla Scented Doughnuts. Their honeyed perfume clung in the air, as we dipped chunks of the sweet, puffy dough into the Meyer Lemon Curd and Dark Chocolate Ganache that accompanied the dessert.

Heaven!

Suddenly all was right with the world again.

And, now I know the cure for all that might ever ail me: starch, fat, sugar and alcohol. A happy foursome, indeed.

'Tis The Season For Chinese

Oh, puhleeze - I did not eat dog this New Year's Eve! How could you even think that? I might not be a card-carrying member of PETA, but these pooches are way too cute to fry up in a wok. (That said, I am planning to join The Gastronauts soon, so who knows what might land on my plate in the year ahead.)

These lovely, well-dressed bitches belong to two fabulous pals, who hosted a fabulously small NYE get-together while I was up in Boston. Everything at the fete was well-dressed - the roaring fireplace with picture-perfect stockings hung with care up on the mantle; the baby grand piano taking center stage in a front room decked out with original musical theater prints by Al Hirschfeld; a drool-worthy kitchen chockablock with top-of-the-line Bosch appliances; and don't even get me started on the collection of antiques formerly owned by Mrs. Brolin herself - Barbra Streisand.

So sitting in this posh setting, I was surprised - no, shocked - at the celebratory New Year's feast that was brought forth: take-out Chinese.

Now, mind you, I had been promised that this take-out was nothing short of sublime. Well...

Admittedly, the globs of crab-flavored cream cheese encased in deep-fried wonton wrappers, called Crab Rangoon, were bizarrely enticing in a kitschy, 1950's way. But the gooey rendition of Chicken with Cashew Nuts was just plain ick.

And that wasn't the big culinary shocker of the evening...

That's right: dinner rolls. Apparently, every suburban Boston Chinese spot sends you home with dinner rolls instead of the traditional white rice.

For the love of God: WHY??? Do they expect you to make a gooey Chicken with Cashew Nuts Grinder?

My hosts couldn't offer up an explanation. When in Rome, do as the Romans do. When in Boston, just forget about ordering take-out Chinese, dress up your dogs in couture and skip straight to dessert.

Holiday Humdinger

I am still full.

Christmas dinner at John and Elisabeth's was amazing. It put my dinner parties to shame. (And that's hard to do!)

First up was Champagne and a series of nibbles that included homemade Gravlax on Toast Points with Herb-Flecked Creme Fraiche (pictured above), miniature Wild Mushroom Risotto Cakes still warm from the saute pan, and slivers of John's own salty-cured Duck Proscuitto (pictured below).

Yet this was only a warm up session for the meal to come...Next, John brought out Andouille Sausage Souffles, hot, puffy, and emitting an aroma that could transport you from Brooklyn to N'Awlins in one whiff. Still, it wasn't enough for our chef. In true Big Easy fashion, he decided to take the dish up a notch, topping each of the golden souffles with a mound of shrimp sauteed in a buerre blanc.

To me, that could've been dinner right there - and a mighty memorable dinner at that. But, no. All of this was simply a prelude to the evening's main course: Lasagna.

This was no ordinary specimen. Elisabeth had been inspired by Bill Buford's cooking memoir "Heat" and crafted the pasta sheets herself. Not to be outdone, John made teeny meatballs that he stuffed inside, along with spicy Italian sausage, fresh mozzarella, creamy ricotta cheese and a rich, vibrant tomato sauce.

I wouldn't have put it past this couple to have made the cheese too, but I guess it would have been hard to keep the necessary cows in their one-bedroom walk-up.

Store-bought cheese aside, the resulting pasta dish was masterful, each forkful denser than the next. A few bites into the gooey, gorgeous Italian treat and I was grateful for John's side of Sauteed Broccolini, its crisp greenery off-setting the Lasagna's heft.

Speaking of heft...

Yes, it's my Chocolate-Almond Layer Cake. Thankfully though, for all its butter, chocolate and other sundry ingredients, it's fairly light on the tongue. The cake layers were airy and moist, and it proved a perfect counterpoint to the deep cherry bubbles of the Brachetto d'Acqui dessert wine I had brought for the occasion.

So, will I eat again? I have a feeling the answer to that question is "yes." But I can only hope that once again it's at John and Elisabeth's table.

My Birthday Weekend

As those of you who have been longtime VittlesVamp readers know, I like to go all out for my birthday.

This year was no exception. And since my b-day fell on Saturday, I decided to embrace Friday night and all day Sunday as part of the celebration.

The birthday mania kicked off on Friday evening with a "trip back to Spain," in the form of dining with three friends at Murray Hill's Pamplona restaurant. We began with a bottle of Tempranillo and a flurry of tapas, moaning in particular over the Pincho de Chorizo y Gambas, which paired spicy sausage with delicate shrimp, mounded atop crunchy toast points slathered in creamy goat cheese. As our main we asked the chef to prepare the classic dish of Paella for four. We weren't disappointed with our pick. The rice was tender and fragrant with saffron, garlic, roasted red pepper and onion, graced with chucks of braised short rib, thick slices of chorizo and gorgeous seafood. We capped off the meal with a dessert plate that featured addictive cinnamon-sugar dusted Churros and quickly hailed a cab to make it to the next stop on the birthday express: Pegu Club.

Attempting to ward off the pain that was about to approach at the strike of midnight, I had asked several buds to join me at this swank cocktail lounge for drinks and revelry.

A good plan indeed.

Several Earl Grey MarTEAnis and Whiskey Smashes later, and I realized that turning another year older might not be so bad - especially if I had good pals and good cocktails to help soften the blow.

Midnight came and went. I bid adieu to the swank lounge and entered my big day with a smile on my lips, a slight buzz and a handsome male companion by my side.

Hmm...Not bad at all...

The "real" day held many pleasures as well, a trip to the Russian Baths most definitely being a highlight. A few hours with a couple of gal pals - Queen Celeste and Joy - sauntering in an out of baking hot saunas and steam rooms, dipping into an icy plunge, floating in a indoor swimming pool and kicking back in a bubbling jacuzzi, and the years were melting away.

Fresh from the Russian Baths, we took our youthful exuberance further uptown to the popular East Village hot spot The E.U. to join a few more gal pals for a proper fete. From the still-warm-from-the-oven Pretzel Bread brought to our table to the sparkling flutes of Cava to the perfectly grilled Octopus to the luscious Quince Tart with Cinnamon Ice Cream pictured above, it was a marvelous dinner. Drinks at a nearby club just gilded my already tipsy lilly.

To complete the weekend, Sunday was a much more low-key affair - but not without its charms. A half-hour of luxurious, relaxing, foot rubbing attention at Angel Feet with my friend Leah proved to be the perfect late day respite. And, with our tootsies well-coddled, we braved the rainy weather to sidle up to the bar at Employee's Only for a proper cocktail and a gab session.

Within a few sips though, all the partying and relaxing took its toll. It was time to head home for a good night's sleep.

What can I say? At my age, beauty sleep is important!

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...

I Get Around

At least that's what they say on bathroom walls...No they don't (as far as I know). But I have to admit that my Metrocard and I got quite a workout this weekend.

First stop, Woodside, Queens on Friday night to meet my pal Jennifer at the thoroughly Irish Donovan's Pub for a brewsky or two and a catch-up session. We followed up our imbibing with a trip to the nabe's beloved Thai "hot" spot Sripraphai for a series of searingly spicy delights, including a toothsome dish of sauteed Drunken Rice Noodles with Chicken, Thai Basil Leaves and Chilis. The platter of Shrimp with Red Curry and Eggplant was so fiery that even my rice steamed in coconut milk couldn't douse the flames. Thankfully, Jennifer and I had ordered up a bottle of New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc which ultimately came to the rescue.

Saturday afternoon inspired a visit to Williamsburg, Brooklyn. There, I hit the newest French brasserie off of Bedford - Juliette - and although my Minute Steak with Herb Butter, Frites and Spring Salad was lovely, I couldn't resist taking more than a couple bites off of my friend Ben's brunch plate. What can I say? The Roasted Banana Stuffed French Toast was gloriously rich and buttery. (Clearly, I'll have to go back and get an order of it just for myself!)

Today - Sunday - my Metrocard got me out and about on the Lower East Side, where Sir and Lady M met me for brunch at one of their favorite restaurants in the 'hood, Barrio Chino. There I dined on a hearty plate of Huevos con Chorizo, the eggs scrambled ever so soft, tossed with meaty chunks of peppery Chorizo sausage. The dish was accompanied by a decadently rich side of mashed black beans and silver dollar-sized tortillas for wrapping all of the zesty goodness together. Mmmm...

Even after all that "mmmm..." though, I still craved a something more - something sweet. Lady M knew just the ticket - Doughnut Plant. So many beauties to choose from: Peanut Butter Glazed Stuffed with Homemade Cranberry Jam, Fresh Coconut Glazed, Blackout Cake, Roasted Chestnut, Valrhona Chocolate Glazed, and more. It was tough to pick just one. So we didn't. We ordered up a few and passed them around to a resounding succession of oohs and aahs. My fave? No question - the Tres Leches. Pictured above, this doughnut is simply off-the-hook, oozing a bit of thick cream with every bite.

And what am I doing tonight? Staying home. Me and my Metrocard are bit tired, and more than a bit full.

Dim Sum & Dragonfruit

Venturing into Manhattan's Chinatown yesterday morning, I thought my appetite would be satisfied by the extravagant array of dim sum options at Jing Fong. That, however, was not to be the case.

Mind you, I'm not complaining about said dim summerie. Jing Fong had a mighty fine selection.

Carts clattered away through the dining room's maze of tables, each stacked high with steaming bamboo baskets encasing Sharks Fin Dumplings, Shu Mai, Sticky Rice in Lotus Leaves, Barbecued Pork Buns, Stewed Chicken Feet, Vegetable Dumplings, and so much more. Platters came forth with thick ribbons of rice noodle stuffed with sweet shrimp, which I happily sprinkled with salty soy sauce. Other plates featured braised chicken and veggies swaddled in a sheaths of chewy bean curd, and skewered beef complimented by sugary chunks of pineapple.

It was definitely a first-rate brunch-time feast.

But once I exited the restaurant and hit Chinatown's bustling sidewalks, I couldn't help but get caught up by the showmanship of the food stalls that lined the streets. Everything from fat chestnuts to fresh squid to clumps of longan berries to baby snow pea leaves were on display. My stomach might have been full, but my tastebuds were watering. Then I spotted them...

...the most bizarre fruit I'd ever seen. The Chinese produce seller explained that they were called dragonfruit -- and that their bright pink flesh would give way to a kiwi-like honey center. I had to try one!

And try I did, the second I got home. Considering the fruit's spiky green leaves, I thought the center would be green as well, but instead it was snow white, dotted with dark seeds galore.

Unfortunately, the dragonfruit's visual impact wasn't matched by its flavor. The texture was reminiscent of watermelon and the juicy center was slightly musky - but not terribly memorable.

In the end, I guess I would have been better off bypassing the dragonfruit altogether and going back to Jing Fong for another order of dumplings. Come to think of it, I wouldn't mind going back there right now. Too bad dim sum is only available in the AM, and I have to work tomorrow morning. Guess I'll just have to wait until next weekend to get my dumpling fix. In the meantime though, I think I'll go out and rent Eat, Drink, Man, Woman to put me in the mood.

Chank, Revisited

It's been a while since I enjoyed a full on chank evening. For those of you who will recall, "chank" is a term I coined a while back. A term that encompasses "cheap" and "swank" in one fell swoop - not unlike New York itself.

Let's be honest, most of us can't really afford the whole "Sex and the City" lifestyle. And if Carrie had been a real woman instead of Sarah Jessica Parker on a hit HBO series, she wouldn't have been able to afford it either.

So, $500 sushi dinners at Masa be damned. Sometimes the best way to experience this city is to embrace it at both ends of the spectrum -- within reason.

With reason at my side and my pocketbook - a bit light - but at my side as well, a Saturday night chank event was planned. My gal pal Lo joined me for the festivities, tickled by the concept of high and lowbrow encapsulated in one evening romp.

Said romp began on the high with cocktails at Pegu Club, where waitresses wrapped in silk kimono minis quenched our thirst with Pinot Noir and an enticing, jade green Cucumber-Mint Creole (pictured above). Soothed by the combination of well-crafted libations and the lounge's sumptious Burmese-inspired surroundings, it was difficult for Lo and I to make a move downtown for the downscale dinner that awaited.

But once we determined that downtown meant a trip to Chinatown, our spirits were lifted.

Besides, what better slurpy and savory cheap eats option is there, than an order of authentic Shanghai-style Crab-Pork Soup Dumplings? (Pictured below.)

We hit Pell Street and bypassed the suckers waiting on line at Joe's Shanghai and headed for Joe's less popular sibling Joe's Ginger, where we were treated to state-of-the-art dumplings and more.

The delicate, chewy wrappers encased rich squirts of soup and lip-smacking meaty filling. Drizzled with ginger spiked vinegar, they were heavenly. The Shrimp with Garlic Sauce and Sauteed Bok Choy were good, but simply tasted like La Choy in comparison.

Lo and I quickly recognized that we should have followed the lead of the Chinatown regulars at our table: Dump the rest of menu and order three bamboo steamers filled with Soup Dumplings.

Unsurprisingly, Lo is on board for another "chank" evening. This time around, we plan on overdosing on Soup Dumplings.

Carrie Bradshaw should do so well. Then again, maybe she will in that new "Sex and the City" movie.

Mr. Big and Soup Dumplings.

Now, that's taking chank to a whole new level!

Bruschetta

The perfect summer dinner for two. Bruschetta. Four kinds. Two of each.

Toasted slabs of bread doused with extra-virgin olive oil and rubbed with a plump garlic clove.

I topped two with vinegary Italian white anchovies, sweet and mouthpuckering all at once. Another pair was christened with bright green basil leaves, roasted red pepper, slices of hard-boiled egg, granules of sea salt, cracked pepper and a drizzle of garlic oil. The next two were graced with chunks of grilled artichoke hearts and slivers of sharp provolone. I squeezed out all of the flavorful pulp and juices from a Black Prince tomato on the final two, and then piled thinly sliced proscuitto on top of the tomatoey goodness.

Needless to say, I'm thinking another Bruschetta dinner will be had before the summer's close. Feel free to share topping suggestions.