VittlesVamp

Skipped GoogaMooga For Kick-Ass Fruit Salad At Talde

In truth, I had no intention of going to the Great GoogaMooga Festival this past weekend. Too many people. Too many lines. Hall & Oates? Not so much.

I just said "no."

Instead, I said "yes" to Talde with my pal Margo. Figured we might be able to score a coveted brunch table with all the foodie fah-fah over at Prospect Park. We were right. Huzzah!

And let's just start by saying that the food was darn right killer. The Shrimp Toast with Fried Egg and Chinese Sausage Gravy is all it's cracked up to be and more. (Next time, we're definitely going to take Chef Dale's recommendation and order it up uncut, split it down the middle to let the yolk start to ooze and gobble it up sandwich-style!)

But there was one dish that stopped us in our tracks -- Fruit Salad. That's right! Fruit Salad.

The picture above doesn't give this dish its due. Gorgeous ripe fruit glossed in honey with star anise, five spice powder and lime. Then it's all piled high atop a rich blend of roasted bananas and tofu whip.

Oh my freakin' goodness! Sheer Asian-inspired fruity-tooty brilliance!

So, yes, you'll find me camped out early evenings at Talde's bar with a cocktail and an order of that genius Shrimp Toast, but also expect to see me weekend mornings grinning like the Cheshire Cat in front of an order of glorious Fruit Salad -- especially when the GoogaMooga is in full-swing.

Having A Ball - And Not Of The Meat Variety

Promise that this will be my last spherical-theme post for a while, but these babies warrant a shout out.

Crisp on the outside, tender and creamy within, Arancini Bros. knows their balls -- their rice balls, that is. A tempting treat at Brooklyn's DeKalb Market, the one at the back was infused with pesto, sporting a center of bright cherry tomato and an oozing of Mozzarella. Up front, the soft arborio rice had been cooked with deep yellow saffron and its middle was graced with a zesty meat ragu with peas.

So, I guess the headline isn't completely accurate.

Accurate, schmaccurate.

These lovelies were divine! My recommendation: Run out and get a pair!

New Orleans -- A Few More Morsels

Apparently, some of my friends and readers feel like they've been short-changed when it comes to my trip to New Orleans. Who am I to short-change anyone when it comes to the Big Easy?

And so, we'll start with a New Orleans tradition: Friday lunch. It's a monumental multi-course, multi-drink extravaganza, that is meant to last for the better part of the afternoon.

My Friday lunch was spent with my good pal Anne, a native of New Orleans, who picked out one of the city's hottest spots for our get together -- MiLa. Modern, yet warm, I knew that we were in for a treat the second I sunk my teeth into their homemade Sweet Potato Biscuits, but it was the kitchen's Venison Pâté with Creole Mustard, Cornichon and Toasted Baguette that made me audibly moan. My entree of Fried Rabbit Tenders, Bok Choy, Roasted Mushrooms, Onion Puree and Mustard Jus was jim-dandy as well, but it was the Pâté that made the meal.

Not wanting our time together to be over -- and craving a bit more by way of the hard stuff -- Anne and I sauntered over to Mr. B's for one of the city's infamous boozy milkshakes, known as a Brandy Milk Punch. Unsurprisingly, it packed a wallop and went down easy alongside a slab of rich Bread Pudding drizzled with Irish Whiskey Sauce.

Now, that was a lunch!

You'd think I would be too full from that meal to ever eat again. Well, not so much. In fact, not at all!

A few more of my favorite morsels in the Big Easy...

*Listening to live jazz the Windsor Court Hotel's Cocktail Bar, while enjoying a Sazerac or two (or three) made by their ever-gracious mixologist Christine Jeanine Nielsen.

* A Buttermilk Fried Chicken Sandwich that rivaled Van Horn's, downed gleefully at the French Quarter's Sylvain.

* Watching "Master Oyster Shucker" Leo Price do his thing at Bourbon House, as I slurp back half a dozen plump Louisiana Oysters on the Half-Shell with Mignonette and Caviar.

* Reveling in a flute or two (or three) of Nicolas Feuillatte N/V at the civilized Vieux Carre wine bar known as Patrick's Bar Vin.

* Splitting a "fully-dressed" Catfish Po' Boy at neighborhood joint Franky & Johnny's in Uptown.

* Swooning with every bite of dessert at Chef John Besh's August -- a Creole Cream Cheese Tartlet with Ponchatoula Strawberries, Elderflower, and deep green Pistachio Butter.

OK. Now I'm too full to ever eat again. (Maybe.)

A Turn For The Worse? Apply Liberally With Gelato

This has been a hell of a week. I thought I was coming to Philly for a couple of days to be by Mama Vamp's side as she endured yet another surgery. A hospital stay is never a good time, but that sort of thing has become pretty pro forma at this point.

Unfortunately though, pro forma wasn't in the cards. Things took a sharp turn for the worse post-op and Mama Vamp landed herself in the ICU. Following that, I landed myself into a frazzled heap of stress and worry.

Lucky for Mama Vamp (and myself), the hospital's medical staff swooped in just in the nick of time to make sure she'd recover. Lucky for me (and Mama Vamp), I have friends who rallied around for support.

Now, usually I would have expected support to come in the form of comforting words, a shoulder to lean on and several shots of bourbon. In this case though, the first two came with a healthy does of something else -- or should I say a healthy scoop of something else?

Instead of hitting Village Whiskey or alike, I found myself venturing with friends to Capogiro, Philadelphia's very own gelato mecca. The colors of the confections were enough to dazzle the eye and distract from sorrow -- vibrant green Kiwi laced with tiny black seeds, pure white Thai Coconut Milk, deep brown Chocolate Scuro that was so dark it verged on black, bright orange Champagne Mango, soft pink Uvo Rosso brimming with the essence of juicy red grapes...

Picking two flavors, I felt better already. I felt even better taking a bite and then another, taking solace in the rich nutty taste of Pecan and the luscious tang of Gooseberry.

It is possible that ice cream could become the new bourbon? (Maybe I should try Capogiro's Bourbon Vanilla Gelato before I make that decision.)

Any which way, I am happy to report that Mama Vamp is stable and recuperating. Thank goodness! And, a special thanks to the friends that came to Philly, called, emailed, texted, Tweeted -- and took me for gelato.

Little Fish, Big Flavor

I don't understand people who order a Caesar Salad and ask to "hold the anchovies."

Well, at least it leaves more of these wee pungent fishies for me!

I love 'em. I mince them up and add them into tomato sauce for a hint of complex saltiness that takes the red gravy to another level. I toast slices of baguette, slather with good butter and lay a couple of anchovies atop, for the perfect nibble with wine. Sometimes, I'll chop them up and saute in olive oil with cauliflower florets and red onion, tossing the mixture with a bit of pasta, fresh rosemary and grated Parmesan. For a special treat, I'll eat white anchovies bathed in vinegar (better known as Boquerones) on their lonesome, downing them one after the other with toothpick in hand. And, once in a while, I'll even have them on a pizza.

So, disparage the anchovy if you must. But these tiny fish are a culinary wonder. Brackish, beautiful and altogether bad-ass!

Happy Freakin' Birthday To Me!

I like my birthday. I really like my birthday. Strike that. I LOVE my birthday. Besides, the alternative to turning a year older is highly unattractive.

Par for the course, over the past week or so, I have enjoyed many courses at many different restaurants with family and friends, all in the name of celebrating the anniversary of my birth.

*As you can see from the photo above, my adoration of dumplings was given homage. In this case, at David Burke Kitchen in Soho, happily downing these beautiful, plump and altogether decadent Lobster Dumplings with a dear friend in from Boston.

*A brilliant sushi and sashimi extravaganza was had with another pal at the East Village's peaceful and pristine Jewel Bako, including fatty toro and supremely fresh, sweet raw scallop drizzled with yuzu.

*Genius Brandade Crema with Fried Fennel and Sweetbread, and Doppio Ravioli with Taleggio and Oxtail were only two of the breathtaking dishes I shared with Mama Vamp at Philadelphia's esteemed Vetri Ristorante.

*Potent cocktails were tossed back at Orient Express in the West Village with a gaggle of girlfriends, followed by Meatballs with Pine Nuts and Raisins, Roasted Beets & Avocados with Balsamic Vinegar, and Cavatelli with Faiccos Hot Sausage & Browned Sage Butter at Frankies Sputino's lively outpost on Hudson Street.

*Then there was a lesson in the sheer brillance of Austrian wines at Chef Marco Canora's Hearth, accompanied by good pals, Grilled Octopus with Potato, Celery, Smoked Black Olives and Aioli, and Roasted Duclair Duck with Confit Duck Leg, Honey-Crisp Apple and Cabbage. No better way to follow-up a meal like that than with Brown Butter Quince Cake with Walnut Nougatine and Vanilla Ice Cream...

...and happy birthday wishes painted in chocolate, of course!

Mas (Farmhouse) - What Took Me So Long?

Chef Galen Zamarra has held court in the West Village at his Provencal-inspired Mas (Farmhouse) for over seven years. I'd passed the rough-hewn wooden door to the restaurant on Downing Street several times, but never crossed the threshold. It took a birthday to finally get me to take that big step inside. The birthday in question belonged to my amiga Sandra -- and her birthday is an event that always requires some serious celebration.

I know my dear friend likes great food, an elegant environment and a quick refilling of the bread basket. After doing my research, I decided Mas (Farmhouse) might do the trick. The food sounded scrumptious. The dining room was both white linen sophisticated and casually comfortable all at once. The one hitch? There was no bread basket, per se, but they promise three kinds nonetheless.

The menu, room and breads happily met with Sandra's approval. Whew!

Feeling rather coddled as we downed Sazeracs and nibbled on a very amusing amuse bouche, we began to ask our ebullient host Dave questions about the menu. Within seconds, we decided to forgo the stress of making decisions and ordered the chef's six-course tasting.

As you can see from the snapshot of Paddlefish Caviar with Butternut Squash, it was not a mistake. Gorgeously presented dishes, came at a steady clip: House-made Pork and Sauerkraut Sausage with Quince Puree, Cider Braised Cabbage and Glazed Kohlrabi;
Roasted Lobster Tail and Poached Lobster Claw atop Ricotta Gnocchi, Baby Spinach and Cauliflower in a Leek Cream -- and so on. As we luxuriated in glasses of Vacqueyras Domaine le Sang des Calliou 2008, the cheese course arrived, including creamy Nettle Meadow “Kunik” and tangy Belle Weather Farms “San Andreas."

Yes. This was good. This was very good.

Dessert didn't quite live up to the glow of dinner itself, but Sandra's birthday candle burned brightly nonetheless.

A return visit to Mas (Farmhouse) is definitely on my "to-do" list. Perhaps for my birthday? (Hint! Hint!)

Southern Fried Brooklyn

Let's set the record straight: Everything does not taste better fried. I don't care how many weird things you stick in a deep fat fryer, I'm not going for it, just cause it's encased a searing hot, oil-drenched crispy coating.

Chicken, though? That's another matter!

Yet, great Fried Chicken is a hard thing to find in New York City.

I've tried Hill Country's clucker. I've also gone outside of Southern traditions with the award-winning Japanese-inspired fried hen at Blue Ribbon Sushi. None of them did the trick.

Recently though, the trick was done. Done in King's County no less.

The specimen wasn't even on the bone. Hot out of the fryer at Van Horn Sandwich Shop in Cobble Hill, this plump, crisply-coated chicken breast was stuffed ever so gracefully into a fresh Brooklyn bakery-made sesame seed bun. It's only other adornment was a bright purple cabbage slaw, which offered the sandwich a crunchy, tart, vinegary kick alongside a bit of jalapeno heat.

This was good eating. Heck, even the sandwich plate's pickle spear and side salad, greens dribbled with an addictive poppy-seed dressing, were good eating. I added a tall ice-cold glass of Sweet Tea and almost swore that I was dining below the Mason-Dixon line.

And, just to make sure that the Chicken Sandwich wasn't a fluke -- Van Horn as a "one hit wonder" -- I took one for the team this weekend and tried a Shrimp Po' Boy special.

Now, this was a masterful sandwich. Not better than the Chicken Sandwich. Wholly its own -- and holy moly!

The roll was lightly crunchy on the outside, soft and airy within. The shrimp were juicy and tender, flash-fried with a thin battered coating that satisfyingly shattered with every bite. The lettuce, tomato and homemade dressing rounded out the sandwich well, and the Po' Boy seriously sang Swanee when I capped it off with some peppery green cabbage slaw.

Grinning and full, I learned from one of the owners that breakfast will be on the menu come fall.

But, can Van Horn handle biscuits and country ham?

Once again, I plan on taking one for the team.

Sucking The Marrow Out Of...

...a marrow bone.

And what a marrow bone -- filled with a transcendant mixture of crispy breadcrumbs, trumpet mushrooms, fresh herbs and a helping of butter, along with the marrow's own "beef butter" itself. The mixture was placed back in the bone and baked off until lightly brown and delicately crunchy.

We're talking about a bonafide bovine revelation!

Thank goodness. It was part of a celebratory birthday dinner for Mama Vamp at Philadelphia's Bibou. After all Mama Vamp has been through over the past year or so, if this meal hadn't lived up to the hype, there would have been hell to pay.

Luckily that marrow bone proved heavenly. Hell has been avoided for yet another year.

The upshot? Mama Vamp is a happy lady and I'm on a mission to bake up marrow bones in my own kitchen once the weather turns cool.

Guess that's one way to encourage Mama Vamp to make the trip up to NYC! (Then again, I'm always delighted to head down to Philly, if it means another trip to Bibou.)

Austrian Obsession

What's a nice Jewish girl doing in an Austro-German place like this?!? You'd think I'd be put off by anything with even a whiff of Aryan allure, but instead, I'm drawn in hook, line and schnitzel.

From Brooklyn's Prime Meats to Cafe Sabarsky, I delight in spaetzle and strudel.

Most recently, I paid call on Midtown's Seasonal Restaurant & Weinbar, a Michelin-starred hot spot that puts a contemporary spin on edelweiss classics.

Case in point: an appetizer of Makrele.

I was promised a tasting of smoked mackerel, cucumber, crème fraiche, trout roe, and dill. What I got was a dish that took me to Vienna by way of Tokyo. As seen above, it was a symphony for the eyes. I can also attest to the fact that it was a full-on concert for the palate too.

What's next on my lederhosen restaurant romp? A return trip to Brooklyn's Prime Meats.

C'mon? How's a girl supposed to resist Sürkrüt Garnie alongside a housemade pretzel, a righteous cocktail and Carroll Gardens hipsters?

Heil!