VittlesVamp

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.

Ikea, Stieg Larsson & Now Sockerbit

It felt only right to post something Easter-themed after yesterday's Passover post. But, not being one to actually celebrate this springtime holiday, I decided to forgo the requisite bunnies, chicks, peeps and Easter baskets. Instead, I turned my attention to candy, pure and simple.

Pure and simple...and Swedish.

Visiting the West Village's new home to sugary Swedish delights -- Sockerbit -- I couldn't help but want to get my gummy gluttony on. It took a lot of will power, but I left with nothing except this snapshot of Scandinavian sweets gone wild.

Quite a mouthwatering display, ain't it?

Anyone want to quickly invite me to an Easter party, so I have a legitimate excuse to high-tail it back to Sockerbit to buy a basketful?

Eataly With Eatalians

With the whirlwind return of Missy K and her parents to New York City, I felt the need to make her father's eyes sparkle with glee. I knew what it would take when it came to Italian-born Papa Tony -- Italian food coupled with more Italian food. Frankly, the same could be said for Missy K and her lovely mother.

I had no choice. I had to take them to Eataly.

I may have likened the gargantuan market as Italy-meets-Epcot, but the entire Missy K clan was enraptured.

Have you ever seen a wide-eyed 84 year-old light up with joy like a child on Christmas morning? Now, I have. At Eataly, of all places. It was quite a sight! You would have thought that Tony had died and gone to heaven. Being from Italy, he knows that heaven wouldn't be complete without a never-ending selection of cheeses, salumi galore, line-caught fish, freshly baked pastry, an assortment of gelato and a dizzying array of pastas.

I couldn't help but find a bit of bliss when sharing antipasti with the family. Even though my first impression of Eataly was that it was too much -- too abbondanza -- somehow my perspective had been altered. Gorgeously plump olives, chunks of pink mortadella, wafer-thin slices of salty prosciutto, pillowy slabs of mozzarella and briny, mouth-puckering anchovies were devoured with relish. Glasses of vino washed it down nicely.

And, that was only the beginning.

A fennel and apple salad followed, along with hearty lasagna, spaghetti pomodoro and tagliatelle served with black truffles. Strong cups of espresso and a flurry of Italian desserts capped things off with a sugary, caffeine-infused rush.

Not sure if I will ever become a regular at Eataly, but I know that when Missy K and her relatives are in town, that's the first stop on the list. I guess going there with real Italians suddenly makes Eataly feel less like an amusement park and whole lot more like the Amalfi Coast.

Dancing In The Aisles - At Gristedes?

I had to pinch myself. Was it possible that I was actually in my neighborhood Gristedes supermarket or had I been transported to some remarkable gourmet grocery store in a magical land far, far away?

First I met a friendly butcher. So friendly that he offered to get me a shopping basket while I perused the selection of chickens. So friendly that he even placed a special order for me for pick-up on Monday. I was there when he called it in, demanding the highest quality for a "special customer."

What was really weird about it though: I've been going to this Gristedes for years and never once laid eyes on a butcher. Ever! Was he simply a figment of my foodie imagination? Guess I'll find out on Monday.

But the freakiness didn't end at the butcher aisle. It continued at the checkout aisle, where Cheryl Lynn's classic disco tune Got To Be Real blasted from the speakers, inspiring a checkout cashier to start shimmying. The song got to me too. I was possessed. I started swaying. We synced up our dance moves. Whooping and gyrating commenced.

I'm home now. Shopping bags unpacked. And I still have a bit of groove in my step. Gristedes groove.

Who would have guessed it was possible?

We All Scream For Torres 'Scream

Tomorrow is the big day. Tomorrow, legendary pastry chef and chocolate god Jacques Torres will finally be opening his first ice cream parlor.

Walking through the cobblestone streets of DUMBO, Brooklyn today, I couldn't help but notice his team hard at work putting the cherry on top of the sundae (so to speak) -- painting an ice cream cone mural on the wall and such.

I snapped a quick pic of them putting the finishing touches on the place. (See pic above.)

And for the record, how can you not LOVE an ice cream parlor with its own crystal chandelier???

Chelsea Market: Amy's Bread

Resistance was futile. Work in Chelsea Market long enough and the fresh, yeasty scent of warm, out-of-the-oven bread sings its siren's song and beckons you through the door to Amy's Bread.

The sweet stuff was certainly enticing. Who can resist Cherry Cream Scones, Double Chocolate Pecan Cookies or Almond Brioche Toast?

Me -- especially when there is an array of hand-crafted, European breads to tempt my palate. Whole Wheat with Walnuts, Black Olive Fougasse, Focaccia with Rosemary, Pumpernickel studded with Currants, and Potato Onion Dill Bread all seemed to call my name.

Starch! Glorious, starch!

I tried to turn away.

It was impossible.

I finally succumbed, but found the strength to refrain from a full-on loaf lunge. Instead, I went for a small hit -- a Twist. In this case a twist with all the right moves -- Semolina dotted with Golden Raisins and infused with Fennel.

It was just enough to satisfy my urge. At least for the time being...

I Like The Greenies

I've always liked the greenies when it comes to M&Ms. But generally I'm more of a dark purple/black gal when it comes to olives, usually reaching for the Kalamatas. The greenies never held the same appeal. That is, until now. Until Castelvetranos.

There's a reason they are the olive bar rage at Whole Foods and beyond. The San Francisco Chronicle has this to say about these plump, mild, buttery, ever-so-slightly briny beauties:

Castelvetranos are harvested young and cured in lightly salted brine, which accounts for their bright green hue (it's not food coloring) and meaty texture. With a mild, nuanced flavor that's both salty and sweet, the fruit appeals not only to olive aficionados, but also to those who shy away from stronger, brinier varieties. Some refer to them as the rich man's version of the mild black olives we were drawn to as kids.

Fresca Italia manager Andy Lax says that the company actually began carrying the Castelvetranos about 4 years ago, but it wasn't until recent months that they exploded onto the scene - likely due to the fact that more markets and restaurants started ordering them.

"It used to be that we were selling a pallet every couple of months or so," he says, referring to a flat that holds 100 ten-pound buckets. "Now we do one or two a week. We can't get them in fast enough."

The importing company is the largest supplier of the olives in the Bay Area, selling to markets like Bi-Rite, Rainbow and Whole Foods. But according to Lax, Bay Area restaurants are clamoring for them as well.

At Perbacco, the olives show up in nearly every course. Chef Staffan Terje serves them as a simple bar snack drizzled with Castelvetrano oil, throws them into a braised lamb dish, cracks them into vinaigrettes and pasta sauces, and pairs them with mozzarella.

"They're mild, and they don't have a lot of contradicting flavors," says Terje, "so you can put them in sauces or braises and they don't overpower the dish."

But Terje says they get the most recognition at the bar, where they're pitted and dropped into martinis.

So, once again, I can claim a fondness for the greenies. And, this time, they even go seamlessly with a stiff drink. (After all, M&Ms are notoriously difficult to pair with a cocktail.)

Chelsea Market: The Lobster Place

Guess I should have tried the lobster, because Chelsea Market's Lobster Place is NOT the place for awesome sushi. "Feh sushi" is more like it. A pretty lunch, perhaps, as evidenced by the photo above. Just not a particularly tasty one.

And, it's a shame, cause the fishmonger's selection of undersea wares is impressive. If only the sushi was as pristine and lovely as The Lobster Place's cases overflowing with the fresh catch of the day.

Guess if I really have a yen for sublime sushi in the building, I'll have to give in and fork it over for a pair of chopsticks at Chelsea Market's Morimoto.

Chelsea Market: Ninth Street Espresso

Caffeine was necessary today.

Luckily, working at the Chelsea Market, I didn't just have Starbucks to contend with for coffee options. Instead, I could treat myself to a real java treat, sidling up to the counter at Ninth Street Espresso.

Considering it's on Ninth AVENUE now, this above 14th Street outpost of the East Village Joe standby still retains its hipster cool, while serving up hot, rich, gorgeous, deep dark brew. No muss. No fuss. No multitude of flavored syrups. It's all about the bean.

It's nice to get a kick out of your caffeine kick. And, for me, pure bean is a definite kick. Add a little commitment to quality, throw it in a to-go cup and I'm one happy -- and awake -- customer.

Chelsea Market: Ronnybrook Milk Bar

After my artery-clogging stop at Ruthy's the other day, I thought it wise to go lighter and brighter in my next Chelsea Market dining adventure.

I spied Ronnybrook Milk Bar. At first glance it seemed wholesome and rustic. Straight from the dairy farm yogurt could be a wonderful pick!

Then I was confronted by a case brimming with flavor after flavor of decadent Ronnybrook Ice Cream.

NO!!!

I turned away and turned to the menu. There, I saw my salvation. A Strawberry Yogurt Shake. Nourishing yogurt, blended with sweet red strawberries and a splash of skim milk. Tart and tasty, it sated my need for something sweet and hedonistic, but ultimately was nutritious Nirvana in a plastic cup with straw.

Now, if I could only stop looking over at Amy's Bread...