VittlesVamp

Windy City Ramble - Part 2

Meat is good.

No. Strike that! Meat is great.

Happily my Chicago pal Gourmet Rambler more than agrees. In fact, I think it's fair to say that she is actually a meat snob.

Last Friday, after a challenging morning of boutique-browsing (and buying) in Bucktown, she insisted that we head over to meet her friend Rob. Rob is her butcher. And, let's just say that Rob isn't just a meat snob; he's a meat guru. His shop is called The Butcher & Larder, but eyeing the huge cuts of beef and lamb, mammoth trays of offal and heaping platters of housemade sausages strewn about the open kitchen and carving area, it definitely seemed more "butcher" than "larder."

Gourmet Rambler explained that this store is a go-to destination for the Windy City's barbecue and grilling cognoscenti. I wasn't a bit surprised. Then one of Rob's other regulars came in -- to get a bucket of bones. Was he making stock? Nope. This gent has two gargantuan slobbering, lovable dogs who couldn't dream of going a week without chomping on some of Butcher & Larder's finest Flintstone-sized beauties.

Well, if it was good enough for the pooches!

We decided to forgo picking up the raw stuff and went straight for the sandwiches. My fave is pictured above -- a crackerjack Homemade Ham Sandwich with Honey Mustard and Pickled Onions. This gem was piled high with lightly smoked, thinly sliced pork, which I would have gladly eaten one paper-thin sliver at a time. It was just plain perfect.

Now, we may have genius butchers back home in NYC, but I'm hard-pressed to find a ham sandwich that will make me swoon the way that succulent specimen did. Makes my heart race just thinking about it!

Hate to say it, but I might just have to go back to Chicago for another.

No. Strike that! I must just say it: I have to back to Chicago for another.

Gourmet Rambler best let Rob know I'm coming back and make sure he has plenty of ham at the ready.

Windy City Ramble - Part 1

This weekend I grabbed a plane from LaGuardia to O'Hare to see my boisterous gal pal Gourmet Rambler and experience Chicago from her singular point-of-view.

No sooner did I land when the tour began. Straight off the plane I was ushered into a Chi-Town cult favorite -- Hot Doug's, a one-stop shop for all things involving encased, tubular meat. There was no way I wasn't paying call on this visit. The hot dog holds a special place in Chicagoans' hearts and Hot Doug's is the ultimate top "dog" when it comes to their wiener and sausage obsession.

With only a couple of patrons ahead of us on the lunchtime line, we quickly settled on three specimens from the extensive menu: a bayou-inspired Smoked Shrimp and Pork Sausage with Creole Mustard, Hominy Grits and Goat Cheese; the infamous Foie Gras and Sauternes Duck Sausage with Truffle Aioli, Foie Gras Mousse and Fleur de Sel; and the traditional Chicago-Style Hot Dog.

No contest. Pictured above, the Chicago-Style, topped with yellow mustard, chopped onions, sweet pickle relish, a dill pickle spear, tomato slices and a dash of celery salt was the winner. There's a reason it's a classic. Absolutely delicious!

Sated, we rolled my suitcase down the block and onto the bus towards Roscoe Village, where Gourmet Rambler's apartment waited with a fridge full of bubbly and a list of "must-do" spots for the rest of the weekend.

Curious if she led me to one of the city's celebrated deep-dish pizza joints for dinner? No. Not her thing and not mine either. But, do stay tuned for more on my tasty Chicago adventures, because the Windy City offers a lot more than hot dogs and deep-dish...

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.)

Overstuffed In New Orleans

Those of you who follow my Twitter feed, know that I recently went to the Big Easy and are waiting for several overstuffed posts recounting decadent tales of drink, food and music aplenty. I could do that, but I don't think it would do this last trip justice

Instead, I wish to offer a simple snapshot that perfectly encapsulates my time in New Orleans -- a photo taken at Arnaud's French 75 of a gorgeous cocktail, luscious oysters and a bit of candlelight.

But what bar experience would be complete without the company of fellow bar patrons?

First off, nice guess, but nope -- he wasn't a Brand Ambassador from Captain Morgan Rum.

Second of all -- God bless New Orleans and everything it is overstuffed with -- from Sazeracs to Po' Boys to a cast of characters.

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.

The Geek & The Greek

Am I talking about some hot hipster Greek spot in Astoria? Not so much. In fact, not at all.

I'm referring to a geek-fest in Oracle, Arizona with my archaeologically-inclined pal Kristin, who just happens to live in Astoria when she's not on the road being all science-like.

We were total nerds in Oracle, living the dream as we toured Biosphere 2, the oft-mocked, faux space colony at the foothills of the Santa Catalina Mountains. Couldn't help but gawk at the Dharma-like compound, wondering if it might've provided some of the inspiration for "Lost." It certainly looked like a 1970's futuristic fantasy. Got to say that the self-sustaining rain forest and desert ecosystems were kind of amazing, as were the two "lungs" that supply the structure's H2O. And then there was the hatch...

Once we had gotten our dork on, we found ourselves a bit peckish.

Where to go?

Kristin led us to a Northwest Tuscon shopping center with a restaurant named It's Greek To Me.

I was incredulous. You leave Astoria to visit Arizona and you go for Greek instead of Southwestern? She nodded. We sat. She ordered with confidence.

And then the food arrived. A Mediterranean mixed platter of major proportions, sporting Tzatziki, Eggplant Spread, Hummus, Taramosalata, Dolmathes, Roasted Red Peppers, Feta cheese, and Kalamata olives, and warm slices of Pita.

Heaven. Greek heaven. Greek heaven in Tuscon.

And truth be told, the Southwestern I tried in the area was fairly feh.

I'll head on the subway to Brooklyn's Sunset Park when I need an authentic taco fix. But, dang if I didn't wish that the subway could take me to Tuscon the next time I need a Tzaziki and Dolmathes fix.

Who knew?

Jewish Christmas Comes Early

It's beginning to feel like tradition.

Just as I did last year, I grabbed a train to Philly for Thanksgiving, gathered up Mama Vamp for a potent cocktail at the Ritz-Carlton's bar and then hailed a cab to Chinatown. We hit the well-worn dining room of Shiao Lan Kung and, still a bit buzzed from a series of cocktails, summarily order ourselves up quite a spread: Lobster with Scallion and Ginger, Sauteed Snow Pea Leaves with Garlic, and House Fried Chicken. The chicken is pictured above, boasting crisp Peking duck-like skin. Its crackling goodness is offset by tender juicy meat and wedges of sharp citrusy lemon.

Not turkey, but damn if it isn't something to be thankful for nonetheless.

Now, of course, as tradition would have it, you KNOW that I can't live without making the classic Thanksgiving fare.

Stay tuned to be regaled with the details of my 2nd annual Faux Thanksgiving feast...

Dishing About San Francisco

My recent trip to the Bay Area was brief, but delicious. Get ready for a pu-pu platter of appetizing memories from my San Francisco sojourn...

*Making the obligatory stop at the Ferry Market Building, grabbing a table outdoors at Hog Island Oyster Bar with my New York City gal pal Martha for a late lunch of Clam Chowder chockablock with Hog Island Manila clams, aromatic veggies, smoked bacon, fork-tender potatoes and copious amounts of cream. As if that bowl wasn't enough, we also ordered up the Oyster Stew with sweetwater oysters, their briny liqueur, spices and even more cream. Unsurprisingly, we cut the richness with obligatory glasses of dry white wine.

*Slowly sipping on an intense cup of drip coffee from Blue Bottle, as I try to breathlessly clamber up the perilously steep incline that is California Street from Market to Powell.

*Indulging in a perilously perfect meal at one of the world's greatest restaurants -- Boulevard, a glorious Belle Epoque dining room with unfussy service and food worth making a fuss over. From Maine Lobster Pyramid Ravioli cast in black squid ink pasta and drizzled with both Lobster Sabayon Sauce and Spicy Tomato Emulsion, to a moan-worthy Heritage Pork Chop served with Butternut Squash Gnocchi, Chef Nancy Oakes hit all the right notes...

*Diving into a bowl of addictive Brussels Sprout Chips at North Beach's Park Tavern, fighting off longtime friends Hi and Ho for the last salty bite.

*Introducing my newly transplanted gal pal Jen to her first Sazerac at downtown's just-hipster-enough Rye.

*Frowning with displeased faces all around at the much-too-hipster Mission Chinese Food, where the food was salty, the service was less than serviceable, and we all left wishing we'd just gone somewhere less interesting and more tasty. So NOT worth the hype!

*Paying call for the very first time on the legendary Tartine Bakery. Every crumb of my Morning Bun was divine. Showered with cinnamon-orange sugar, it was irresistible -- so much so, I needed to try one of their Croissants with Ham and Gruyere to prevent me from downing another Morning Bun. Now, THIS is worth the hype!...

All in all, a very fulfilling -- and filling -- trip. Thank goodness my hotel had a gym!

Three-Way in Providence

It was hot.

How could the city be anything less than sizzling during WaterFire? One-hundred bonfires turned Providence's rivers into magical canals. Wasn't quite Venice, but for New England it wasn't half bad. Decidedly cheesey, but wonderful.

And, if you want to talk about Providence and "cheesey" and "wonderful," you better hightail it over to the city's most famous restaurant - Al Forno. Cynical New Yorker that I am, I expected to be sorely disappointed by this age-old Italian joint. Then the pizza arrived...

This pizza was like no pizza I have had before or since. It was light. Ethereal. The flavors were intense, but the crust was whisper thin and delicate. One bite at a time, it literally melted on my tongue.

All I can say is go. Run. Now. Did I say go?!?

And, lest you think I'm a barbarian who simply visited Providence for the late night pyres and pizza, I did actually spend a few hours at the RISD Museum. It was an exceptional collection. Art History 101 under one roof. Frankly, one of the best art museums I've been lucky enough to visit.

So, to sum up Providence: a must-do menage-a-trois of pyres, pizza and paintings.

Where's my cigarette?

A Belated Labor Day Weekend Post: Martha's Vineyard

I was practically giddy when I got off the plane at Martha's Vineyard to see my pals Leah and Rashaun. Excited, I jumped into their Land Rover, looking forward to a weekend of summertime relaxing, copious amounts of seafood and lots of local wine.

As we started off with lunch at Nancy's, complete with a view of the harbor and a mandatory Lobster Roll, it was clear that the first two on my list were quite do-able.

It was only then that I learned the horrible truth about Martha's Vineyard. Are you sitting down?!?

There is no vineyard on the island.

That's right. Martha's "Vineyard" is a total misnomer. Making matters worse, the island is home to several towns with "dry" policies. Yes, that means alcohol is verboten. To top it off, the wine store I visited on the island had a paltry selection of vino. (What do you mean, no Gruner Veltliner? You really have only one Sancerre?) Leah and Rashaun informed me that this was par for the course.

Harrumph! Was Martha's Vineyard just another false advertising vacation spot like Cape Cod's Chatham? Was I just going to have to give up on the state of Massachusetts altogether?

Thankfully not. My fears were put to rest that evening when we drove to Menemsha beach for a seafood dinner and the sunset.

Sure enough, we pulled up to the Menemsha Fish Market and they sold fish.

Whew!

We ordered up a pound of mussels and couple of gorgeous lobsters to be steamed and threw in a Fried Oyster Roll for good measure. We staked claim on the beach and, as promised, there really was a sunset awaiting.

Yowsa!

It was a beautiful one. The photo above says it all. I took the snapshot from our picnic blanket.

Why no pictures of the glorious seafood dinner? Because we forgot to bring utensils and my hosts don't even own a shellfish cracker.

You guessed it! To heck with my manicure, I tore apart a lobster with my bare hands. It was primal. It was disgusting. It was divine. But, please, no pictures!

All in all, even with the "vineyard" let down, Martha paid it back in spades. Now I just need to purchase my wonderful hosts a proper seafood cracker for future use, and my manicure will be safe for a trip back to Menemsha beach next summer.