VittlesVamp

Stick Fix

Everything tastes better on a stick. At least that's what the internet would have you believe.

Well, one trip to Nargis in Park Slope and I became a believer. This skewer-centric hot spot served up meat aplenty -- a seemingly endless supply of meaty kebabs topped with slender rings of white onion. The kebab is to Uzbek cuisine what yakitori is to Japanese fare: awesome meat conveyed on a stick. But when it comes to Uzbek kebab think lamb instead of chicken. Mind you, the standard white meat chicken kebab was offered, but so was a skewer of chicken hearts, and so was minced lulya, and so was veal liver.

I could get used to men bringing me meat on sticks. It reminds me a bit of a long ago trip to a Brazilian-style rodizio. And, word from across the pond is that sticks are the new bowls.

So, expect me to head home soon, toss out my bowls and gather up some sticks for my next dinner party. Or maybe I'll just invite my guests to meet (meat) me at Nargis.

Mama Vamp Finally Tries Sushi

Mama Vamp is a stubborn lady. Very stubborn. Obstinate at times. Sure she will read this and admonish me for the characterization. However, she can't argue that she held firm in her refusal to try sushi for several decades.

Shockingly, it was our recent trip to Austin that softened her stance. One delicious dish at Emmer & Rye that showcased some exceedingly fresh fish - snapper in the raw - turned her around on the subject of sushi.

This past weekend, I took Mama Vamp to the sushi bar at Jewel Bako. She was immediately entranced by the sushi chefs doing their thing. And, being that she is Mama Vamp, she couldn't resist chattering away with them, making them chuckle a bit as they worked.

What beautiful work.

It started with a small cup filled with a light broth and truffle shavings floating on top. Plunging our spoons in, we hit an eggy custard on the bottom and chunks of white crabmeat. We made short order of that omakase starter. Next up, a gorgeous plate of sashimi, followed by a mushroom paper hotpot with Manila clams and seasonal mushrooms. Then the show really began, with Chef Mitsunori Isoda preparing individual pieces of melt-in-your-mouth sushi, placing each jewel-like creation in front of us for a quick ooh and ahh before we placed them in our mouths.

Do I have photos of any of these jewel-like beauties? Hell, no! Chef Isoda would give me the stink eye if I took more than 30 seconds to plop a new piece of sushi onto my tongue. Nigiri is meant to be eaten almost instantaneously after it has been served - all in one bite.

So, no photos of the omakase, but I was able to snap a picture of some of the sushi platters being prepared to be sent out to the dining room...

And, what did Mama Vamp think? Well, I am happy to report that Mama Vamp would be on-board for another sushi excursion.

Perhaps in Tokyo? Not so much. I think the flight might be too much for her.

Another Amtrak to NYC and cab ride to the East Village? Bring it on. Mama Vamp is all in!

Coursing Through Stockholm

The weather in Stockholm was temperate. Blue skies. Blue lake waters. Breezes. Low 70s. In other words - perfect.

The herring was damn fine too...

And, then there were the excellent Cardamom Buns...

But, the culinary highlight of trip was undoubtedly a multicourse dinner at one of the community tables at Adam/Albin - all with a clear view of the chefs in action...

I knew I was in for a treat when my Gin & Tonic arrived...

That's right. Frozen grapes instead of ice cubes. Genius!

Was there a bread basket? Nah. Instead, I was presented with a just-out-of-the-oven rye roll served with butter...

Um, that's butter whipped with garlicky Ramson leaves, topped with sea salt and Oxalis. This was a wow.

Next up - a glass of Chicken Soup...

Heaven. I make great Chicken Soup, but nothing like this. It was an umami bomb. Just a couple sips and it was gone. But damn that was delicious!

Then the chefs toyed with me a bit - offering up a big bowl filled with molded crushed ice and two ripe red strawberries, hulled, and filled with black olive...

Hmmmm. Not sure I would try it at home. Still, I liked the way that its sweet and briny sides played with my tastebuds.

And now for something completely different...

A Langoustine Taco - the shrimp flash fried in puffed rice balls, topped with caviar, and accompanied by shiso leaves and creme fraiche.

Soooo good!

The next course continued the aquatic theme - this time a Tartare of Toro Tuna, surrounded by a light horseradish cream, and hidden under a blanket of cucumber...

Lush and bright all at once. Beautiful!

Was I still feeling peckish? Not really, but how could I resist...

Lamb with Greens. Simple. Gorgeous.

Another wow.

Was I all wow-ed out?

Not quite yet. There still was dessert...

Saffron Panna Cotta topped with herbs and flowers, served with fresh cherries.

And, if that wasn't enough, there was one more sweet to be had...

Warm Madeleines alongside Corn and Chocolate Caramel for dipping.

Yeah. This was perfect. Amazing.

Utsökt!

Sweltering & Sated In Berlin

I arrived in Berlin and was met by a heatwave.

Typically, the average August high in Berlin is 74 degrees.

Typical was not happening. It was hot. Very hot. 99 degrees hot and humid.

Oh, and did I mention that most hotels, stores, restaurants, and homes do not have A/C?

Needless to say I was very uncomfortable. Sweat was my constant companion. Yet, even in my overheated, perspiring state, I was keeping the foodie flame alive.

First stop, BRLO Brwhouse, a massive craft beer haunt in the middle of a drab railroad hub and warehouse district. The biergarten was packed with hipsters aplenty.

Was I in Bushwick?

Maybe. Maybe not. All I knew was I was ordering beer. I was ordering some smoked meat. I was ordering some vegetables.

I left, still glistening, but pretty sure that Berlin and Brooklyn had a lot in common.

The next day I met up with the man behind Berlin Food Stories, Per Meuling, to get an insider's POV on the food scene. We met at a hip fashion store-slash-cafe at the base of Berlin's Soho House, where I passed by an all-too-familiar branch of Cecconi's at the other side of the club's entrance.

Was I in Dumbo?

Maybe. Maybe not.

Per gave me a glimpse into the restaurant landscape in Berlin - and warned me about the dicey "mystery meat" that was to be had in the ubiquitous Doner Kebab sandwiches offered around town.

OK. Mystery meat was off-the-table. But what about cooling off that afternoon?

He was clear in his direction - go to the Michelberger Hotel, go to their restaurant courtyard, find the shadiest spot available, take a seat, and drink copious amounts of coconut water.

As a light breeze brushed against the courtyard, and I sipped on refreshing coconut water (followed by a chilled glass of Reisling), I quickly discovered that "Per knows best."

So, I listened to him for my evening repast as well, and hit up the exotic sounding St. Bart gastropub. Not the least bit Caribbean inside, the restaurant was quite welcoming and offered a fine view of the chefs in action...

The challenge? Open kitchen. Oven heat-meets-90 degree-even-at-night heat.

Unfortunately, I was a bit of a sweat bomb sitting at the bar.

But, oh, the food was truly delectable - from the Cooked-Under-a-Brick Roasted Chicken with Lemon and Capers to the Broccolini with Greek Yogurt and Lentils.

No photos, due to dark lighting and my attempt to eat speedily in order to return to the fan in my hotel room.

The next day I braved a trip to Markthalle Neun for Street Food Thursday and was immediately struck by its likeness to Smorgasburg.

Was I in Williamsburg?

Maybe. Maybe not.

And, then I met some newfound friends for dinner at one of the city's many Vietnamese eateries, sitting outside under the restaurant's awning in the hope that a light wind might arrive. It arrived all right. In short order it became a fairly strong wind. Then it became a fierce wind - bringing with it the crack of thunder and a flash of lightning - and then a downpour.

We reveled in it.

And, after the storm was over, so was the heatwave.

We agreed to revel some more the next evening - and I suggested the Michelberger courtyard for the occasion.

But before I made it to dinner, I made it to Zeit für Brot for breakfast...

This Cinnamon Roll was no Cinnabon. And, it didn't remind me of Brooklyn baked goods. It was something unto itself.

Same went for the chocolates at the celebrated Berlin chocolatier Rausch...

It was a chocolate wonderland located on Gendarmenmarkt. Grand and yet playful, it was unlike any confectioner I had visited in the County of Kings.

Now, dinner at Michelberger did put me in prime Berlin hipster zone - and with dishes like Burrata, Peach, and Pumpkin Seeds, I could imagine myself in Greenpoint or Carroll Gardens - but a small plate of Fried Deer Tongue, Namjim, and Peanuts took me to Bangkok by way of Berlin.

Where the heck was I????

The next evening there was no confusion. None whatsoever...

Hard to be confused about where you are when you sit down at Zur Haxe and your waiter comes over in lederhosen.

Roasted Pork Knuckle with Sauerkraut and Bread Dumplings with a side of Cucumber Salad and a dark beer to wash it all down?

Das ist gut essen! Bayerisches essen!

And, with that: Ich bin ein Berliner!

Hallå Stockholm

And now I journey to the land of tall blonde people, who eat reindeer, herring, and meatballs. I anticipate enjoying my fair share of cardamom buns and great coffee. More soon.

An Early Report From Berlin

I will have stories to tell - stories of Berlin. These stories will involve scorching heat, without proper A/C in sight. These stories will involve a gracious local food blogger, a politically-inclined brewpub host, and a friend of a friend, who is now my friend as well. And, yes, some of these stories will feature beer.

But, all of that is for later. Now, I just want to share some snapshots of an afternoon visit to Winterfeldt Platz Market in Berlin's Schöneberg district.

I wasn't the least bit disappointed by the fruit on display...

And, food stalls were punctuated by tables filled with funky jewelry, linen tablecloths, vintage knives, and...

shoes. Not to mention several stalls filled to overflowing with...

...fresh flowers. There were cheesemongers on hand, as well as the requisite...

...German sausages sizzling on the grill. A few stalls even catered to those with...

...vegetables on their shopping list. Still, carrots, cabbage, and alike were a rarity among the foodstuffs on display. Who was I to fight the German penchant for all things sweet, rich, and artery-clogging?

Bring on the apfelstrudel!

Hallo Berlin

After a very quick stop in London, I should presently be hitting Berlin. And, what better way to welcome me than with a heat wave? Tomorrow is set to be a scorching 99 degrees. That's not exactly schnitzel weather, but one can safely assume that some beers will be downed in an effort to cool off and chill out. More details soon...

Cocktail Canine: Tale Of A Friendly Neighborhood Wanna-Be Drunkard Dog

Her name is Ellie Mae. Pictured above, sucking down a squeaky toy version of a Pina Colada, you can't help but fall hard for this pooch.

I knew I had it bad when my neighbors across the hall brought her home as a pup and invited me over for cocktails and nibbles to celebrate.

Unusual for a canine, the dog wasn't making eyes at the grub on the table. She was staring at my Manhattan with a steady fixation - a fixation that was rewarded by my swirling my pinky into the glass, and holding it out for a greedy lick or two.

Oh, yeah. I fell hard.

So, clearly I needed to buy Ellie Mae some hard liquor. It came in the form of a chew toy shaped like a bottle of bourbon, emblazoned with a Bark Daniels label.

She chewed up that chew toy in short order.

So, I decided to introduce her to the finer things in liquor life. I bought her a bottle of Dog Perignon.

She apparently savored that particular plush toy, as one should with a quality vintage.

Yet, when I ventured across the hall this evening for afterwork cocktails, I knew I best not come empty handed. I brought some proper Gin and bottles of tonic, alongside some kaffir lime leaves for muddling. That was for the human contingency. Miss Ellie Mae got a whole bottle to herself of something else...

Yes, that's a plush bottle of Dog Julio that she has her snout in.

It didn't make it past an hour. She literally tore the stuffing out of it. Or should I say "good to the last drop?"

Not sure what to get her next. If she laid waste to faux tequila that quickly, dare I get her a bottle of Kennel One?

Oh, Ellie Mae. Nothing but love and an open bar-k for you here, young gal!

Heeding The Siren's Call Of Parker House Rolls

Resistance is futile.

Bread is my downfall. I once found Satan in a bread basket, so why shouldn't I hear the tempting strains of Sirens calling out to me, when presented with warm Parker House rolls at a new LIC hot spot?

Sing on, you starchy Sirens!

Parker House rolls have been "on trend" for quite some time now. And, well before hitting LIC's Bellwether last night (home to the Parker House rolls pictured above), I have inordinately fond memories of slathering butter on piping hot Parker House rolls at Chef Tom Colicchio's now-defunct Craft Steak, and then his Colicchio & Sons in the same location shortly thereafter.

I have yet to bake up a tray of these browned, puffy, delights in my own kitchen. I imagine sprinkling Maldon sea salt atop before thrusting the dough in the oven, waiting breathlessly for the "ding" of timer to release them from the constraints of my stove - and then enjoying them with unrestrained glee.

Sing no more Sirens! My hips cannot handle it! Parker House no more!!!

Yeah, maybe I have a bread problem.

The Melon Trick

Can't take credit for this incredibly simple trick that takes melon to a new level.

Chef/owner Tony Migliaccio at my beloved neighborhood Italian hang Noodle Pudding served me up a beautiful slab of melon for dessert one night. But it wasn't just melon. He zested an orange on top for a bit of bite and citrus.

I don't think I can eat melon again without a sprinkling of orange zest to take it up a notch.

This trick paid off big time when I decided to make melon and prosciutto. SO. DAMN. DELICIOUS.

I implore you to try this at home. You'll develop a whole new appreciation for a slice of melon at any time of day.

A Refugee Chef Brings A Taste Of Iran To Manhattan

I had no idea that a Refugee Food Festival existed, let alone that it had started in Paris and expanded into restaurant kitchens across 15 cities the world over. It's an impressive endeavor, designed to change perceptions about refugees and find common ground - all through sharing food at the table.

Food has a power all its own. A meal made with love and talent can bring people together in a way that nothing else can. Think Babette's Feast. But, this wasn't about Blinis Demidoff or Cailles en Sarcophage. The setting may have been very French - Gramercy's Le Coq Rico - but the dinner was pure Persia. This past Saturday night, Chef Nasrin (who only goes by her first name to protect family still in Iran), served up a mesmerizing menu filled with saffron, mint, and pomegranate - food that excited the senses and satisfied the soul.

Starters, pictured above, featured a baked rice cake called Tahchin, with a crackling, crisp rice crust encasing moist delicate saffron-infused grains and bits of chicken, sprinkled with dried barberries and nuts. It was accompanied by yogurt-cucumber-mint dip called Mast Khiar, and a Persian roasted eggplant and walnut dip topped with frizzled onions, called Kashke Bademjan. Then came the main course...

...a pomegranate and chicken stew called Fesenjoon, served atop sour cherry rice. Sweet and sour, rich and bright, it was unlike anything else I've ever eaten. A couple Iranian falafel also graced the plate with a vivid green chutney, just in case you needed the combo of crunch and cilantro to serve as a palate cleanser.

When the chef emerged from the kitchen, I couldn't congratulate her enough. I wasn't alone in doing so. Diners flocked to her side to compliment the meal and recognize her gifts.

While I know proceeds from the dinner are going to help causes that fight for refugee rights in this country, I can't help but think that one weekend of festival events is not nearly enough. Refugees fill restaurant kitchens in New York and all over the U.S., feeding us all year round. They need to know that they are home. We need to find a way to welcome them, their cultures, their cuisines, their families, their hopes and dreams.

The American melting pot will be all the better for it.

BBQ Dreams

I took Mama Vamp to Austin and she joined me in eating some mighty fine BBQ. We're talking Freedmen's for some serious smoked turkey and ribs, and a killer G&T. We followed that up with a Mother's Day brunch stop at Kerlin BBQ for the decked out plate pictured above. See that brisket? See those pork ribs? How about that sweet ear of corn?

How was it?

Amazeballs.

And, now Hill Country is buzzing about opening up an Austin-style food hall in downtown Brooklyn, with - what else? - BBQ. Breakfast tacos will be thrown in for good measure.

Will I be there?

Why, yes!

Will Mama Vamp be in tow?

You better believe it!