VittlesVamp

B-Day Celebration - Part 3

And so, the actual anniversary of my birth came to pass.

And it was good.

It was very good.

How could it not be, when the day starts with a two hour breakfast with my pal Paul at the city's swankiest breakfast hot spot? The place of course was Norma's in the Parker Meridien Hotel, home of the $1000 omelet (dining room pictured above). And, nope, I didn't dare order the sevruga swathed monstrosity, opting instead for Mango-Papaya Brown Butter Cinnamon Crepes and enough freshly brewed coffee to stake my claim as a long-lost Gilmore.

It was heading towards noon. Guess breakfast had to come to an end sometime. But, what was there to occupy me until lunch? The gilt doors of Henri Bendel beckoned. A makeover was had at the Nars counter. A rich Nars lip pencil was purchased in a pouty pink shade called Sex Machine.

All was right with the world. And, with that I was headed to lunch.

Not hungry, but up for more funfilled gab, I met my friend Christine at the bar at Otto. There, we partook of vino and a selection of cheeses, which at some point over the course of the next two hours, we realized was simply an excuse to indulge in the enoteca's cheese accompaniment - truffle honey. Frankly, I don't think there is any excuse that I wouldn't support in the name of Otto's truffle honey - sweet, earthy and toe-curlingly delicious.

And, after a toe-curling experience, it seemed apt to visit a toe specialist - or reflexologist to be exact - at Angel Feet, a wee West Village den of foot fetishist pleasures. There, I passed a full hour having my tootsies expertly massaged.

Let me just say, if you've never had a proper foot massage, you've never quite lived. Hell, the same goes for the truffle honey.

Like I said...The actual anniversary of my birth came to pass.

And it was good.

It was very good.

B-Day Celebration - Part 2

The next day wasn't really about me. But, heck, it was the day before my actual birthday, so why not? In actuality it was really about my company's holiday hoedown - or as my Southern Fried friend and colleague Kurt declared - ho down.

The place? Danny Meyer's ode to BBQ, Blue Smoke (pictured above). And, gotta admit that the spot was perfect - from the rich Deviled Eggs with Toasted Almonds and Watercress to the buttery soft Sliced Texas-Style Beef Brisket and the Hush Puppies, crisp and bursting with sweet corn flavor, served with Jalape

B-Day Celebration - Part 1

My friend Ben knows steak. Loves steak. Heck, this is the man who came up with a business proposal for a restaurant called Glutton, after we verged on meat coma at a Churrascaria one night.

So, I was quite honored when he asked me to share in the fruits of his labor - a gift certificate from his boss for one of three NYC steakhouses owned by the Glazier Group. Our pick for a free steak dinner? The West Village outpost of The Strip House (pictured above). And, just to make the meal even more festive - considering it was my birthday week and all - Ben asked me to invite a friend to tag along, since the gift certificate was quite generous.

I think it was Ben that was really quite generous. But, who was I to argue. I invited my archaeologically-inclined pal Kristin to join us. I figured that after having to withstand meals of horse meat while on digs in the middle of Uzbekistan, she could do with a fine steak meal.

We converged just in the (Saint) Nick of time for our 7:30pm reservation. But, alas, our table wasn't ready yet, so we sidled up to bar. I surveyed the surroundings - red. My favorite color, but it just wasn't working. The place looked like an overstuffed attempt at a high-scale bordello.

The staff wasn't much better - clearly all imported from lesser regions of New Jersey. Blue jeans seemed to be spray-painted on the coat check girl. The barkeep didn't know how to mix anything beyond the most basic of cocktails. The hostess station didn't know what the word "reservation" meant, as it was already 7:45pm.

The rest of the crowd didn't seem to mind though. Then again, they appeard to be imported from lesser regions of Staten and Long Islands by way of Wall Street. I was surrounded by bad Men's Warehouse suits, grating accents and gold jewelry.

The steak had better be good.

Ben and Kristin (who was already tipsy from her office party) were in agreement. And, the clock was ticking. It was 8pm. We couldn't get the bartender's attention for another round and the hostess insisted that it would only be a few minutes before our table was ready.

Clearly her watch wasn't working. It wasn't until 8:30pm that we were offered a table - in the unlit bar lounge, rather than the dining room. I categorically refused to accept it on behalf of the party. We had made a reservation well in advance and waited for a full hour past the reservation time. We deserved a table in the dining room. They acquiesced and sat us at a fine table towards the rear of the restaurant.

We were starving. The bread basket arrived. We attacked. And, then our waiter, who seemed amiable, arrived as well. We attacked with our orders and then hunkered down, hoping for the best vittles-wise. Happily, the appetizers didn't take a great deal of time before making an appearance - Ben enjoying his garlicky, crisp Caesar Salad, Kristin enjoying her steakhouse classic of Red Tomatoes and Onions and me, fighting to open the Stone Crab Claws that I ordered. I finally was able to pry the suckers open and dipped their white, flaky meat into a creamy mustard sauce.

Nice.

But now we required meat. Or at least Ben and I did. We both ordered the Rib Eye. Kristin, still a bit full from her office holiday soiree, decided to go light - Clams Casino. Okay, broiled clams with bacon and herb butter isn't exactly light, but it's no burnin' hunk of bovine either.

We eagerly anticipated our entrees. Anticipated. And, anticipated.

Finally, a half-hour between courses, the main dishes arrived. Not exactly "well worth the wait," I must admit that they were wonderful - especially alongside our ordered sides (which arrived well after the main dishes, naturally) of Black Truffle Cream Spinach, Crisp Goose-Fat Potatoes and Fried Onions - which were like Funyuns kicked up a notch by the Cordon Bleu.

Mmmm. More glasses of wine were ordered, the better to enjoy the feast before us.

And then, anticipation struck again. We finally had to flag down a waitress that wasn't our own. But, with some cajoling, the wine eventually arrived. I began to realize that this was simply par for the course at The Strip House. Lucky for them, I was blissed out on perfectly-seared beef and the decadent truffle-spiked spinach.

When the lit candle arrived atop a Carmelized Banana Tart, I couldn't decide if the food had made up for the front of the house shenanigans. Does good food make up for bad service? Well, I wasn't about to make up my mind right then. All I knew was that I was in good company and I had a birthday wish to make. So, I blew out my candle - and enjoyed leftover Rib Eye the next day.

I Beg Forgiveness

I know I haven't been posting, but I've got a good excuse - It's been my b-day week and I've been too busy partying, dining and cocktailing to spare a moment to record my adventures. Promise to make up for it this week...

The Upside of Winter

They're back...Snowflakes.

And, that can only mean one other thing is back too...Mallowmars!

James Barron of The New York Times recently waxed poetic about this classic cookie:

Proust had his madeleines. Douglas Boxer had his Mallomars.

"My mother used to buy them on special occasions, and I used to sneak down to the kitchen and steal them," said Mr. Boxer, who grew up to be an owner of Rare Bar & Grill, a restaurant in the Shelburne Murray Hill Hotel at 303 Lexington Avenue, near 37th Street. "And then she'd say, 'Somebody last night had three Mallomars. Wonder who it was?' "

That question comes up at this time of year, for like Beaujolais nouveau, Mallomars are not a year-round delicacy, not even in the New York area, where 70 percent of Mallomars are sold. Mallomars return to supermarket shelves in the fall after a warm-weather break. But Mallomars connoisseurs do not celebrate by holding tastings of the new batch or by calling friends to announce "les Mallomars sont arriv

A Baby Shower For Queen Celeste

Yes, my fabulous, hipster friend Celeste is preggers. Mighty preggers. And, so, my pal Stacy and I thought it only right to throw the royal Queen a bash in honor of her new Princess. (Yes - it's gonna be a girl!)

Of course that meant decorating my apartment with adorable cut-outs of Babar's famous Queen Celeste avec her daughter Flora. (BTW - Kinda like the name Flora, but I don't think it's in the running.) And then I crammed 20 ladies into my place.

Why so crammed?

C'mon folks - the food I prepared took up ample space too! The menu:

*Mango Mimosas and Sweet Iced Tea
*Freshly Baked Rolls with Orange Butter and Strawberry Butter
*Strata with Artichokes, Roasted Peppers and Goat Cheese
*Canadian Bacon
*Cucumber and Tomato Salad in a Shallot Vinaigrette
*Fruit Salad
*Cupcakes (Courtesy of Stacy's run to Buttercup Bake Shop)

Needless to say, no one left hungry. And, although the Strata was a big hit, the ladies didn't end up touching the second lasagna tray full of the savory bread pudding. Stacy was forced to bring it to her church potluck later that night, where I understand it was a big hit too (and apparently was discovered to be an ideal accompaniment to Split Pea Soup).

And, for those of you intrigued by the fruit butters noted above, they are incredibly easy to make:

Fruit Butter

1 stick unsalted butter, softened
1/2 cup high-quality jam or marmalade

Cut softened butter into food processor. Add jam or marmalade. Process for 1 - 2 minutes until well-combined. Place mixture in a small bowl or mold and refrigerate for at least three hours or until desired firmness.

Peace By Pomegranate

According to an article in the Orlando Sentinel, The Captain and Tennille were wrong.

Love won't keep us together. The pomegranate will. Apparently, disparate religions from around the globe can find common ground in their use of the pomegranate as a symbol of fertility and prosperity.

Now I'm curious if the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster can get into the action too...They could use a little sweet something after all that heavy pasta and meatballs.

Super Secret

My super Jose is, well - super. As a longtime urbanite, I know the value in having a top-notch superintendant in my building. So, with holiday tipping time around the corner, I've been thinking that it would be nice to get Jose a bonafide gift, on top of a generous cash envelope.

And tonight I learned something about Jose that led me to the perfect gift.

You see, last week - pre-Turkey Day - I queried Jose about the fixins that his wife was prepping for the big meal. It was then he revealed his deep, dark secret.

Jose doesn't like turkey. At all. Can't stand it.

I didn't know how to follow that up. Turkey and Thanksgiving are synonymous. I just hoped that the man enjoyed the stuffing, cranberry sauce, green bean casserole, sweet potatoes and pumpkin pie portions of the meal.

But, tonight in the elevator, I inquired about how the dinner went and with the light of true love in his eyes, Jose admitted that he swapped out the gobble-gobble for Virginia Ham on his Thanksgiving plate.

You gotta adore that look in a man's eyes. The look that only smoked pork can provide. And, I'll be delighted to help ensure that Virginia Ham - and that look of pure glee - can take centerstage on his Christmas day too.

Cheese, Absinthe and Pink Elephants

Last night I witnessed an intense act of cheese love. I have always known that women and cheese are a fatal combination - fatal for the cheese that is. But, I've never seen cheese categorically demolished until last evening, when my Five Front friends Thalya and Anna inhaled a selection of aged Manchego, Goats Milk Brie Stuffed with Fig Preserves and Istara with some Quince Paste thrown in for good measure. You can witness the damage above.

But, wait. That wasn't the final moment for the cheese plate. Oh, no. These gals had more to gnaw. In fact, by the time I pulled the plate away from them, all that was left was wisps of wax rind. And, frankly, I was afraid they would inhale those too, if I didn't remove them tout suite.

And to think, that was only the beginning of the wee ladies night dinner I hosted last eve. Thalya, one of Five Front's bartenders (and creator of the Kentucky Apple Cocktail, pictured below - Kentucky Bourbon, apple juice, bitters and lemon), and Anna, the restaurant's perkiest waitress, descended upon my Brooklyn apartment for a switcheroo - This time, I would serve.

Serve I did - Potato Crisps with Creme Fraiche, Chattanooga Paddlefish Caviar and Chives, followed by Chicken Scallopine in Wild Mushroom Sauce with Black Truffles (careful readers will note that the sauce was originally T-day gravy) with Green Beans and Toasted Pinenuts. Dessert came in form of individual Dark Chocolate Souffles with Pumpkin Gelato (the latter was another Thanksgiving leftover), consumed heartily with sips of fizzy, raspberry-scented Brachetto d'Aqui to compliment the dish's intensity,

And yet - we still weren't done.

No - there wasn't another onslaught of cheese, although I'm sure that Thalya and Anna wouldn't have objected.

Instead, we capped off the evening with an illegal nightcap: Absinthe.

Compliments of Anna's father, who'd recently returned from Spain, we poured the potent green spirit into champagne glasses. Thalya expertly filled teaspoons with Absinthe soaked sugar and set the spoonfuls aflame. The carmelized sugar was dripped into the 180 proof herbal liquor before we bravely took the glasses to our lips.

Oh, what a rush is the Green Fairy. My throat, my chest, my whole body felt alight with fire with only one small sip. That was all I needed. Anna took a few sips more. Thalya was a trooper and drank her whole glass with glee.

We worried that she might be treading on dangerous territory. Absinthe is remarkably powerful and has been said to spark hallucinations.

Thalya wasn't worried. Besides, pink elephants would be completely appropriate. Did we know that elephants actually love beer? They clearly have an affinity for alcohol. They would be welcome additions to the soiree...

As we called Thalya and Anna a cab, I wondered if elephants also had an affinity for cheese. If so, a whole herd wouldn't be any match for my Five Front friends.

Go DUMBO!