VittlesVamp

Boo! Hiss!

Great neighborhood restaurants are meant to be well-guarded secrets. Glorious hideaways with solid food, friendly staff and the comfort of regulars. And, if they know exactly how you like your Negroni, you're in real luck.

I guess I'm lucky. I can claim two such haunts in my 'hood. The first is Five Front, which I have extolled on this blog many a time. The second is Noodle Pudding.

Yes, I know what you're thinking. Noodle Pudding?!? What kind of a name is that?

I agree. Frankly, until I started frequenting this Italian trattoria, I always associated Noodle Pudding with the rich, Judaic casserole treat pictured above. But now, Noodle Kugel is Noodle Kugel - and Noodle Pudding is simply one of my favorite, casual Italian restaurants in the city.

This would a fine state of affairs - a state featuring a perfect Caesar Salad, Paparadelle with Wild Boar Ragu and Vinny's Montauk Bass - but then the New Yorker had to go and ruin it.

They ran a review.

I hate them. Really. I hate them. I mean, the review itself is fine. I actually agree with their take on this humble, homey Brooklyn restaurant:

If you set out to create the epitome of a decent neighborhood restaurant, you

The Perfect Cocktail

Mondays are hard enough. There's no need to make them worse by searching for the perfect cocktail. And so, tonight I categorically refused to search.

Instead, I just went straight to Flatiron Lounge.

I know I've waxed poetic about this Art Deco watering hole before. But, trust me, this place is worth every syllable - especially when I'm ordering a deep pink Cherry Fizz. A bubbly beauty, enriched with tart cherry juice, Scotch (yes, Scotch), and topped with brandy-infused cherries, this cocktail practically turned my Monday night into a Friday evening. (Well, Thursday eve, perhaps...)

Mmmmmmmm...

Pure decadence in a glass.

I was supremely happy.

Another sip.

Mmmmmmmm...

And, to think, I hadn't even explored the wonderful world of gin yet! (Not to mention the cute gent on the next stool, angling to catch my eye.)

All in all, a lovely Friday night. Or was it Thursday?

Then again, is the idea of Monday evening really so bad?

Tonight - not too bad at all.

Florida Gold

This weekend was filled with vittles mediocrity and theatrical glories.

The dramatic highlight: Cate Blanchett in Hedda Gabbler at BAM.

The victual highlight: A toss up between a glass of Nivole Moscato d'Asti and a gorgeously tart grapefruit, straight from the tree of a friend's Floridian vacation villa.

The Moscato d'Asti was bubbly and honey sweet.

The grapefruit was bursting with juice and reminded me of warm, sunny days.

The temperature today: 51 degrees (and rainy too).

Close call. But, the grapefruit wins.

Crawfish Clawing Back

Sounds like I was incredibly lucky to be able to get my hands on crawfish for my Mardi Gras dinner party a few weeks back:

Cajun rancher Charles Broussard needs a favor from above: Oodles of rain to wash away the salt that Hurricane Rita deposited in his crawfish and rice ponds, ruining them.

Broussard is not alone after Rita pushed the Gulf of Mexico more than 17 miles inland, inundating 6,000 acres of crawfish and about 140,000 acres of rice, the Louisiana State University AgCenter says.

A drought has worsened matters because the salt left behind isn't being flushed out. Broussard says it might take years for production to get swinging again.

Their plight has Louisianans facing the unthinkable: life without crawfish. Already this year, fewer crawfish boils are filling the air of parks and church yards with the smell of mudbugs stewing in cayenne pepper and paprika.

But, the AP holds out hope for crawfish lovers:

"The typical consumer shouldn't give up on the crawfish boil this year," said Greg Lutz, an aquaculture specialist. "They might just have to wait a bit longer."

So, should I feel guilty about taking some of these precious crustaceans out of the Bayou and onto my dinner plate? Well, my crawfish were actually farmed a ways off from Louisiana - China to be exact. Mardi Gras Moo Goo Gai Pan for everyone!

Video Killed The Radio Star

Love listening to NPR's This American Life. And, I adore food and cooking. (Natch!) So, why is it that I have yet to heed my foodie friends' advice and tune into the popular foodie radio show The Splendid Table?

They keep telling me that if I'd just tune in, I'd become addicted. Yet, I don't. Why? Is it that food seems too physical, too visual (pornographic in a sense), to seem the proper topic for ears only?

Well, if my friends' clamoring wasn't enough to get me to give up my aural prejudice when it comes to vittles, today's New York Times has finally done the trick. The Dining In, Dining Out section sports a cover story exploring tasty radio and podcasting fare:

Fans of the medium say that radio taps deeply into one's food memories, feeding directly into the brain in a way the written word can't. Where television cooking evokes a sort of slack-jawed passivity, radio requires the listener to hear the sizzle of butter and bread on a griddle and conjure the sight and smell of a grilled cheese.

Television might be the superior medium for actual cooking instruction, but radio fans say it's easier to cook and listen than it is to cook and watch.

"You know how you feel like in your living room and your friends are over and you just have that easy vibe? That's what radio feels like to me," said Ms. Quinn, who was food editor for Martha Stewart Living Television before becoming the host of the "EatDrink" radio show on the Sirius satellite network, which announced earlier this week that it had 4 million subscribers.

The current interest in radio has been primed by the niche community building on the Internet, where one can discover other lovers of hibiscus or create friends simply by posting a photographic record of recently consumed bowls of ramen.

"Food radio nowadays gives you that access you learned to have from the Internet but with the live interactiveness of TV," Ms. Quinn said. "It can be a private experience but it also is a public one."

Thinking I'd better tune in...And, possibly consider launching a podcast of my own, while I'm at it. Anyone out there want to listen-in as I make ice cream? The machine can make quite a ruckus. But then again, so can I!

Spring Has Sprung

The first sign of spring for a New York foodie?

Shake Shack is back open for business.

Two Great Things - That Do NOT Taste Great Together

Okay, maybe only one of the two things is actually great. But, both of them were inexorably bound together on a plate of complimentary petit four, following a tasty dinner at Compass on the Upper West Side.

The dubious duo in question? Pork rinds and white chocolate. Or to be more exact - pork rinds dipped in white chocolate.

It sounded so completely disgusting, I thought it had to be good.

I was sooooooo wrong. Some unions are just never meant to be. And, this one is long overdue for a quickie divorce.

Tre Bicchieri 2006

What is it about a jam-packed ballroom, overflowing with Italian wine and Italian accents that sets me to quivering, year after year? There is something about the annual Tre Bicchieri event at the Puck Building that inevitably draws me to its overcrowded floors each and every March.

Perhaps it's the Pieropan Calvarino Soave Classico.

Perhaps it's the Monte Rossa Franciacorta.

Perhaps it's the Fattoria Le Terrazze Sassi Neri.

Perhaps.

Nah!

I think it is more along the line of the grazies and pregos being uttered oh-so seductively out of the Armani-clad Italian male eye candy swirling around the room.

I could drink it in all night long.

And all I can say to Slow Food and the Gambero Rosso, the groups that organize this yearly U.S. pilgramage of vino-lovin' uomini: Grazie! Mille grazie!

Offally Good

What a way to wake up! Innards on parade. On CBS Sunday Morning: A profile of St. John Bar and Restaurant, London's favorite hot spot for spleen and alike.

Mmmm, good.

No wonder British food has such a good rep!

Nectar of the Grape

Love using the word "nectar." And, loved drinking lots of lovely vino over the past two days...

Tuesday I happily imbibed at a wine class at Vinoteca. There, I tasted a range of glorious whites and reds (mostly reds) from Italy's Piemonte region. Of course I overindulged with the Moscato d'Asti at the top of the class. But who am I not to ask for seconds in my flute, when the bottle is still half-full? (Yes, I'm a half-full gal, rather than half-empty.) However, Moscato d'Asti's addictive bubbles and sweet lychee bouquet aside, it was a robust Barbera-Nebbiola blend later in the evening that really had me swooning.

Still, I hadn't had enough of the grape.

I'm a weak woman. I couldn't resist, and last night paid call on Morrell Wine Bar & Cafe for cheese and Red Zinfandel. A brilliant combination.

All of this wining-around-town is in training for the big game: the Tre Bicchieri next Tuesday night at the Puck Building. I'll be there with my game face on, my palate at the ready and gorgeous Italian wines (and men) on my mind.