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Been mulling over recipes for an upcoming dinner party.
Fennel keeps coming to mind. Why? I dunno. How will I use it? Not sure. Perhaps with seafood or pork...Hmm...Roasted? In a slaw of some sort? Mashed and mixed into creamy potatoes?
Suggestions anyone?
Tonight I met a gentleman who's grandfather had once been a master brewer/taster for Anheuser-Busch - only to be fired and replaced by a computer.
I let him know that yesterday's Wall Street Journal contained a story that offered a bit of retribution:
Sitting in the wood-paneled "corporate tasting room" of Anheuser-Busch Cos.' headquarters here, August Busch III surveyed five recently thawed cans of Budweiser beer, representing a quarter of a century of beer history. In the early 1980s, the Anheuser chairman ordered that freshly brewed cans of Budweiser and Bud Light be cryogenically frozen, using technology typically employed in preserving human tissue.
"We wanted to make damn sure we would have the same beer 20 years down the road," said Mr. Busch, 68 years old, tapping the table rhythmically with his index finger to accentuate his point.
For decades, Anheuser's aim was to develop a beer that would sell across America, one inoffensive enough to appeal to the nation's varied palate.
Now, that goal is out of step with a shift in consumers' tastes. From coffee to fashion to media, niche products are rising, especially ones that consumers can customize, and the great mass brands of the postwar period are under attack. Imported brews and smaller so-called "craft" beers with stronger flavors are more readily available and are selling fast, as are wines and spirits.
And, it looks like the micro-breweries are getting the last laugh:
"I sit back and chuckle at them going after each other," says David Blossman, president of microbrewery Abita Brewing Co. in Abita Springs, La., which makes brands such as Purple Haze and Turbodog. "It's like comparing Bunny Bread to Wonder Bread." Last year, sales at Abita rose 22.4% to $9.3 million.
I don't know about you, but I'll take a human over a machine any day of the week - even if the machine in question is battery-operated and vibrates.
Good news for those of us who are addicted to the bean:
If you're reading this over your morning cup of coffee, you can sip away with the comforting thought that a new study found no relationship between drinking lots of the brew and coronary heart disease.
Data on more than 120,000 participants in two U.S. studies that followed people for as long as two decades found no link between heart disease and a daily intake of six or more cups of coffee. In fact, the risk was the same as for people who had less than one cup of coffee or tea a month.
Six or MORE cups of coffee a day? Dang!
Tomorrow, I treat myself to a full-on triple-shot latte - and only feel bad about the cost!
Yesterday morning was a comedy of errors. I desperately needed to shake it off. I had to reclaim my Saturday as my own.
What do? It was decidedly dreary outside and rain was already starting to pelt down, making it even drearier. But, I wasn't going to let it beat me down. I would have my Saturday!
A 5:30pm appointment at Angel Feet was booked. I had earned a decadent reflexology session after the morning I'd endured! And after that, who knew what the day would bring for me and my massaged tootsies.
With my session several hours off, I decided to nap - a serious nap - and awoke in enough time to grab a cup of coffee and indulgent 4pm brunch (consisting solely of a buttery Mixed Berry Tart, jam-packed with sweet blueberries and raspberries) at the West Village cafe staple, Tartine. Mmmm.
It was beginning to feel like Saturday.
An hour after I plunked myself into one of the cushioned chairs at Angel Feet and allowed the reflexologist to work her sublime magic, I knew it was Saturday. Yay!
Now what? The raindrops where as incessant as ever. Didn't feel much like a movie. I was supposed to meet Joy in a couple of hours uptown. Didn't really have time to go home to Brooklyn and then come back in later.
Hmmm...
Could always return to Pegu Club. But no. I needed to experience something new.
Then it came to me: Little Branch (pictured above).
I had yet to visit Sasha Petraske's subterranean speakeasy. I was only a few wet blocks away! The perfect plan was put into action.
I was turned away a the door and told to return in 10 minutes when they opened. 10 minutes sounded like an eternity in the rain, but a masterful cocktail did sound like heaven. And, I did have angel feet now, after all.
I traipsed through puddles along 7th Avenue until 7pm arrived and when I returned to Little Branch's door, I saw that I was not alone. Two gents - Matt and Monte - were waiting outside. Waiting for the doors to open. Waiting for some brilliant mixology to brighten their day. And, after a 15 minute soaking wet holdup until the door finally swung open, we realized that we were a band of cocktail connoisseurs. Kindred spirits.
We clambered down the dark stairwell waxing poetic about rums and prohibition-era drinks, when suddenly - SPLAT!
I'd missed a drop off and, well, dropped off. Ouch! Matt and Monte came to my rescue and helped me slip into something more comfortable - a booth.
Soon my splat was all but forgotten. Three frothy Bee's Kisses were before us. Then three more. Then three rum drinks that went without name and went down quick and smooth. Then three more.
Chatter ensued as we imbibed. Talk of the movie industry. Talk of failed romances. Talk of Balzac. Talk of cooking soup. Talk of dive bars. Talk of sex.
And, to think, they were straight.
I'd somehow stumbled (and splatted) my way into a brotherhood of booze, babes, business and books. How it happened, I wasn't quite certain - but I was one of the guys.
And, to think, I'm straight.
A walk to the corner. A cab hailed. Cards exchanged.
Yes. I had my Saturday.
NOTE: Contrary to the impression given by this and my last posting - Have no fear. I am not turning into a lush. I'm just getting a wee taste of the lush life, in between episodes that involve water, coffee, tea and other teetotaling beverages.
This was one of the longest weeks in recorded history. Not a bad week. Just an inordinately long one.
It was a week that called for deep satisfaction and comfort. Last night, I could resist the call no longer. I needed a man who knew me. A man who would take care of my needs without my even having to express them. A man of inspiration and intuition.
For this, I turned to Phil, one of the most gifted bartenders I know.
The scene: Pegu Club.
The drink: A riff on the Juniperotivo Cocktail. (Pictured above.)
Phil knows me as a gin drinker. I am more than willing to experiment with anything he deems worthy of putting into a glass, but he is aware of my affinity for the gin.
So, why did he think it best to perform a switcheroo and sub out the namesake gin in the Juniperotivo for Rittenhouse Rye Whiskey? The pomegranate molasses, mint and lime juice remained. It was only the juniper-based spirit that he banished from my glass.
Why?
Because Phil is a mind-reader - or more to the point, a palate-reader. The rye took the sweetness of the drink down a notch and added an edge of spice and complexity.
Spice and complexity.
Just the ticket to get me from Thursday to Friday.
A word of advice: Find a good bartender. Belly up to the bar as often as possible. Tip amply as you go. But, most importantly, find a good bartender.
I've found Phil. And who have you discovered? Please share. I promise to use the knowledge wisely - and tip amply as I go.
I'd forgetten the deep pleasures of making an old-fashioned bundt cake. But once I started mixing the thick sour cream batter for this Brooklyn Bundt, and mixed up the chocolate chip, pecan, cinnamon sugar struesel that's layered between, my baking sensory recall went into overdrive.
The cake is still in the oven and the vanilla and cinnamon are wafting through the kitchen and tickling my nose as I type this entry.
Looking forward to a slice tomorrow.
If you also feel like having a bundt in the oven, here's my recipe:
Brooklyn Bundt
2 cups flour
1 tsp. baking powder
1 tsp. baking soda
1/4 tsp. salt
2 sticks butter (softened)
1 cup & 2 TBSP sugar
2 eggs
1 1/2 cup sour cream
2 tsp. vanilla
1 tsp. cinnamon
1/2 cup chopped pecans
1 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Sift together flour, baking powder, baking soda and salt.
Separately, cream butter with 1 cup sugar, mixing for 2 -3 minutes. Add eggs one at a time, beating mixture thoroughly. Alernately beat in dry ingredients and sour cream into the butter mixture. Add vanilla.
In a small bowl, mix together cinnamon, 2 TBSP sugar, pecans and chips.
Spray bundt pan with a non-stick like Pam, if the pan isn't non-stick already. Sprinkle 1/4 of the chip mixture on the bottom of the pan. Pour 1/2 the batter over the chip mixture. Sprinkle almost all of the rest of the chip mix and then add the remaining batter. Top with remaining chip mixture.
Bake for 45 minutes.
You scoff at this posting's title?
Poor you.
You do not know the wonders of Philadelphia's Chinatown. You do not know the pleasures of Ocean Harbor, with its clattering dim sum carts filled with ethereal Shu Mai Dumplings stuffed with pork, shrimp and quail egg, and Steamed Roast Pork Buns. You do not know the restaurant's warm, fragrant and altogether addictive rendition of Sticky Rice in Lotus Leaf (pictured above), green leafy bundles containing chewy, pearl-like grains, bits of sweet Chinese sausage, golden egg yolk, stewed pork, morsels of barbecued duck, and more.
Got you feeling jealous now, don't I? You wish you'd gone to Philly to see my Mom on Saturday and share in these delectable nibbles.
Would it make you feel worse, if I told you that we followed up our lunch in Chinatown with a visit to Capogiro to indulge in ice cold Honey-Nasturtium Gelato and Pineapple-Mint Sorbetto? What about Sicilian Pistachio Gelato and Honey-Tangerine Sorbetto? Would that be better?
No. I guess not.
Well then, let me repeat. Poor you.
Best moment at my recent Passover seder? My decidedly Judaic pal Ben explaining the benefits of hand-me-down Maxwell House Haggadahs to my decidedly Anglo-Saxon pal Christine.
"After years and years of being used at family seders, you'll notice that the pages are filled with the loving stains of wine, matzoh ball soup, brisket and more. So, feel free to nosh on the pages, if the ceremony takes too long and you find yourself hungry before we get to dinner."
Grand advice. Christine didn't exactly take it. However, she did make sure to leave a stain or two of her own in one of the books.
How was last night unlike any other night?
Well, first off there was a gorgeous spring bouquet from my pal Grant. He had let me know the day before that he was going to be unable to attend my Passover seder dinner and decided to send some flowers to make up for his lack of presence.
He was missed. But dang, if the fleurs weren't purty!
The adoration of the fleurs was followed by an abbreviated read through the Haggadah, avec homemade charoseth and a technicolor display of the plagues, compliments of a VHS tape of the 1956 film version of "The Ten Commandments." The movie was cued to the scene where Moses turns the waters of Egypt to blood. Great stuff.
What can follow blood, frogs, vermin, flies, murrain, boils, hail, locusts, darkness and the slaying of the first born? Homemade Matzoh Ball soup!
Hard to top that. But I tried with plates of Lamb Shanks Stewed with Pomegranate and Cinnamon, alongside Chick Peas with Saffron, Cardamom and Chopped Pistachios, and Cucumber Salad with a Thyme Vinaigrette.
Looks pretty good, doesn't it?
Capped off the evening with my Strawberry-Mint and Grapefrut-Rosemary Sorbets with Coconut Macaroons.
Not a bad seder, if I do say myself.
And, I do.
Wish I was talking about a new glamorous fast food chain coming from across the sea to plant roots in the U.S. (Even better, wish I were talking about a new glamorous slow food-focused chef coming from across the sea to plant roots in the U.S.)
No such luck.
According to the New York Times, McDonald's is experimenting with a new drive-thru order system that crosses state lines:
Like many American teenagers, Julissa Vargas, 17, has a minimum-wage job in the fast-food industry