VittlesVamp

Party Therapy

It had been a while since I'd thrown a proper dinner party. I was due. Work wasn't going to get the best of me. Invites went out.

Truth is, when I'm overstressed, I can find great comfort in my kitchen. I find joy wandering the stalls at my local greenmarket. I take pleasure in going to my local butcher. I feel glee in purchasing a fresh, crusty baguette at my neighborhood bakery.

The results of all of this culinary therapy?

*A Grazing Board of: Kalamata Olives, Truffled Mousse Pate and Goat's Milk Brie Stuffed with Figs
*A Platter of Heirloom Tomatoes Served with Buffalo Mozzarella, Fresh Basil and Champagne Vinaigrette
*Roasted Wheels of Chicken Sausage with Aged Provolone and Peppers, Served Atop Wilted Baby Spinach (Pictured above.)
*Penne with Four Kinds of Summer Squash (Pictured below.)
*Individual Chocolate Souffles Served with Earl Grey Ice Cream

Between all of that, good friends, quality chatter, a wee baby, a wee puppy, and several bottles of good wine, it was most definitely a therapuetic evening.

Friday Night Dilemma

Another killer week work-wise.

And, what to do on Friday to put a "nightcap" on my rollercoaster week? Last Friday's Anchor Steams, free punk rock concert and flirting with the Frenchie would be kinda hard to beat.

Something drastic was called for...

Men in kilts.

Yes, I hightailed with a pal over to St. Andrews - the only Scottish dining establishment in Manhattan - for brogue accents, gin & tonics, shortbread, gents in skirts, and lots of spicy banter with the barkeeps.

The kicker?

They ID'ed our bar tab ticket with the code name "Trouble."

Those Scots - so intuitive.

Style Over Substance

72 Clark Street in Brooklyn Heights has gone through many incarnations - a bagel bakery, a sports bar and most recently an odd-duck of a French-Thai spot. But now, it looks like the ill-fated location has found religion - Well, almost...

Apparently, the new owners are planning to install a "Kosher-style" steakhouse into the space. Which raises the question - What the heck is Kosher-STYLE?

Will they force waitstaff to speak Yiddish while serving treif steakhouse classics like Shrimp Cocktails and T-Bones with buttery Bernaise sauce?

Or will they simply serve non-Kosher meat, but make you feel guilty if you don't finish everything on your plate?

Either way: Oy!

Tasty

This week has been about three things for me: work, work and work.

Yet somehow - miraculously enough - in between I did end up enjoying bits and pieces of culinary respite. And all those bits and pieces - oddly enough - evoked the seas:

Plump, chilled shrimp at Cit

Not Dead Yet?

There's no question that the legendary 2nd Avenue Deli has shuttered, but by all appearances yesterday on 9th Street between 2nd and 3rd Avenues - the 2nd Avenue Deli's van lives on...

Does anyone know if this signals a potential rebirth of the East Village pastrami palace? I certainly hope so. Although their sandwiches were overpriced, the sheer New York authenticity of the place was priceless. And, their pastrami was pretty darn tasty too!

Basking in the Fog

Right before the steamy dog days of August made me say "woof," I found myself happily enveloped in fog - cool, soothing fog - in cool, soothing San Francisco. I was there for business, but not surprisingly I found time to get in a few culinary highlights.

I hit "replay" on a dish I can't seem to resist when I get to the city -Zuni Cafe's famous Roast Chicken with Bread Salad.

I also enjoyed a undeniably juicy Peanut and Tasso-Crusted Pork Chop at the Bay Area's answer to K-Paul's, Town Hall.

And, surprisingly one of my foodie faves was a down-and-dirty Indian spot on Jones Street in the heart of the Tenderloin district, Chutney (my tasty lunch spread pictured below).

The Chicken Tikka Masala was fragrant and creamy - with just the right amout of "feel the burn" spice. The Raita was refeshingly mellow. The perfect counterpoint. The Naan was the ideal method for sopping up both the bright orange and yogurt sauces. And, my sweet Mango Lassi brought the meal full-circle. Mmmm...

When work was done and I was free to play on Saturday, my friend Paul obliged me with a rented Mini-Cooper convertible and a glorious road trip to Sonoma. The daytrip was capped off with a soul-satisfying lunch at the wine country classic The Girl and The Fig, where we tucked into Fried Green Tomatoes. We swooned and ate them bit by bit, savoring every single bite. Apparently our savoring threw off the kitchen. Before we were even done, the server arrived with our two sandwiches: a Croque Monsieur stuffed with Niman Ranch jambon and St George cheese; and Bistro on crusty baguette, filled with rich chicken liver mousse, cornichons and spicy mustard.

What to do? We asked him to just hold them until we were ready - hold them right there by our table. He was almost willing to oblige. Almost.

We accepted the sandwiches - and put in an early request that the waiter hold our ice cream-stuffed Profiteroles and Berry Crisp with Fig and Port Ice Cream until we were ready. He smiled wide and offered to hold them until the 'scream melted.

Foolish boy. He had no idea what he was getting himself into.

OK. We were nice. OK. Paul was nice. He made me relent after 3 minutes and let the adorable server - named Gent, adorably enough (and pictured above) - finally place the dessert plates on the table.

Perhaps I'd been cruel. But, that said, I think Gent was amused. Heck, as I left the restaurant, he made sure to tell me that he hoped there was a return visit to The Girl and the Fig in my future.

Heck, I hope so too!

But not this trip. I only had time for one more culinary stop. So that evening I stopped at Chez Spencer (pictured below) with Paul, his enchanting wife Christina, and the legendary Hi and Ho, where we sipped and supped with much by way of laughter and wee bit by way of dance.

I returned to New York exactly one week ago today. And all week I've been yearning for the fog. I don't know if this desire will lift. Might have to relent and buy a plane ticket back to San Fran in the near future...Besides, I'm sure Gent is missing me already...

A Parting Gift

Just came back from a marvelous dinner at Mario Batali's Otto.

I could talk about starting with a glorious cheese plate, accompanied by truffle honey, brandied cherries and chili-spiked apricots.

I could talk about a table laden with toothsome summer squash showered with pecorino, a crisp Quattro Stagioni pizza and a platter of intense, sliced heirloom tomatoes.

I could talk about the end of the meal, an Olive Oil Copetto, complete with strawberries, passion fruit granita, basil oil and maldon salt.

Instead I want to talk about the real end of the meal.

No, not the espresso. I'm talking about the lip balm.

Yes, you read right.

After we paid the check, our waiter meandered over with an unexpected gift: Bigelow Mentha Lip Shine (pictured above). Mint-infused for fresh breath, it was a very nice offering. Nice, but decidedly odd.

I dunno. Doggie bags are one thing. And, heck, I can also get behind providing patrons with a little to-go treat, like freshly baked muffins for breakfast the next morning. But, I think things might have gone a bit too far when cosmetics and apothecary items are being proffered at the end of the meal.

What's next? Lee Press-On Nails and Glade Plug-In Air Fresheners?

I certainly hope not.

Relish

Sometimes things that are lost can be found. Sometimes you find them where you least expect.

In places like Sparkill, New York.

There I found a piece of Brooklyn past - a piece of its restaurant pioneering past.

There I found the New Prospect Caf