VittlesVamp

Prep

I'm about to head-off for my European-North African adventure and I think I'm all prepared.

I've read Anthony Bourdain's A Cook's Tour for background on eats in several of my stops. Also finished Driving Over Lemons, A Meal Observed (no, I don't have reservations at Taillevant) and Eat, Pray, Love to help set the stage.

Have two more books for the road - The Caliph's House for a real-life tale of Morocco and Shadow of the Wind for a dose of fiction set in Barcelona.

Watched Roman Holiday for the millionth time.

In addition, I've been listening to a French language audiobook on my iPod to get ready for my first stop - Paris.

Wish me bon voyage - and many adventures. Promise a full report when I return mid-March!

Russian Relaxation

My friend Queen Celeste had a very unusual idea for a girl's night. Now, I live in NYC, so you think I woulda already heard about the full range of girl's night options available in this great metropolis - but this one was a new one on me.

The Russian Baths. Down in the heart of the Financial District. Co-ed. Beer available.

This was either going to be very, very bad or very, very good.

Happily for me, I can report that Wall Street Bath & Spa 88 was the latter. Zig-zagging through the "spa's" shabby maze of two saunas, steam room, cold plunge, jacuzzi, pool, lounge and restaurant, it was all at once exotic, grubby and utterly soothing. Being beaten by Celeste with a bunch of oak leaves (pictured above) while schvitzing in an extreme-super-heated sauna was particularly fun female-bonding!

Taking a break in the lounge with a Baltica 333, Pringles and some nasty smoked fish wasn't half bad either. It might not have been a gourmet meal, but surrounded by a veritable sea of sweaty Russians - from big furry ones in trunks and natty robes to lithe young ones in bikinis - I didn't feel like I was in Manhattan anymore. Maybe Brighton Beach. Definitely St. Petersburg. But not Manhattan.

I'll definitely go back. But next time, I'll skip the fish - and try to find a hunky, compliant Russkie to do my branch beating in the sauna.

Muddled

Right now, I feel like I've been muddled - or at the very least the past week has been given the full muddling treatment. All of the week's highs and lows crushed together to form a bizarre Mojito of memories...

*Attending a swank book party for the fictionalized Judith Regan "a la Devil Wears Prada" tell-all in a chic - I'll never be able to afford anything like this in my lifetime - Soho loft, with bad drinks and good company.

*Escaping from the party in order to moan over succulent Pork Shoulder with Rose Petal Glassato at Lupa with my publishing world pal Bethanne.

*A day of meetings, meetings and more meetings, in-between which I scarf down a Lean Cuisine Salisbury Steak.

*Introducing my mother to the miracle that is Pegu Club.

*Feeling unsure as to whether or not I'm at the theater or a gay dance club during the throbbingly fun finale of Blue Man Group.

*Restless nights of sleep turning into days filled with way too much coffee - and the jittery worry that I may never sleep through the night again.

*Slurping thick, generously coated Chinese Sesame Noodles, as a friend attempts to make me laugh - and insists I try drinking heavily in order to get a full 8 hours of rest. That evening I decide to forgo his suggestion - and miraculously get a good night's sleep anyway.

*Gorgeous platters of charcoal-grilled Shrimp and Octopus at Astoria's acclaimed Elias Corner.

*Taking great delight in exploring all the Internet has to offer by way of research for my upcoming whirlwind trip.

Yes, you read the last bullet correctly.

The Vamp is about to embark on a three-week holiday - Paris, Rome, Milan, Marrakech, Barcelona and Madrid.

Won't be heading out until later in the week. Promise to post again before I leave...

And, if you have travel tips for any or all of these destinations, please share!

Raw and Ready

There's nothing like a night with the girls, a few bottles of vino, and some raw meat.

Know what I mean?

In all honestly, my archaeologically-inclined pal Kristin inspired the evening's festivities. For the past few month's she's been on a mission to find New York's best Steak Tartare.

I was determined that it would be found in my home.

So a dare - and dinner table were born.

You don't just jump into Steak Tartare though. You need to give Steak Tartare a proper build.

Therefore we began with a drumroll, a bottle of well-selected Chardonnay and Tartare - Tuna Tartare that is. (Pictured above.) The classic Mediterranean dressing of chives, capers, mayonnaise, piment d'espellete and other sundry ingredients, played beautifully against the ruby red sashimi-grade tuna I'd purchased that morning from my local fishmonger. We scooped the lovely stuff up with endive leaves, but quickly realized that we still hungered for more.

That's what raw can do to women. We want more.

Decided it was wise to take a break and return to some food that wasn't of the raw category. I quickly whipped up plates of bruschetta, topped with chickpeas in a thyme vinaigrette; fig preserves and Serrano ham; and basil oil with roasted red peppers, sliced egg and sea salt. (Pictured below.)

In a word: Yum!

But "yum" didn't last for long. We were ladies with raw red meat on our minds.

I let Kristin chop the filet mignon into a fine mince. She did it beautifully. I added diced shallots, anchovies, cornichon, Dijon mustard, Worcestershire Sauce and more, spooning out the glorious mixture onto our plates, graced with a dollop of Dijon-enhanced creme fraiche and a bit of salad on side. (Pictured below.)

Need I say more?

Kristin and company agreed: The best Steak Tartare can be found in my home.

And, what can you possibly serve to follow up the best Steak Tartare in town?

Copious amounts of cheese, of course.

In a word: Yum!

Raising the Bar

I have to admit something - I've never been a chocoholic.

I know. You're shocked. You're disappointed. But, it's true.

In fact, when it comes to picking something off of a typical high-falutin dessert menu, I steer clear from the Flourless Chocolate Cake and its miniature warm molten brethren. I'm usually more of a fruit or nut person. Chocolate isn't even my favorite flavor of ice cream. I'm a Butter Pecan fan.

There, I said it. I've come clean.

So now you'll understand why I felt a bit concerned embarking upon a chocolate tasting session at the lauded Michel Cluizel, a tiny retail and restaurant testament to all things chocolate, tucked within ABC Carpet & Home. I was particularly nervous, yet intrigued, to learn that my chocolate journey would be guided by Sage Friedman (with that name, he must have hippie parents), an honest-to-goodness Chocolate Sommelier. Would Sage figure out my deep - not so dark or even bittersweet - secret?

Not so much.

As a matter of fact, I think he created a convert.

Here was a man that happily shared the fact that he starts each and every day with a 30 gram bar of Michel Cluizel Noir 72%, Blended Dark Chocolate. On top of that, he seemed obsessed with a commitment to quality. No soy lecithin here! He seemed equally enamored with the flavor, texture and notes that each and every bite of good chocolate can possess.

What can I say? His passion won me over.

Well, that and the chocolate happened to rock the house too!

From the Plantation "Concepcion" (66% cocoa) Single Origin Dark Chocolate, harvested on a single plantatin in Venezuela, to Cluizel's most intense offering, the Noir Infini 99% Blended Dark Chocolate, I was entranced. Sage paired several chocolates with spirits to bring out the best of both. Armagnac and Tequila danced on my tongue, tangoing with the various chocolate varieties.

Mmmm...Oh, yes!

And then there were the bonbons...

Need I say more?

Well, yeah.

Go for the one that looks like a Macaroon Cookie. Talk about moan-worthy!

Oh, my. I was sated and elated all at once.

So, I guess I'm chocoholic after all, with one wee caveat: I only go for the good stuff. The really good stuff. The great stuff.

The Michel Cluizel.

It's A Family Affair

In times of upheaval, there is nothing like a family dinner to get your mind off of your troubles - that and a four-year old nephew suggesting a career transition into firefighting.

There is also nothing like a classic, all-American, upscale chain restaurant such as The Palm to make you feel as though all will be right with the world - as long as you have a plate of Half Cottage Fries, Half Fried Onion and a big bowl of Creamed Spinach to soften life's blows.

Then there's the entertaining family dynamic - My fave being the moment my sister-in-law accidentally dropped the ketchup top in her wine glass, and my step-brother happily traded his glass of Cabernet Sauvignon for hers. He actually thought the ketchup essence added a "special something" to the wine's bouquet. What a nose!

All in all, from my Surf n' Turf to the Key Lime Pie, over the course of Friday's family dinner I seemed to gain some much needed ground after the past week's insanity.

It was all going to be okay.

But, let's admit it - It would be MUCH better if I could get a side of the Creamed Spinach for the road.

The Burn That Soothes

I have had a life-altering week - and not necessarily in the good sense. My nerves have been frazzled. My stomach in knots. Where could I turn for comfort?

My ice cream maker.

I paired it with fresh ginger to create a rich, heady ginger ice cream that all at once soothed my frayed edges, while providing a hint of heat that tickled my tongue and forced a smile.

Tomorrow night I'll share this icy confection with a very special group of friends - friends who have been placed in similarly nerve wracking situations. I can only hope this creamy dessert brings smiles to their lips as well.

I could ask no more from my culinary talents, or my ice cream maker.