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What a way to start a morning: MY BARTENDER on the cover of the New York Times' Dining In, Dining Out section. Yes, it's true. Phil Ward of Death & Company (and late of both Pegu Club and Flatiron Lounge) is featured in today's Times talking about the miracle of bitters.
I'm hoping this doesn't mean that he's gonna be too famous and fancy to appreciate the little people (like moi). Still, as long as he's still shaking and stirring, I'm a happy camper - and a happy drinker.
Word in the nabe is that Henry Street will be welcoming a new bouncing baby gourmet pizzeria on Wednesday. The owner of Oven - located at 60 Henry - has been handing out some advance samples to Brooklyn Heights proprietors, already winning kudos for his thin-crust Pesto Pie. Apparently their wine list is gonna be a champ too - 150 labels is the buzz.
The Vamp has been a long-time fan of Henry Street's Fascati's Pizzeria, but perhaps there is room for another great slice in the North Heights. Moreover, Fascati's doesn't serve anything stronger than Diet Coke.
Last night I had the opportunity to sip a bit of...well, a bit of something special. At the end of a fine meal at Jack The Horse Tavern, I was offered the nectar of the gods (a misnomer, mind you, since I'm actually referring to a goddess in particular - one Ms. LeNell Smothers). The Tavern's esteemed bartender - one Mr. Damon Dyer - had recently paid call on Ms. Smothers and acquired a bottle of her Red Hook Rye Batch #2 for his own use.
He'd been waiting for someone to taste it with, and I was the lucky cocktail geek to be in the right place at the right time. Besides, Damon was itching to give it a swirl and a sip.
The bottle was opened. Small glasses of the elixir were poured.
The nose was sweet, but rye went down like fire. Then my mouth had the pleasure of a sensational burn accompanied by a tantalizing carmel and spice finish.
This isn't rye for the weak. Frankly, I may be too much of a wuss to ever buy a bottle. That little thimble full was enough of a palate rollercoaster to keep me off of the E-ticket rides for a while.
Still, what a ride!
A day that begins with this sign is a very, very good day.
"Cheezborger! Cheezborger! No fries, cheeps! No Pepsi, Coke!"
Where sweeter words ever spoken? Mama Vamp and I were convinced not, when we started one of our Chicago mornings at The Billy Goat Tavern. Made famous by SNL, this subterranean hamburger joint was the real deal - even at 10:30am. The breakfast of champions? A Double-Cheeseburger with ketchup and pickles, washed down with a Diet Coke. (Wheaties can eat its heart out. Mine is going to be too busy being clogged up by burger grease!)
Billy Goat's delights aside, have to admit that our best meal in the Windy City was a tad more upscale. More than a tad actually. It was had at Custom House. Positioned as an upscale steak house, its positioning is off the mark. Steak may be on the menu, but you would be remiss not to try some of the kitchen's other outstanding fare, from the swoon-worthy appetizer of Roasted Quail with a crunchy Onion Beignet (pictured below) to a succulent braised Bone-In Beef Shortrib accompanied by Horseradish Cream Puffs.
And then there were the pastry chef's eyes-roll-back-in-your-head desserts, including a chocolate concoction that had Mama Vamp hogging her plate and sighing with pleasure. Who could blame her?
All I can say is thank goodness we left Chicago the day after that dinner. And, thank goodness for my gym membership!
What is it about Chicago that speaks to me?
The glorious architecture?
The tequila selection at Frontera Grill? Or better yet, could it be the restaurant's ethereal slow-steamed sweet corn tamales made with spring nettles and homemade ricotta, surrounded by a tangy tomatillo sauce?
Could it be the South Loop's renaissance?
How about the city's prohibition mobster history? Artifacts can be enjoyed today - including a lusty Italian feast at Gioco, where the restaurant's sweet terrace exterior belies the location's original use as a down and dirty speakeasy.
Might it be the soul-shaking sounds of the blues that eminate from clubs like Buddy Guy's Legends?
What about the eye-popping views of Chicago and Lake Michigan at the Signature Lounge on the 96th Floor of the Hancock Building? (Note: The best vantage of the city can be seen from the floor to ceiling windows in the ladies room. No joke.)
Then again, what about the incredible collection at The Art Institute of Chicago?
Or could it simply be the cutting-edge fashions spotted on Michigan Avenue pedestrians, as part of the city's Puerto Rican Day Parade?
Think we can definitely scratch that last one off the list.
Leaving on a jet plane...
Heading back to the Windy City. This time around I'll be bringing Mama Vamp in tow.
Adventures are sure to ensue.
Is there ever a bad day for cupcakes?
I think not.
Happily, I was recently a houseguest at a friend's home, where her entire family agreed with that sentiment.
An afternoon of cupcake baking was had by one and all. Pictured above is one of my pal's charming daughters assisting in the cupcake making festivities.
The only problem with making cupcakes with a bevy of assistants? Each one demanding a different frosting.
Thank goodness I'm the Vamp! So, no worries. I simply whipped up three tasty buttercreams - Vanilla, Chocolate and Cream Cheese. All three were tasty, but the Cream Cheese frosting was the knock-out winner. Recipe is below, if you ever think it might be a good day for cupcakes...
Cream Cheese Frosting
1 stick butter (softened)
1 8 oz. brick of cream cheese (softened)
1/4 cup milk
1 1/2 cups confectioner's sugar (sifted)
1/2 teaspoon vanilla
1 lemon
With a mixer on high-speed, whip butter, cream cheese and milk together in a large bowl. Add vanilla, as well as zest and juice from the lemon. Incorporate confectioner's sugar 1/2 cup at a time, continuing to mix on high-speed until smooth. Makes enough yummy buttercream for 12 - 18 cupcakes, depending on how heavily you want to frost them.
In addition to eviscerating Provence this week, Frank Bruni wrote a New York Times Dining In, Dining Out cover story about rich, fatty meat. He reveled in carnivorous, greasy gluttony.
You go Frank! I'm with you all the way!
In fact, I had started in with meat-mania well before the article hit print. A few days back, invited by my good friend The Sommelier, I attended a mammoth pig roast. The "Lord of the Flies" hog heads are pictured above as evidence of the day's porcine pleasures.
Hosted by one of The Sommelier's oenephile friends, the backyard party was outfitted with several serious smokers, a kick-ass sauce selection and sides aplenty, not to mention bottle upon bottle of vino.
But, it was really the smoky, tender, fat-slicked meat that took centerstage.
Mmm...Looks good, doesn't it? I think that Frank Bruni might be onto something. Or at the very least, gotta give props to The Sommelier and her fatty flesh-eating friends.
Nothing like a great dinner with a great friend (or better yet a great man). Add a good show into the mix and you've got a standing ovation on your hands. And let me say that I've been lucky enough to stand up and applaud three times over the past week.
First up was the surprisingly unmaudlin "Spaulding Gray: Stories Left To Tell," accompanied by a great pal and a late supper of garlicky Cavatelli and Broccoli at Po.
Second was taking in August Wilson's final work "Radio Golf" with a former colleague, followed by a wee Mint Julep, a shared platter of melt-in-your-mouth Hush Puppies and finger-lickin' Barbecued Chicken at Virgil's.
Rounding out my performing arts excursions was an evening of Margaritas, Mexican fare and seductive dance, in the form of a little Upper West Side snacking at Rancho before catching Flamenco Pa' Dos at Symphony Space.
My companion for the evening? Let's just say that he was a man that not only appreciated the fine music and movement - but appreciated me too. (Not that the latter is hard to do!)
With that said, let's close the curtain and enjoy a brief intermission. Jujubes are optional.
Today's New York Times offered up a Dining In, Dining Out cover story about the gustatory glory that is the meatball. It's all well and good, but it appears to me that the Times is lagging far behind the times.
Didn't VittlesVamp expound on this same-said topic over three years ago?
Mind you, late to the ball or not, I'm definitely gonna be testing out some of the recipes featured in the NYT article. In fact, it's inspiring me to throw some sort of meatball-themed fete. After all, my tartare party worked out well. Why not be really adventurous and cook the meat this time around?