VittlesVamp

The Mystery of The Moose-Burger

John McCain's selection for VP, Governor Sarah Palin of Alaska, has raised a number of eyebrows in political circles. Who exactly is this former beauty queen, self-declared hockey Mom of five, with a penchant for hunting and the nickname Sarah Barracuda?

But those in American foodie circles have raised a question all their own: What the heck is a moose-burger?

Governor Palin has already copped to the moose-burger being one of her favorite foods. Yet, an online search didn't turn up much by way of delicious descriptions.

Guessing Palin will be on Today or GMA next week sharing her own personal recipe for this supposed Alaskan classic. Until then, this rather bizarre sounding one will hafta do.

One Last Postcard From Cape Cod

I'm long gone from the Cape, but a blog savvy publicist from the Travel Channel dropped me a line to let me know that I might have given New England's beach paradise short-shrift -- and that I should tune in tonight to catch travel guru Samantha Brown taking her own tour of Cape Cod.

Now, I've seen the Cape, but perhaps you'd like a technicolor gander. If so, Samantha Brown's Cape Cod Passport To Great Weekends episode airs tonight -- Thursday, August 28th at 10:00 pm EST. And you can even check out her travel guide for Cape Cod online ahead of time.

Couldn't help but notice though that neither the Swan Seafood Restaurant nor Chatham are on Samantha's hot spot list. Clearly, she missed out on the real Cape.

Chatham - The False Advertising Capital of Cape Cod

Chatham, Massachussetts. According to my friend Bethanne, this was quintessential Cape Cod.

The beach most certainly lived up to her kvelling.

The town? Not so much.

My village tour got off to a sweet start at the Chatham Candy Manor where we indulged in sugary, tart Vinegar Toffee.

Next on the list was Chatham Cookware. Bizarrely it was low on cookware, but high on being a cafe. Huh?

We followed that up with a visit to The Chatham Cheese Company, a sizable store with a miniscule cheese selection. In comparison to the dairy products, they had an ample collection of vino. It left me wondering if the name "The Chatham Wine Company" had already been taken when the owners decided to set up shop.

Bethanne promised that I wouldn't be similarly let down by our trip to Chatham's legendary bakery supreme, Marion's Pie Shop.

Well, it wasn't a let down. It was astonishing...

That's right. NO PIES.

At this point, Chatham held no charm for me.

We had fresh seafood to pick up for dinner and there was no way we were going to risk hitting up a fish store in Chatham. They'd probably just have chicken.

So, we drove out to Harwich and George's Fish Market, a shop brimming with glorious, briny shellfish and camera-worthy fishmongers too.

Both monger and lobster warranted snapping up!

Cape Cod Swan Song

Cape Cod is pretty. Beautiful in fact. It is Yankee Americana at its finest, from Friendly's to putt-putt golf.

But scenery and red-white-and-blue only goes just so far in The Vamp's book.

I was after one thing and one thing only: seafood - fresh, tasty and served with a smile.

I got the first two by way of shellfish. The latter was more of a challenge.

Visiting my friend Bethanne and her family on the Cape this weekend, we decided to treat ourselves to a seafood supper at Dennisport's own Swan Seafood Restaurant for a relaxing repast.

No such luck.

In short - the service sucked. We had a seasoned waiter all right, not quite as seasoned as those seafaring gents in the vintage postcard I featured a few days ago, but a grey-haired veteran nonetheless. Yet, he forgot to bring my friend's 10 year-old daughter her Coca-Cola, mixed up my glass of Sauvignon Blanc for one of Chardonnay and forgot to bring us water and bread to boot. After I sidled up to the bar to rectify the drink problems -- since our waiter was nowhere to be found -- it took a solid 45 minutes before our government-issued, iceberg laden, pre-meal salads arrived.

I complained to the manager, who promised to look into the situation.

Then another 45 passed before the entrees hit the table. (That was just enough time, by the way, for me to need to BUS the table, since no one would come by to clear the plates.)

That said, the lobster was darn fine...

...as well as the accompanying salt-crusted baked potato.

Still, I couldn't help but bristle when the bill arrived, with nary a discount. I was full, but furious. C'mon, high-season price for a Coke that I had to CARRY to the table myself?

Our waiter explained that "the college kids had just left for the season," leaving the restaurant short-staffed.

That didn't fly with me or my companions. College kids leaving at the end of August is a summer ritual. This shouldn't come as a surprise, and it shouldn't impact our Friday night out.

The management begrudgingly offer us dessert and coffee on the house.

All well and good, but frankly not good enough.

Harumph!

And this is where a lobster or scrod pun would come in handy. But since I can't come up with anything cleverer, lets simply say that the whole experience left me crabby.

Cape Cod Bound

Off to South Yarmouth for a weekend of sun, sand and seafood. Also hoping the salty gents on this Cape Cod postcard are somewhere to be found. They're quite the hotties!

Blame Canada

My friend Jenn was obsessed. She'd been chatting with a Canadian colleague and was consumed by tales of Canada's pub fare extraordinaire - Poutine - a mound of crisp French Fries, topped with fresh cheese curds and drenched in rich brown gravy.

She HAD to have some. Unfortunately, however, a plane ticket to Montreal was out of the question.

Instead, she asked me and our mutual friend Carrie to join her at the one and only Canuck hot spot in New York City - the Inn at Little West 12th Street.

Jenn rhapsodized about our upcoming Poutine pig-out for a week. Now Carrie and I were officially obsessed as well.

But when our Meatpacking District meet up finally happened last night, we were officially disappointed.

It seems that the Inn hadn't attracted the in-crowd and had stopped serving its Northern clime menu several months ago.

We were despondent.

The only thing to do was high-tail it over to El Faro and drown our sorrows in Tempranillo and Shrimp in Green Sauce.

That said, we haven't given up on the dream that is Poutine. In fact, Carrie and I have booked a quick trip to Toronto in the coming weeks. If necessary, we'll resort to sneaking some back in to the U.S. of A. for Miss Jenn. But, if anyone out there knows of a place to taste Poutine in the five boroughs, please share!

How Do You Say "Yummy" In Spanish?

My archaeologically-inclined friend Kristin went to the Yucatan on a dig and all I got was this intensely dark chocolate with red pepper and fine spices.

Needless to say, a much better pick than a tee-shirt.

Flushing Away My Sunday

After salivating over the New York Times' recent Dining In, Dining Out section homage to Flushing's Chinatown, I couldn't stop dreaming about following in their dining tour footsteps.

Last Sunday, the dream became a reality.

My pal Joy and I headed into the wilds of Queens. There, we dutifully followed the New York Times foodie map. We paid call on it all, from humble stalls like the one above, serving gloriously crisp and juicy Fried Dumplings...

to street-side vendors serving up Rice Crepes with Pork, Scallion and a squirt of searing hot Chili Sauce...

to dingy underground mall eateries featuring Spicy Lamb Sandwiches with Cumin and Chilies.

Delighted as our taste buds and tummies were, however, it was an off-the-map find that really made our day.

We were looking for a pit stop in between our food stops, when we stumbled upon the sign and climbed up the creaky stairs to take a look. Frankly though, it wasn't much to look at -- clean, but shabby at best. Within minutes our misgivings were dispelled. Joy succumbed to a full body massage that rendered her a euphoric wet noodle, while I experienced an hour-long foot pummeling that left me smack-dab in the middle of nirvana. Adding to our elation, Joy's bill was a mere $45 and mine an even merer $30.

Unsurprisingly, Joy and I are planning to put our Metrocards to good use again this weekend and head back Flushing. And, hate to admit it, but I could care less about the Dim Sum, as long as I can get another one of those mind-blowing Kang Tai foot massages.

Through The Eye Of The Bagel

When my pal BrooklynBS called to let me know he had an extra ticket to Neil Diamond at Madison Square Garden, I knew something special was called for. With seats on the floor, we would be close enough to throw rose petals at his feet.

But, c'mon! This was Brooklyn-bred Neil Diamond, we were talking about. Damn straight, I wasn't bringing him flowers no more.

The only thing a bona fide Jewess could do was add an bag of mini-bagels to her FreshDirect order to make sure she had something on hand that was more befitting this Judaic god of schmalzy pop. (And, yeah, I know these aren't even Lender's, but they were all FreshDirect had.)

I'd originally planned to fling them on the stage when he sang "America," but then thought better of it. I didn't think the Haddasah crowd in the audience would approve. Besides, the New York Times had just revealed that Diamond was very picky about his diet and concerned about his electrolytes. Didn't want to throw his nutritional balance out of whack, lest he'd refuse to sing "Forever in Blue Jeans."

Then inspiration struck.

A new form of concert photography was born. One that could truly capture the essence of this dynamic performer.

Behold: Pictures of Diamond in concert, snapped through the hole of a mini-bagel...

Good thing I didn't bring Matzoh.

Kim Goes Dim And Ginger Vegetarian Is In

The era of middling Vietnamese food on Brooklyn Height's Montague Street is over.

Not that we're not going to be getting really good Vietnamese in the 'hood. Oh, no. Instead, after a little over six months, Kim Vietnamese Grill has shut its doors and is already well on its way to becoming the brand spanking new Ginger Vegetarian.

Hmmm...Sounds suspiciously like the former Asian vegetarian tenant Greens. Others in the nabe agree, including Brooklyn Heights Blog.

Well, at least it isn't another bank, real estate office or cell phone store.

*Note: Photo also courtesy of BHB.