« November 2008 | Main | January 2009 »
There is no question that pork was the ultimate gourmet "it" fare of 2008. And, what better way to celebrate the year gone by and usher in 2009, then with a canned ham-shaped plush toy? Called Haminal, this pink cutie-pie comes with its own resealable can and a jaunty pineapple ring for playing dress-up.
I'm hoping 2009 brings us the plush toy addition of Baconimal as a smoky sidekick.
The The Daily Journal published word that a vandal damaged a Vineland, NJ home this past Saturday, with an unusual weapon of choice:
An investigation of the property revealed a grapefruit was thrown through one of the double-pane windows, causing it to break.
Two oranges and an apple were found near the other broken window, according to a police report.
Let's all be thankful it isn't watermelon season.
My friend Laurel has spent 2008 trying to perfect the culinary craft of making Tortilla de España. Well, it may have taken her a whole year, but as you can see from the photo above, practice certainly did make perfect.
And, to show off her hard-earned Spanish cooking skills, she decided to take it up a notch inviting a gaggle of guests to her Inwood home for a Christmas array of tapas. From her flavorful Pan con Tomate to garlicky good Champiñones al Ajillo to Sherry-doused Gambas con Pimiento...
...it was like I was transported back to Barcelona.
Christmas Eve in Italy. Christmas Day in Spain. It does make me wonder where I'll end up for New Year's Eve.
I had a special visitor on Christmas Eve.
Santa, perhaps? Nah. New York doesn't quake quite so much when Old Saint Nick is headed to town.
The holidays brought none other than Mama Vamp to my threshold. And, to mark the occasion we left the borough of Brooklyn and headed to Greenwich Village to Otto for a traditional Italian repast. I'd made the reservation a month ago, knowing that the fare at Batali's low-priced enoteca and pizzeria was delicious and kitchen consistent -- a great combo. However, one look at the tiny, edged in table that was proffered by the hostess and Mama Vamp turned heel.
We may be Jewish and this may not be our official holiday, but that didn't mean we were to be shunted into a corner. Baby wouldn't go there and neither would Mama Vamp.
Happily, though, we settled into my favorite part of the whole restaurant -- the marble-topped bar -- and quickly made our presence known by ordering up glasses of bubbly. One sip and Mama Vamp was in good form. A few bites into our antipasti of walnut topped Roasted Autumn Vegetables con Aceto, a crisp salad of Escarole and Sunchoke, and a platter of house-made Coppa, and she was downright jolly.
Then there was the cheese...The Coach Farm Triple Cream was a particular favorite, soft and buttery, and the perfect foil for the accompaniment of Stewed Apricots with Chili Flakes.
We bypassed a special Christmas Eve Italian classic -- The Feast of the Seven Fishes -- but couldn't resist ordering a plate of the night's special pasta, a Rigatoni dish laden with a sauce of hearty stewed meat and tomatoes, graced with fresh herbs and enough grated Parmesan to induce joyful humming with every forkful.
It took a bit of convincing, but in her blissful state, I was able to get Mama Vamp to agree to share Otto's famous Olive Oil Coppetta (pictured above) for dessert. The combination is bizarre, but irresistible: rich Olive Oil Gelato served with Lemon Curd, sugary slices of Kumquats and crisp Fennel Brittle.
As we both exited out of Otto's revolving door, I could have sworn I heard Mama Vamp say "Grazie! Buon Natale!"
Then again, it might have just been something less endearing in Yiddish.
Nothing says "Yuletide Greetings" like a hot chocolate recall.
Let's just hope the marshmallows are untainted.
More downturn economy suggestions. Forget about the latest fashions coming down the runways at Bryant Park. When the financial outlook is gloomy, best to accessorize with something that is timeless, versatile, well-made and -- in a pinch -- can be consumed.
Take for example, this Chanel purse completely composed of Beef Jerky.
It's a statement to say the least -- and dinner to say the most.
In a downturn economy it's always important to think about the necessities in life, if you're going to take on the stock market.
If this photo is any indication, I'm thinking investments in publicly held liquor companies might be a good move. And, if they sell boxed wine, all the better.
My good friend Sandra and I braved the bitter cold, swirling snow and high-gust winds, teetering in high heels through Tribeca, to venture to my next big b-day week celebration. At Sandra's insistence, we went all out, hitting one of New York City's most acclaimed fine dining establishments -- Bouley.
(Have I mentioned that I ADORE Sandra?)
Making our way through the restaurant's discreet front door, we were greeted by the overwhelming aroma of apples.
No wonder. The entrance room was filled to overflowing with fresh, shiny, red specimens, lining dozens and dozens of shelves from floor to ceiling.
A woman with a thick French accent took our coats and we went from apple orchard to palatial French countryside auberge, where we were treated like royal guests. (Heck, I always knew I was a princess!)
Even bread service was taken to a new, sumptuous, scrumptious -- keep the starch a comin' -- level. (See above -- Need I say more?)
The sommelier poured us deep ruby red glasses of 2004 Rasteau Cuvee Confiance Domaine de la Sourmade, flavors hinting of cassis and dark chocolate. Another nibble on the bread and then the sublime Tasting Menu service began...
Sauteed Monomoy Island Sweet Bay Scallops with Pienut, Pineapple Miso Dressing...
Black Sea Bass with Fall Squash Risotto...
Organic Connecticut Farm Egg with Serrano Ham, Steamed Polenta, Sunchoke, Artichoke and White Truffle in a Coconut-Garlic Broth...
Organic Milk-Fed Veal Saddle with Washington State Wild Honshimeji Mushrooms, Parsley Root Puree in a Fresh Herb and Almond Sauce...
Capped off with Amaretto Flan with Carmelized Banana, White Coffee Mousse and Amaretto Ice Cream...
I half expected our waiter to bring us both tiaras as a parting gift, as we exited the restaurant. Frankly, Sandra and I wouldn't have been at all surprised to see two splendid horse-drawn carriages out front, ready to take us back to our respective palaces.
Instead, we both received sunny Lemon Pound Cakes and hailed yellow cabs.
No matter. Whether it was the apples, the atmosphere, the service, the food or the wine, we felt like we were wearing tiaras all the way home.
The sommelier was pure magic, revealing the exact bottle we'd just ordered from behind his back without missing a beat.
I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd pulled an Ace from his sleeve while he was at it.
The kitchen, not so much.
Laurel and I had decided weeks ago that we wanted to meet one evening somewhere between our two birthdays and finally pay call on the city's molecular gastronomy mecca - wd-50.
I know I should have LOVED it. And, it was good mind you, but it wasn't LOVE.
All in lower case e.e. cummings form, the smoked eel, salsify, guava and puffed yuzu was fine, but desperately cried out for salt to make it truly palatable. The appetizer of octopus, pine nut, saffron and pickled ginger was much tastier, but still made me long for a charred tentacle doused in olive oil a la Astoria.
Then there was perfectly seared duck breast, worcestershire spaetzle, parsley root and mustard greens. Lovely, but not yowsa.
Followed by dessert of plated caramelized brioche, gala apples, sage and brown butter sorbet. Tasty, but once again, not orgasmatron material.
The dinner's last bit though, was a doozy: Crystle Menthe. (Get it?!?) It was a puff of sweet, intense mint that tickled my sinuses and made me giggle with delight.
And, sometimes all you need to make a birthday dinner with a gal pal memorable is a Harry Houdini of a sommelier and a minty giggle of delight. Still, I'm looking forward to the more traditional culinary experiences yet to come in honor of my "21st" birthday.
Does that make me an old stick in the mud? Possibly. Do I care? Not really.
And so it begins. My birthday is around the corner and I can't resist riding the coattails of the occasion for a full week of celebrating. This year's b-day festivities kicked off rather rather nicely with a dinner at Craftsteak with not one, but two fantastic men: Papa Vamp and Brother Vamp.
The company was terrific. The wine was wonderful. The steak was sublime. How can you go wrong with a Prime Corn-Fed Porterhouse from Niman Ranch? You can't.
Still, it wasn't the restaurant's namesake steak that got us really revved. It was the ham -- an appetizer platter of Edwards Country Ham, sliced razor thin and topped with Pickle Pear and Toasted Marcona Almonds (pictured above).
Papa Vamp had resisted the pull of the pork when the plate first landed on the table, but just one bite had his eyes rolling back into his head with pleasure and his fork plunging in for more.
It leads me to wonder: Could my pork fixation simply be genetic?
Considering the way that Papa and Brother Vamp dived into the ham, I'm betting that's a resounding "yes."