VittlesVamp

Vendy Adventure - Part 1

Having joined the Vendy Awards planning committee several months ago, I had anxiously looked forward to the "big day." The day when a bevy of popular New York City street vendors would descend upon Flushing at the Queens Museum of Art, the Unisphere ominously in the background, awaiting a crowd of street-meat fans and a collection of glittering judges (sadly, not actually wearing glitter).

Well, yesterday, the "big day" finally arrived with the sound of my alarm going off at 5:30am. Ugh. I am not a morning person. But in the name of the Vendy Awards and the charitable organization they celebrate and support - the Street Vendor Project - which provides vendors with legal representation and much more, I arose.

Hitting Manhattan's Ceci-Cela for early a.m. croissant and coffee for the team with my murse-wearing pal Kyle, we soon ventured forth to Queens en masse in a high-stylin' van. Still, I could hear my bed calling my name all the way from Brooklyn. Hmmm. Maybe I could nap during the trip. Zzzzzz...

Once we parked at the museum, the caffeine started to kick in. Within minutes, we were put to work and then the beloved trucks and carts started pulling in one by one, like debutantes arriving at the ball. It was an amazing sight to see, from spying the Big Gay Ice Cream Truck getting all gay-ed up (see above) to gazing at the unstoppable smile belonging to Freddy, the King of Falafel, as he set up his station (see below).

And then, there was a crisis. The party rental company had dropped off the tents, tables and chairs with no problem, but had forgotten about the all-important serving trays for the Vendy's first-ever VIP table service guests. Unfortunately, the folks at the Queens Museum of Art didn't have trays to lend and they categorically refused to let us rip the priceless canvasses from the wall to create makeshift ones.

What's a Vamp to do? OMG! I suddenly realized that the museum is located in Flushing, and Flushing means only one thing to a Vamp -- CHINATOWN. Surely, there we could find a kitchen supply spot with ample wares and the necessary trays could be purchased lickety-split. I quickly corralled the amiable Dan, another committee member, to join me on the hunt. Why Dan? He had wheels and an ulterior motive: he desperately needed coffee.

We headed to the parking lot, stopped along the way by our main museum rep, who suggested we hit the nearby Western Beef instead of going farther afield. So, we did.

There were no trays there, but joyfully for Dan, this Western Beef outpost laid claim to another outdoor eating favorite, brethren of food carts and trucks -- the food stand.

He finally had his shot of caffeine. But, before we ambled back to the car and headed to Chinatown, we spotted a sign that assured us that all would go well on our quest.

It wasn't exactly a thumbs up or anything, but I decided it was good luck nonetheless.

The Motorino City

Before the Motornio hoopla hit about its new Manhattan branch, I had my eye on the Williamsburg pizzeria.

Now, it was time to hit it up. Viva la Brooklyn!

With my pal Jennifer and her red-headed two-year-old tot in tow, we nabbed an early dinner table and decided to be daring. No typical 'za here. Oh, no. We ordered up a pie topped with oozing, smoky Scarmoza cheese, meaty chunks of salty Pancetta bacon, slivers of slightly sweet Butternut Squash and fragrant, flash-fried Sage Leaves.

Jenn convinced her tyke that the squash was just like a melon and suddenly he was chowing down like the two of us.

For once, something that lives up to the hype. Viva la Motorino!

Jammy Jam

Yesterday, I took to my kitchen and with fruit aplenty I picked up a pot and tossed together some almost too ripe plums along with sugar, half a naturally pectin-filled Granny Smith apple, a stick of cinnamon, juice from half a lemon, and a splash of Cointreau. Letting it bubble away on high heat for 25 minutes, giving a stir now and then, it started to turn into a thick, gorgeous, jammy jam.

Earlier today, it made the perfect companion for a freshly baked croissant. Tomorrow, I plan on eating it served atop Greek yogurt. What I'll do with it the day after that, I don't know. But, whatever it is, it'll be delicious.

Rumor Alert: Hecho En Dumbo To Leave Brooklyn

There has already been buzz about the team behind Hecho en Dumbo securing a license for a new Mexican hot spot at 354 Bowery on the site of the former Marion's Continental. But now, it seems that the Hecho team is dumping DUMBO outright for its new location come November, throwing a a bye-bye bash to Brooklyn on October 31st before they go full tilt in Manhattan.

For Brooklynites, this Halloween party sure to feel more like a trick than a treat.

Well Within The Capabilities Of An 8-Year-Old Child

At least that is what Julia Child and Simone Beck say about their recipe for Hollandaise Sauce made in a trusty electric blender.

Pictured above is my own blender doing its best to help me be as skilled as any 8-year-old waif. Truthfully, I think even Wii-addicted kids might enjoy the process of whirring and dripping in order to whip up this classic French sauce. Goodness knows, I did. And, the results were pretty darn tasty too. My only complaint was that the texture was a bit firmer than I like for my Hollandaise, but the ease of preparation couldn't be beat.

One thing should be noted, lest you think me one of those drawn to my kitchen due to the wiles of "Julie & Julia": I do not have one of the newfangled editions of "Mastering the Art of French Cooking" with a photo Meryl Street portraying Ms. Child on the cover. The edition might be a bestseller, but it's a travesty in my book. How can you celebrate the life of Julia Child in a movie and then slap a faux-French Chef on the cover of her most beloved tome?

C'est mal!

For the record, my two volumes of this iconic culinary work were printed long ago and faraway in 2007.

C'est bien!

Tony Soprano's Favorite 'Za

How could I resist the chance to enjoy a pie from The Soprano's cast and crew's favorite Italian spot? I couldn't. So, when visiting Astoria the other day, I bypassed the traditional Greek meze joints and joined a pal at Sac's Place for a deeply satisfying coal-oven pizza that was lightly charred, crisp, thin and topped with a zesty tomato sauce, oozing mozzarella and a trio of toppings that included sweet roasted peppers, crumbled meatballs and slices of portobello mushroom cooked in garlic and white wine.

Unsurprisingly, the slice pictured above wasn't the only one I ate.

A Taco Tour of Sunset Park

I'd long wanted to explore everything that Sunset Park had to offer by way of grub. As loyal readers may know, I've already hit up one of its two international culinary enclaves -- King's County Chinatown. Nevertheless, dim sum and fresh lychees aside, I had been remiss in checking out Sunset Park's other cultural claim to fame -- "Brooklyn's Little Latin America," blending Mexico, the Dominican Republic and Puerto Rico into a vibrant nabe all its own.

After years of Cal-Mex and Tex-Mex at Benny's Burritos and alike, I had a yearning for the real deal when it came to Latino fare. And, luckily, I finally found an intrepid foodie friend to join me in this adventure, a fine gent named Kyle, who came equipped with a handsome murse and -- more importantly -- comfortable shoes and taste-buds ready for anything.

Still, I had to wonder if the murse was a dead giveaway that we weren't "from these parts," as we stumbled into our first stop, the down-to-earth and hipster-free Tulcingo Deli VI. Entering the sparse, fluorescent lit dining room, we drew more than a few stares. But, thankfully, it soon subsided once we settled into a table, ordered a couple of Coronas and shared an Arabes Taco (pictured above), filled with lightly charred lamb, topped with chopped onion and bits of cilantro, and slathered with a tongue-tingling sauce.

Muy buen! But no matter how intriguing the rest of the menu or the Telenovela on the tube, we had to keep moving.

A few blocks down, we hit the more upscale Tacos Matamoros, where "grande" Chorizo and Pastor Tacos were ordered. The pair arrived, folded cone-style, hand-packed with buttery Guacamole to off-set the spicy sausage and marinated pork.

To compliment both, we raised glasses filled with Jarritos Toronja, offering bubbly relief from the tacos' peppery heat and a snappy, citrus kick of grapefruit to boot.

Our next destination was right across the street. There was no excuse not to keep forging ahead. So, la cuenta was paid and we journeyed to the other side of 5th Avenue to Tacos Xochimilco.

As soon as we walked into the restaurant, though, Kyle and I were taken aback.

Something was wrong. Something was very wrong -- very, very wrong and located smack dab the center of all the dining room tables.

Cabeza Tacos? I WISH! No. Unfortunately, it was this...

Honestly, I didn't know if I could go through with taking a seat beside a vase of these sky-blue faux-blooms. But the waitress' warm welcome and the fact that actually DID have a Cabeza Taco on the menu convinced me otherwise.

My hope for exotic meat-parts notwithstanding, Kyle urged me against Cabeza and eventually we settled on a pairing of Carnitas and Lengua Tacos. The latter was luscious, moist and magnificent.

The former was fine too and the overall experience encouraged us to be a bit brave and try a "pequeno" Barbacoa Taco -- a.k.a. a tiny Goat Taco, which ended up being more than a bit too forceful in its sure-footed goatiness...

For a finale, we decided to aim for a "T" alternative to the Taco and venture to the 24-hour fave Bakery La Flor, a well-worn bakery and coffee shop that is known for its massive Mexican Torta sandwiches.

The Chorizo and Eggs version, graced with slices of Jalapeno Peppers, stewed Red Beans, slivers of Tomato, lettuce, onions and more, didn't disappoint on the size scale (below is a snapshot of HALF of one of these gargantuan beauties), but admittedly it didn't live up to the tasty Taco options of the evening.

So, to take the edge off of our sorrow -- cause we certainly didn't need an edge taken off of our appetites -- we ordered up a classic Latin American dessert, Flan.

Dense, golden, eggy and capped with honey-sweet carmel, it only took a few gorgeous, tender bites to make us realize that this tour had come to a close.

The "N" train was calling our names. That said, we would definitely return to the nabe for more Latino delights. Or at least I would. Because, one way or another, I do plan on trying a Cabeza Taco one of these days-- and the more I think about it, some blue flowers might prove to be the perfect compliment.

Book Bites With Bittman

I once again take to the page for TheBookStudio.com, penning a review of Mark Bittman's latest cookbook Kitchen Express. This time around, I tried my hand at a couple recipes in the book, including the BLT Salad picture above, graced with a rich, citrusy Avocado Dressing. Put it in a tortilla and you've got a whole meal!

Picky Nicky

My very grown up pal Nick has always presented himself as a picky eater. Even his wife would complain that their toddler's palate was more mature.

Chopped up celery in Tuna Salad? Ick!

Arugula? What the heck is that?!!

Macaroni and Cheese? Only if it's out of a box!

Clearly, he's a tough one to go out to dinner with in VittlesVamp style. That said, when pressed, I've had him try basic pastas at Otto and the hamburger at Blue Smoke. They did the job, but barely.

Now though, something has happened. Something mysterious. Something powerful.

When Nick hit NYC last week, I spent time inspecting menus to find a place that might fit the bill that wasn't Applebee's. Then it came to me: the ultimate kid food that adults love too - pizza. Veloce Pizza. Nick wouldn't be willing to eat the Mushroom Pie with its Hen in the Woods and such, nor the crust, but he just might go for the Margherita, hold the basil.

We went. I hoped.

First up, we shared an app of Potato Fritters with Prosciutto di Parma, Grana Padano and Mint. They were sort of like Tater Tots, so I could see how they might pass Nick's taste test. Then came the shocker -- a salad of romaine hearts, tomato, red onion and cucumber doused in a vibrant oregano dressing. Besides being a bit put off by the dark green skin left on the slices of hothouse cucumber, Nick dove right in. Same went for the Porchetta Sausage Pie with rosemary, sage, fennel pollen, tomato sauce and mozzarella.

Nick ate FENNEL POLLEN!!!! Moreover, Nick ate the PIZZA CRUST!!!

I was in a daze as we left the restaurant, turning the corner down the East Village's strip of Indian cafes on 6th Street. Was it possible that Nick's body had been taken over by an alien with an adventurous palate? My head still spinning, suddenly Nick stopped short and took in a deep breath of the air, thick with exotic spices. He smiled and let me know how much he longed for a plate of Chicken Curry. Wasn't the smell delightful?

Whoa! YOU LOVE THE SMELL OF CURRY?????!!!!!???? Who are you? What happened to my conservative, finicky friend Nick?!? Next thing you'll tell me is that you got a tattoo or something!!!

And sure enough...

It was on his ankle. Subtle. Not a skull or anything, but a tattoo nonetheless.

All I can say is that there must be magic in that there tattoo. Magic that brought Nick's palate to life. Or at least into adulthood.

Alien or no, I promise Vamp-worthy culinary escapades the next time Nick travels to New York. And, if he keeps this up, I might even cook!