The Cost Per Pound

Lately I’ve been trying to lose the 10lbs that I’ve been trying to lose (sort of....) for 3 years. This time I’m seriously trying to lose them. I just ate 2 carrots and pretended that they were delicious. While watching The Wire I considered the calorie content of crack cocaine. I am on my own personal running tour of Prospect Park. My dieting mojo is back! I’m even joking about writing a diet book, selling it to a publisher and getting rich. To that end I’ve decided to write up a few of my unique diet tips! If you’re looking to lose a few pounds and you have a lot of internalized guilt about actually doing the things you tell yourself that you’re going to do please feel free to take my advice. If you’re a book publisher with an advance check signed and ready to go please, call me. If you’re a skinny girl with no need for diet tips, have a red velvet cupcake for lunch in honor of all of us who must eat spinach salad.

How much would you pay to lose weight? Think about this number in as many ways as possible. How much per month? How much per day? How much per pound? It probably won’t cost that much (“Listen here little lady, I can get you a good deal on some weight loss!”)... but it will cost something.

I just bought an $11 salad on my way to the office. $11 for a salad is borderline ridiculous (Thank you Dean and Deluca). I could have put together the same collection of greens and goat cheese and tomatoes for under $5. But I didn’t. Instead, I dragged myself home from a business meeting last night and collapsed into bed with my migraine and a cold compress. I got up earlier than I’d like (but later than almost every other working schlub I know so I’ll shut up about my 7:30am alarm) and headed off to another business meeting over breakfast where I certainly could have mentally justified bacon and eggs but somehow managed to order the oatmeal.

That $11 salad is the cost of my diet today. I could have had a $3 hamburger or a $7 pint of udon. But I am not paying $11 for mesclun and vinaigrette but for the knowledge that its sitting in my work refrigerator and that it probably only has 300-400 calories which is certainly all I can afford on a day with no time for a run. $11 is a steal.

This same philosophy applies to snacks.

At 3pm everyday I want a treat. Usually, I have done very little to deserve a treat. Usually, I ate lunch a mere 2 hours ago. Usually, I am sitting at my desk opening and closing the top drawer in hopes that the chocolate fairy paid me a visit over night. Thankfully he has not. I long ago learned that 3pm discussions between my mind and my belly, (“You’re not even hungry! Shut up!” “FEEEEEEEED ME! ME WANT COOKIES.”) are wholly nonproductive and that 3pm treats are a necessity -- some food stuff must pass my lips and this food stuff better feel special.

Normally, I refuse to pay $3 for 10 ounces of coconut water. Normally, I only allow myself one Starbucks visit a week. Normally, I try to conquer 3pm with a piece of fruit brought from home. But The Dieting 3pm won’t stand for this cheap-ass regimented shit. The Dieting 3pm has barely recovered from giving up the top slice of bread on her tuna fish sandwich. She’s already planning on ordering vodka and soda water at tonight’s happy hour even though the weather is just right for a margarita.

Sometimes my 3pm treat is a walk to the corner store followed by 10mins of reading the ingredients on food labels only to settle on a yogurt that I could have just brought from home. Sometimes its a whole container of raspberries even though they cost $6. Sometimes its 2 chocolate truffles from the little shop that looks like it fell right out of France (which would at least sort of explain how they justify $3 per chocolate). All of the choices would normally have me rolling my eyes over the cost but not today

In my effort to lose weight something has to give. Because I am a lucky, lucky person who, thank god, has enough extra money lying around to make the choice to spend cash in exchange for losing weight I do just that. I let myself spend in exchange for not letting myself eat. Usually it works.

What I'm Eating in Thailand

Thai food (especially basil chicken) has been my go to takeout choice for years, so I've been looking forward to plates full of fried noodles and coconut curries and crispy spring rolls since this adventure was a twinkle in my eye. I had heard that what we Americans think of as Thai food is really only available in fancy restaurants in Thailand and that true Thai cuisine was much different -- spicier, with more questionable organs and a greater appreciation for anything on a stick.This has so far not really proved true -- while Bangkok was heavily dotted with food stands serving a million unidentifiable delicacies the rest of our trip has been a big bowl full of pad thai.

The prevalence of westernized Thai food is almost certainly due to our location -- lolling around in the south eastern islands we are ensconced on the tourist trail. We are almost always within strolling distance of a burger, though I'm happy to say that so far we've ordered only one (and this was mostly as payment for a perch at the local sports bar, the only place broadcasting the Winter Olympics).

But even from our place on the very edge of true Thai culture we have been able to get our beaks wet with plenty of yummy sauces and soups.

Thai food in Thailand is much more focused on condiments than its American incarnation. Any order of stir fry or fried rice comes with half a lime and a lazy susan full of dried chilies, fish sauce, and chilies preserved in vinegar most of which seem to be homemade. Doctoring your food with these accoutrement's is often half the battle to delicious. One popular breakfast item is a somewhat bland noodle or rice soup that on it's own hardly seems worth the 80 baht (~$2.30) but once your bowl is decked out in condiments a new breakfast of champions emerges from the steam.

Yes, we have been eating soup for breakfast. Also fried rice and the occasional green papaya salad. They're not much for breakfast food in this part of the world. I was at first able to embrace this and down spicy plates of stir fry at 8am but lately I've been opting for rice porridge with bananas and a shake.

Oh, the shakes. Mango, banana, coffee, coconut, lime -- big glasses of fruit and ice (and probably the occasional splash of sweetened condensed milk which I'm hoping does not make each one a caloric disaster). The Thais really seem to know what to do with fruit and a hot sweaty day. For about $1 you can order up these homemade slurpies on any beach or porch; I'm averaging 3 per day.

On the subject of cooling concoctions I must mention that the Thais are doing some amazing things with cucumbers. Almost every dish comes adorned with thick slices that are the perfect antidote to whatever spicy dish you've ordered. In the case of the laab salad I had for lunch a couple of days ago I'm certain that my tongue would have disintegrated into a pile of ash had it not been for the side plate full of cucumber slices (and holy basil leaves!) on crushed ice. Cucumbers are also featured as the main green in dozens of salads, doused in chilies and lime and holding up a few fat shrimp they're a welcome hot and cool reprieve from the scorching sun. Come August in New York I need to experiment with my own spicy cucumber dishes.

While it is not exactly difficult to survive on the slightly less than truly authentic meals available here on the islands, my tongue is looking forward to our travels further north. So far all of our favorite bites were purchased (mostly from stands on the side of the road) in Bangkok. On our first night in town we bought a more than delicious bowl of dark broth full of pork dumplings and greens for $1. Geoff ordered a huge plate of Thai beef salad in a restaurant across the street from the National Palace that had just the right ratio of grilled meat, chilies, vinegar and vegetables. The plate of "red pork" on the right was purchased for $1 in the Bangkok train station while waiting for our south bound night train (where we somehow got talked into a second, much more expensive ($30!), dinner that we would regret if it weren't for irresistible romance of dining while watching the Bangkok suburbs turn slowly into countryside.).

I am also starting my list of food I miss. For days now I've been craving sushi, I blame the heat. In NYC a spicy tuna roll and a bowl of edamame is my summer staple. I've also more than once wished for a margarita and a huge serving of chips and guacamole. For this I blame my California upbringing, I was raised to believe that there is no such thing as a beach without Mexican food. But give me time, next summer sitting on Water Taxi Beach or Coney Island I expect to be un-shut-up-able about my cravings for green mango salad and fried morning glory greens.

Adventures in Dining Part 2

part 1 is back here

Despite my fears of being Gordon Ramsey-ed I returned to the domain of A Razor a Shiny Knife the next afternoon to assist with dinner prep -- this time without G who (wisely, perhaps) choose to spend his Saturday at his job where they pay him in money rather than at an empty condo in Williamsburg where compensation is offered in the form of eye rolls and deep sighs of disapproval. Oh, and really yummy food.

When I arrived at 3:45pm lunch service was still in full swing. I felt lucky to secure a job drying dishes which I was 75% sure I could execute well enough to at least fly below the radar of our host. Dish drying proved to be a wonderful job because in addition to avoiding commentary on my screw ups it also afforded me the opportunity to make a good buddy in my dish drying companion, Paul. Even better lunch was still being served and occasionally someone would come by with an extra plate of food for us to nosh on (oh crispy fried soft shell crabs and raw asparagus salad with poached egg how I have loved you).

After a few hours on dish duty I started to feel the rhythm of the kitchen and, perhaps because I paid my newbie dues with the dish rag, the rest of the kitchen staff/paying guests suddenly seemed nicer. Eventually I grew brave enough to venture back onto the line to tackle the peaches destined for dessert. When G arrived at 6:30 (in theory only 30mins from the sweet reward of our yummy 8 course meal) he was put to work chopping strawberries. I was also put on marshmallow making duty which ended in marshmallow syrup which we tried in vain to turn into frozen marshmallow candy. Somehow despite the obvious failure of this dish I manage to escape any chef wrath. I was feeling much more like part of a team.

We sat down late for dinner at 8:45 (posted dinner time was 7pm) and because of a somewhat OCD need to pull off this whole affair in exactly 24 hours we were asked to forgive the rushed serving of the courses. I appreciate a good attempt at doing the crazy obsessive thing just for its own crazy obsessive sake (see: my color coded closet, my rearranging of card piles every 3 minutes when playing Settlers of Catan, and my entire life) but even I felt a little peeved that the foodies who lunch got to lounge around for hours while I was being asked to scarf my tasty morsels at a starved puppy pace.

The food however, could not be argued with. It was well worth being chastised for my subpar vacuuming skills, worth drying a mountain of dishes and even worth being rushed through. Below, a play by play of exactly why I will not have lost any weight this week despite running probably like 8 miles (note: a lot. do not argue. I am the next Flo Jo, I pretty much just need to work on the nails).

First the amuse -- a rye bread flavored pana cotta with salmon roe and pickled mustard seeds.

The host expressed some concern that this might be a failed attempt at deliciousnesss but it was surprisingly successful -- creamy, salty, a little crunch on the end. And on top of that look how pretty it is!

Foie gras mouse featured a cucumber coulis and strawberries ala Mr. G

Just look at the sweet slicing on those babies! I think i might be the only foodie who can't quite get behind the foie gras love. I mean it's good, rich, creamy, fatty but I often find it just a little too overwhelming and... (dare I say it?) somehow still bland. This dish was no real exception though the the strawberries and cucumber did admirably balance out the richness and make foie gras feel much more summery than I would have thought possible.

Fresh pasta with lobster and meyer lemon.

Certainly the most simple of the dishes on offer but the combo of the lemon peel and lobster was really great. Shellfish + lemon is obviously no great culinary leap but I was still shocked and just how great these ingredients complimented each other.

Short ribs with morel mushroom and garlic scapes

I got 4 curly little garlic scapes in my recent CSA delivery and this dish certainly inspired me to experiment with them -- the delicate flavor avoided overpowering the meat and mushroom with garlic and made this dish (which might have seemed a little boring) exciting and beautiful.

Chawan Mushi with bacon broth.

This was the one menu item that I had to Google but Wikipedia's description of "egg custard" did nothing to prepare me for the awesomeness of pork belly+eggs+cream -- SO GOOD! As the person who declared the death of bacon months ago I would like to use this broth as evidence of how bacon should be used -- it was flavorful, smokey and meaty and DELICATE. The dish didn't come out and whomp you over the head all "LOOK! BACON IS HERE! EVERYONE LOVES BACON!!!" but instead stood in the corner waiting for the ladies to come to him, and come I did. (Dirty.).

Whipped truffle potatoes with smoked egg yolk.

This was divine though G made a good point that it was mostly just because everything tastes great with truffle oil. It is probably true that if the potatoes had been sawdust and the egg yolk a yellow bouncy ball I still would have swooned.

Flourless chocolate cake with cherries.

This was the only course that left me shrugging my solders. I'm not a fan of flourless chocolate cake -- in fact, I basically think it's the bacon of the pastry world and is only served by lazy chef's looking to appeal to the most base palettes. Everyone loves chocolate, the richer the better, right? No need to try harder. This cake was really no better or worse then your average fudgey fair. That said, in the words of Bill Cosby, "Dad is great! Give us the chocolate cake!" I shrugged my solders at an empty plate.

Compressed peaches with cocoa butter enrobed peach pudding.

While I want to say that this was the best thing ever since I contributed heavily to its production I cannot. It was fine. I suspect that like every contestant on Top Chef (and myself it would seem) the powers that be at A Razor a Shiny Knife could due with some lessons in pastry arts. I'd like to see one of their next events focused entirely on kicking some dessert ass.

I'm full again just writing that. Full and wishing I had a little bowl of pork pudding to slurp on.

I'd also like to say that in addition to the amazing food the dinner companionship was top notch -- I sat across from a hilarious navy dude who offered to give G and I a tour of his sub next time we're visiting G's parents in Groton CT and next to my friend from the night before who, like me and G, was well rested and ready to eat. I also sat across from a vegetarian who I was alternately amused by (seriously, why would you come to this?) and pitied (did your friend not tell you that this meal would totally have a lot of meat?). When one of the pro chefs (a man from Columbia) found out about the veggie in our midst he came by to inquire about her dietary limitations in an effort to accommodate, "You are a vegetarian?" "yeah, I eat fish though, and veggies." "What about beef?" Awesome.

You can view a time lapse video of the entire event here-- some highlight include "wow, Brianna you look kind of fat in the dress," "Geoff get your hands out of your pockets!" and "I want to put that in my mouth over and over again forever."

Adventures in Dining Part 1

As our latest and great cute couple surprise date I decide to surprise G with a night of cooking his own food in hopes that he would be inspired to drag his ass home from work one night and whip me up some veal sous vide and a nice rambutan mouse. Also because he LOVES cooking, this gift was not at all the Brianna form of giving your girlfriend lingerie.

I had been stalking the events of A Razor A Shiny Knife for a few months. The group, referred to as either an under ground restaurant or a private dinner club, specializes in bring to life crazy cooking ideas in a magical poof of yumminess. I had long been on the look out for an event when no previous engagement prevented us from taking in an evening of gluttony and finally, a few weeks ago, the calendar gods came together and we were signed up for the club's 24 hour cooking extravaganza (the dinner only because (1) we're not yet rich and (2) I feared that 3 meals of 8 courses each could lead to acute stomach explosion syndrome). The details I received were as follows: Show up any time after 10pm on Friday the 19th to help cook, show up at 7pm the night of the 20th to partake in the deliciousness.

We arrived at the secret location (a yet to be inhabitable building of condos deep in artsy Williamsburg and complete with a 45 foot waterfall in the lobby, day glow plastic chandeliers in every hallway and a broken elevator which afforded us the luxury of pretending that climbing 5 flights of stairs totally made up for eating a dish composed entirely of pork belly, cream, eggs and bacon broth) in our best khakis and linen to a sea of hipsters all, "oh hi, yes I did just get back from yachting, is that a tattoo of a boat on your shoulder, right next to the one of bar code? We have so much in common!" There were about 10 people suited up in aprons chopping, boiling and mixing and it was impossible to determine who among us was a pro chef and who, like us, was just paying hundreds of dollars to play dress up. Even though it was only 10:05 everyone was hard at work and not speaking to us which left us feeling, as G said, "like we were being snubbed by the caterers." Noting this obvious problem was a huge mistake on his part as it turned me into the pout-master for a good 20mins which we spent on the balcony all "ok so what should we do? can we leave? will we look lame? can we just grab something at random and start chopping?" In moments like this I think a little direction goes a long way and I felt tempted to offer the crew of a Razor a Shiny Knife my keen project management skills -- what more they could accomplish if only someone had made a spreadsheet.

Finally we were put to work making what the host of the evening (a man of totally indeterminate age sporting a very magnum PI mustache who either had an amazing memory for names or just couldn't forget me, the girl who was sure to ruin his event with her ham handed attempts at playing chef) described as "pickle pops" which made it sound like these would be some kind of frozen vinegar treat (Yum?) but turned out to just be vacuum sealed bags of pickled veggies. Our mission was to use this massive vacuum sealer to divide 20 plastic bags into 4 evenly sized pickle pockets. I had some past experience with vacuum sealing because my father bought one of those home food preservation contraptions at Costco years ago and proceeded to demo it's abilities to every dinner guest to walk through the front door. The minute the ladies ran off to, I dunno, powder their noses (note: this has never happened in my house, my mother is strictly anti powder, in fact "powder their noses" is just a euphemism for "drink scads of tequila") my dad would be dragging the boys off to a small corner of the kitchen to just seal random crap. But the machine at Friday's event was nothing like my dad's entertainment model. The beast was at a 2 foot power cube that G mused might be able to create actual black holes. Lucky for the entire Milky Way G and I would be doing no actual vacuuming -- just sealing.

Immediately we broke the machine. In a moment of panic as we moved the top down to begin the first seal one of us (I shall not name names but I think we all know who) announced that the line on one bag wasn't straight so I flung the lid back up which stopped the vacuuming by freaking out the beast. No longer would he suck air. Luckily, with some random mashing of buttons, I was able to save the day. So we're sealing. Bags are getting put into two piles: "oh shit, hide that one in the back" and "these should theoretically be usable." when Magnum comes by to check on us. "Things are going ok, you know, not perfect yet but we're working on it!" I quip. To which he replies, "we're looking for perfect." People, it was like I was on Top Chef and Coliccio packed my knives FOR ME.

The pickles were, thankfully, on the lunch menu so we could avoid the uncomfortable moment when someone at the table wrinkled their nose all, "my bags are not even, my entire meal has been ruined!" One assumes that this was quickly followed with, "yeah some blond J Crew freaks with zero ink totally fucked those up, last time I let the WASPs in."

As the evening progressed we slowly realized that almost all of the people who we originally took for super intimidating professional chefs were actually just ambitious foodies like ourselves. We managed to make a few friends all of whom seemed nice and nonjudgey if, a little eccentric. One girl (who I love) even leaned over in the middle of butchering a whole pig belly to conspicuously ask if we were crazy enough to consider staying up all night to cook and then sighed happily when we announced that we liked sleep way too much for that silliness (which begs this Sophie's Choice of a question, "if forced to choose between food and sleep where would a lazy glutton like myself stand (or, more accurately, lie down)?).

I suspect the open secret of A Razor, A Shiny Knife is that none of their meals are executable without a ton of help from their guests because there seemed to be only 4 or 5 pros in our midst. The good news is that there was no babying of the guests -- everything from slicing strawberries to flash freezing puddings was available for experimentation. This opportunity to play with nitrous oxide and learn how to make butter from scratch is, for me, half the fun of the event but I do have to warn future participants that one should arrive armed with a good amount of cooking knowledge and a suit of body armor protecting any thin skinned egos. I often felt a little bad for G, who I do put on carrot chopping duty in our home kitchen but who generally focuses his food knowledge on tasting over preparing. The impromptu learning opportunities at the event were not designed for amateurs. Among my friends I have a fairly solid "good cook" reputation but even I often felt far far out of my league, especially during the first hour or so when direction was at a minimum.

That said, ultimately the evening turned out to be fun. And when we got home at 1:30am our preview of the next evening's dinner had both of us salivating in our sleep. More on that in my next update (soon, by Thursday for sure...) until then a picture of our first course -- our amuse to amuse you.

Move Over Bacon

Bacon is over. It was fun a few years ago when the world first discovered the novelty of adding bacon to everyday foods but it's 2009 and bacon has officially jumped the shark. Searching for "bacon" on youtube yields 22,100 results. a Google search results in 45,700,000 hits. There is bacon chocolate, bacon brittle, bacon ice cream, bacon fried steak, bacon bacon burgers, bacon bandaides, a bacon tiara... I have even found numerous web pages suggesting one fashion a bacon condom, have sex and then... make breakfast. Enough.

I don't dislike bacon. It's salty and sweet and meaty. It makes a good addition to most foods. It's cheap. It's fun to eat. it's meat candy. I KNOW. But seriously -- it's way overdone. Its gotten to the point where every wannabe foodie in America has given up on actual creativity in favor of stacking bacon on top of any old crap and calling it genius. It is all but impossible for me to meet any new bacon application with anything other than a roll of the eyes. It's time for a new food king; a new condiment to rule them all; a new bacon.

Obviously the new bacon needs to be tasty but taste alone will not be enough for our new ultimate additive. Bacon is ubiquitous because it is a pretty snazzy little food and its replacement will have to be equally exceptional. Bacon 2.0 will need to be as appealing atop a burger as it is mixed into ice cream. It will need to be cheap and prevalent enough that most Americans can easily afford to experiment. And, perhaps most importantly and certainly most elusively, it will have to have a certain flair. People like bacon because adding it to food serves as a big fuck you to doctors, vegetarians, that muscle-y guy in the gym, cholesterol and every other flag waver in our diet conscious society. They may have thin thighs and a long life span but we have smoked pork belly! Piling on the bacon gives people the little adrenaline rush of being naughty and its replacement has to give us a similar spark of rebellion (without really risking all that much, I'm leaving out contenders that might actually kill you, sorry blowfish).

And so without further ado I bring you the foods that might save us all from frat boys, bloggers and lazy chefs waving around strips of bacon like the checkered flag in the Digg Bait 500.

Tabasco

Tabasco is already one of those foods that showoffs turn to less for flavor than for bravado yet I think it has a lot of untapped potential to bring the party to new foods. I'm especially intrigued by the idea of sweet tobasco preparations. The torrid love affair between chili and chocolate has already been well established by the likes of Jacque Torres but I want to try tobasco creme brulee. Another advantage is that tobasco is cheap and can be added to almost anything with a simple shake of the bottle (no actually purchasing or cutting up of chilies required). Sadly, liquids are at a bit of a disadvantage in this competition if only because no one will ever be able to fashion a Tobasco bra unless they hunt down the actual chilies and a girl with especially callous nipples.

Gorgonzola Cheese


I know everyone has wet panties for pork fat but I'll take cheese over pig any day. (Did I just use cheese, pork and a reference to my panties in the same sentence? Yes. Sexy, right?). Gorgonzola also has the bonus of being a strong flavor that can probably hold up any dish, I've had it both on a burger and bathed in honey and loved each dish equally. I am excited about the possibility of gorgonzola ice cream and gorgonzola chocolate truffles, but somehow gorgonzola doesn't have the hype of some of the other contenders. Despite being fattening and flavorful and badass-y (you're eating mold!) I can't really see chefs and foodies getting into an uproar over the concept of blue cheese slathered all over breakfast lunch and dinner.

Chicken Schmaltz

Like bacon, schmaltz is cheap peasant fare made up almost entirely of fat. It certainly has the flavor profile to elbow itself into the starring role in any dish it enters but I'm not sure the flavor is really that easy to marry to other food. Not even my adventurous stomach feels ready for the likes of chicken fat ice cream and I'm not even sure that I'm that interested in a schmaltz burger. Also, you'd pretty much have to make schmaltz at home and most of us are way too lazy to do that.

Bourbon

Like tobasco, bourbon suffers from the sin of being liquid. That said I think bourbon is well positioned to take over -- it has a strong, easily identifiable flavor that tastes great with sweet or savory preparations and high cholesterol has nothing on alcoholism when it comes to badassness.





Duck Confit

Duck confit might be most able to compete with bacon for the title of "food most likely to serve as the catalyst for a coronary indecent." since it actually comes enshrined in a shiny coating of rendered duck fat. It's also the ingredient that I'm most intrigued with from an experimentation perspective -- duck confit mac and cheese? yes. duck confit and eggs? yes. duck confit donut? YES. I do worry a bit that duck doesn't have the flavor punch of bacon -- it would taste great in almost anything but doesn't assert itself in a way that inspires total devotion. I also expect people to argue that duck confit is too fancy pants to be considered easily accessible but I was able to walk into a corner grocery and buy a leg for $6.99 (This may be easier to do in NYC than Iowa City but I assure you that New York is often no prize winner when it comes to exceptional grocery stores ). However, duck confit also has the extra cache of being French and is there anything more rebellious than loving the French?


So who wins? Whose combo of flavor and flair reigns supreme? Personally I like anything enshrined in fat almost as much as I like pissing off people in Alabama with my love for the French so I gotta go duck confit but I'm open to being schooled in the comments.

2 Inferior Posts in a Row. Blame Lisa.

Lunch Day 2. The leftover restaurant food theme continues, this time with Bindi Masala from Delhi Palace in Jackson Heights. For my nonIndian readers (Everyone except Kajal and even she might be Puerto Rican) that means "Really yummy okra. No seriously, it's good. Yes good okra. No, it's not even fried. It's totally good. Seriously." I would have certainly eaten all of it last night had I not had samosa chat and 1/3 of a dosa and some naan to fill me up. (I am seriously considering forgoing Friday's weekly weigh in -- ahhhhh denial you are my best friend.).

I offered to order and pick up take out last night on my way over to Amy and Joe's palatial Jackson Height's co-op for our evening plans of catching up on Lost. This is the nicest thing I have offered to do ever because I hate calling to order food. I can't explain this other than to say that I generally don't love talking on the phone especially when the phone call is being used just to relay info (as opposed to chatting) and I do not understand why all takeout places do not accept email orders. Ordering Indian food can be especially stressful since many of the dishes use words that my very caucasian tongue is not capable of pronouncing and there is a possibility (though a much smaller possibility that when ordering say, Chinese) that the person on the other end of the phone will not speak English or will have a thick enough accent that I will not be able to understand them. When this happens I usually just order a number 1 and bail out but when ordering for other this is not a viable plan ("oh look, 3 number 1s! how did that happen?!"). So I went to plan B -- ask my Indian friend (Ms. Boriqua) to practice pronunciation with me. Sadly she was next to no help, claiming that many of the words used were somehow not words in her vocabularly and implying that they could be from a secret different kind of Indian which momentarily had me excited about the prospect of a Native American restaurant right here in New York City (mmmm Fry Bread).

Lunch today was eaten in front of the weekly Settler's of Catan match where, as expected, there was at least 5 jokes made based on someone's acquisition of/need for/offering of wood. As I am always the only girl playing there might have been some sheepish blushing in my direction but in actuality there was none -- probably because I am also the person most likely to giggle at a good "I got wood!" joke. I got my ass kicked for the 400th time in a row.

Lunch posts are always boring: 2
No they're not!: 0

The Quality of this Post May Disprove its Content

There's a blogging advice book on the market (yes, that day has come) called, No One Cares What You Had for Lunch which is devoted to the topic of how bloggers too often write about boring crap. I haven't read the book since I prefer to draw uninformed conclusions but the author claims to offer interesting writing topics to snaz up your boring old blog. I'm all but positive that she forgot to advocate for public nudity or embarking on a series of awful relationships and thank god -- I need to retain my niche. Anyway, I suspect the book is mostly correct -- there are a lot of boring blogs out there -- however I also suspect that the problem is not a lack of interesting topics, it's the bad writing. Lisa and I were chatting on Friday and hypothesized that certainly lunch could make for an interesting post since really good writing is rarely based on having a good topic (though a good topic probably makes good writing easier to come by) so why not write about your lunch? Because we are huge rebels (who also love to eat stuff, especially at the noon hour!) we agreed to both write posts about lunch and since Lisa is a bit of an over achiever she decided to write FIVE posts about lunch. And since Lisa is also an evil bitch who wants me to lose all of my readers she decided I was also writing five posts about lunch. We'll see.

Today's lunch is leftover cassoulet from last weeks inaugural meeting of the Wine Club spin off "Eating Fancy Food and Gossiping About Celebrities Club" which was held at the restaurant AOC. How bourgeois do I sound with my frenchie lunch? I also just finished the Julia Child autobiography, My Life in France so I'm pretty much an expert on all edible French things. For those nonexperts reading this post cassoulet is a French tomato based casserole with white beans, duck confit and sausage and pork fat (read: ambrosia of the gods). My leftover portion of France's version of Hamburger Helper (queue all of France hating me, but those Pierres need to cut me a break -- cassoulet comes in canned form! You don't even add your own freshly ground ecoli infested chuck!) is smaller than I would like (since I would *like* to eat a bucketful) but I'm fairly certain that the calorie content is more than sufficient to constitute a full lunch. That said I foresee myself breaking into my stash of granola bars or possible sneaking downstairs for a PB&J come 3:00pm (so much for maintaining that fancy food allure). The best part of the cassoulet was the sausage which I ate every morsel of in the restaurant last week so today I am left with a piece of pork fat and a few bits of duck meat and a lot of white beans. Luckily the sauce makes the beans pretty yummy and also has the wonderful side effect of fooling my coworkers into believing that I am eating a very healthy lunch despite the fact that everything in my Tupperware is coated in a loving blanket of fat.

I am normally pretty disciplined about making some sort of healthy food on the weekend and eating it all week for lunch, this, along with my "oatmeal or cold cereal with 6+ grams of dietary fiber for breakfast" rule is my weight maintenance plan and generally offsets the evenings full of Indian take out and cornmeal pancakes made with 3/4 stick of butter (and consumed watching skinny chicks on Top Model). But the last 2 weekends have been busy (Especially this past Saturday when I had to not only lounge around in bed until 1pm but also needed to watch The Real Dirt on Farmer John and the Jamaica episode of No Reservations -- I really over booked myself) and I fear that the lack of healthy lunch combined with the fact that my new freezer totally keeps ice cream frozen (a feature not offered by the old model so obviously I had to buy a tub of Neopolitan Dynamite and eat it everyday) will result in me gaining about 50lbs. I may have to counter with a couple of liquid dinners or by farming myself out as a wet nurse.

I still contend that an interesting "what I had for lunch" post is perfectly possible... even if this is not that post.

Whole Wheat S'more Cookies

As I’m sure most of you have noticed I appear to have lost my mojo. I currently am working on 3 blog posts all of which sit open on my computer serving as a collection of anti-ego fodder that I can reread every hour or so to remind myself that I’m lucky to have a real job cause writing ain’t ever gonna pay the bills. The only way to rectify this current state of bloggers slump is a good old fashion cooking post. When easy blogging is needed nothing (sort of mommy blogging) is easier than posting a macro setting enhanced shot of food and calling it a day. I’ve chosen to also take out some insurance in the form of chocolate – how can you people not love my blog when I offer big pornographic images of dark sugary goodness? A nice side benefit to this post is that it serves as a big “I told you so” to all of the haters who called out my cookie making skills.

As a birthday gift my mom signed me up for a year of Bon Appetit and this month’s issue focuses on green cooking including an entire section on baking with whole grains (which, technically I believe is brown cooking). Those of you who grew up in a household where sneaking fiber into your diet was not considered a top priority might not know that baking with whole wheat flour is a great way to make your cookies, cakes and pastries as card board-y as possible. If you like a hearty corrugated snack followed by a good bowl movement then whole grain baking is for you. I, however, was somewhat skeptical of whole grain’s ability to deliver on the bon to my appetite until I came across the recipe for whole wheat s’more cookies.

I’m a huge fan of the s’more and am easily tempted into s’more flavored snack items all of which have always disappointed. S’more poptarts? Cloying. The S’more candy bar? Down right icky. Some might argue that since real s’mores require one to merely stack store bottom items one on top of the other in a (obviously slightly disturbing) Semi-Homemade fashion that seeking out a s’more substitute is the height of laziness. Conversely spending roughly an hour and $20 on recreating this treat might be seen as foolishly complicated. I’m a riddle.

I substituted a half milk half plain yogurt mixture for the buttermilk that the original recipe called for mostly because neither of the 3 markets that I passed on my way home had buttermilk in stock and there was no way in hell I was going to dreaded Key Food for one damn item. As I started stirring ingredients together I realized that, likely due to somewhat unrestrained late night munching, my chocolate chip supply was running dangerously low. I ran across the street to the bodega that saves my life on a daily basis but while they did stock candied walnuts and jumbo sized jars of marshmallow fluff and Jiffy blueberry muffin mix there wasn’t a chocolate chip in sight. I briefly considered substituting a bag of Kissables but ultimately decided that the festive colors would probably be considered an affront to brown baking. I realize that here I am admitting to skimping on chocolate, the exact ingredient that I used as a lure only 2 paragraphs ago but come on, you’re already half done with the post you might as well see this thing out.

Whole Wheat S’More Cookies

(Adapted from Bon Appetit)

3 cups whole wheat flour

1 ½ cups packed dark brown sugar

1 ½ tsp kosher salt

½ tsp baking soda

2 large eggs

¼ cup plain yogurt

¼ cup milk

1 tablespoon dark molasses

1 ½ tsp vanilla extract

½ cup melted butter

1 ½ cups chocolate chips

1 cup mini marshmallows (left out over night so they’re a bit dried out)

¾ cups chopped walnuts

Preheat oven to 350.

Line baking sheets with parchment paper or silpat. Whisk flour, sugar, salt and baking soda in a large bowl. Whisk eggs, yogurt, milk, molasses and vanilla in medium bowl, whisk in butter. Add egg mixture to dry ingredients stirring until dough is evenly moistened. Stir in chocolate chips, marshmallows and nuts.

Drop cookies by the tablespoon onto prepared cookie sheets. Bake cookies until dry to the touch but still soft, about 15 minutes. Transfer to wire racks to cool.

I was pretty happy with this recipe though the cookies turned out a bit ugly mostly because many of the marshmallows (especially those on the bottom of the cookies) melted. Surprisingly they didn’t stick to the silpat or the parchment. This was my first silpat baking experience (another gift from mom) and I expected to be blown away but I didn’t notice any difference in final product. The silpat is still a welcome addition to my kitchen since it’s easily reusable and thus doesn’t require me to trek out to the cake supply store for restocking purposes.

The s’more cookie recipe promised that the combination of whole wheat flour and chopped walnuts would somehow magically combine to create an oscar worthy graham cracker performance and I have to admit that as the cookies baked my house did begin to smell distinctly graham-y. However, the taste of the cookies was not particularly reminiscent of dessert around the campfire. Don’t get me wrong, they were solidly in the yummy category and I think you could very easily use them to sneak whole grains into your average white bread loving American child but s’mores they ain’t.

This Reporter Smells Something Fishy and it's Not Just the Anchovies.

I know that my normal writing is less hard hitting ground breaking journalism and more wry commentary on tragedies that befall me spiced up with food porn but today that changes. Today, right here, I will be breaking one of the biggest New York food related stories (and possibly the single biggest New York food story to not involve vermin). You’ll probably want to set your Mai Tai down and get out a pipe and smoking jacket so you at least look the part of a true news reader rather than a slobby blog reader.

Three years living in New York City have made me extremely judgmental of slow walkers. I have also developed the hilarious habit of forgetting that public transportation is a myth in all other cities and that it is totally appropriate to drive across the street because seriously no one outside of New York even knows how to walk. But I have not yet become a pizza snob so when in Las Vegas last Saturday my family invited me out for pizza I happily agreed. After all I love anything smothered in cheese and Dad was paying. Here’s a free cooking tip: the best way to improve a dish is to make it free.

When mom told me that we were going to a place called “Grimaldi’s” a little bell went off in my head., “… that sounds familiar.” In the car on the way to dinner I spent at least 10 minutes on thoughts like, “Is that the name of a baseball player?” “Did I ever date a boy named Grimaldi?” “Does having this mental conversation at 29 years old constitute early onset Alzheimer’s?” until I shouted out, “Hey! The famous pizza place near work is named Grimaldi’s! Mom, we went there.” And then my mom started in on, “Oh, I bet this is the same place, it’s probably a chain.” But OF COURSE she is wrong because I am an incredibly cool foodie and I do not eat at chains. And seriously the supposed best pizza place in New York is not a chain. GEEEEEEEEEEZ MOM.

Um. Actually. Fuck. I hate it when my mom is right.

The Grimaldi’s of the west (with locations in Vegas, Dallas and all over Arizona but notably, NOT in New York) is New York themed. The walls covered with subway signs and pictures of the city with a heavy and disturbing focus on the Brooklyn Bridge. The waitress flair involved a lot of (relatively big) apples. It screamed “chain!” I was certain (despite my mother’s pleas to the contrary) that this overly clean, match-y, boring restaurant was of no relation to the tightly packed, demure pizza joint of Dumbo fame. But then I read the “history” section of their menu which starts with “The pizza that made the Brooklyn Bridge famous.” Curious…

Patsy Grimaldi learned the trade from his Uncle Patsy Lancieri, who trained with the man credited with opening the first pizzeria in America in 1905. Lancieri opened Patsy’s Pizzeria in East Harlem in 1931, where Grimaldi started learning the art of coal brick oven pizza at the tender age of 10.

And curiouser.

The menu at Grimaldi’s:The New Dough (see here) is also strangely similar to the NYC joint with the exception that it is sponsored by no less than 4 brand name products (China Mist Tea, Lavazza Coffee, Carmelina Brands (exclusive Grimaldi’s supplier of tomatoes) and Hormel Foods (not exactly sure what they’re bringing to the party since Spam does not appear to be on the menu…)). You order plain pizzas and pay extra for toppings, the toppings options are pretty much the same though I think the west coast might have more variety (Does Dumbo’s Grimaldi’s offer anchovies or ham?). West Coast Gs also offers an Oreo cheesecake which I cannot imagine would be sanctioned in NYC.

The pizza itself was good – I suspect surprisingly good for a pizza served in Las Vegas. I also suspect that someone more New York-y than myself could tell you about 8000 things that were wrong with it but rather than focus on the negative I decided to continue my main December focus of eating a lot of food. I had 4 slices. The crust was thin, the layer of cheese not too thick, the sun dried tomatoes flavorful, I really can’t complain.

It was fast becoming clear that someone in the Grimaldi’s family was raking in some sweet licensing cash. And part of me thinks, “good for you guys!” But the more cynical part who sometimes also considers bands less cool if they, you know, sell any records is certain this is a sign that Grimaldi’s has sold out and will soon start sucking. I think the natural flow in situations like this is, “good restaurant -> open chain -> start serving frozen tater tots -> vermin infestation -> closure” So you know, consider this a warning.

The biggest difference (outside of décor) between Grimaldi’s NYC and Grimaldi’s:The Cash Cow is the friendliness of the wait staff. For those of you who have never been to Grimaldi’s NYC might I just say that customer service has been sacrificed in favor of creating a stereotypical New York experience in the form of having waiters yell at you. It’s a bold choice. In Vegas the have gone with the more traditional “waitress is nice because she works for tips and recognizing that kissing your ass is the fastest path to money.” Another notable difference is that in Dumbo I have never seen a pizza dropped on the floor but in Vegas I saw this happen no less than 3 times in 45 minutes. Leave it to Vegas to work in dinner entertainment.

I just took a gander at the Dumbo Grimaldi’s website and the (much snazzier though still rather crappy) Southwestern Grimaldi’s Pizza Chain website and my suspicions that these entities are related has been confirmed. In fact the NYC Grimaldi’s site links to the knock off site. And Wikipedia also notes the relationship. You may not have cared about this news but you can’t deny that I broke this story. Or at least that I wrote the longest diatribe about it. I’ll watch for my press pass in the mail.

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Third Party Resources

Do you know where to find the best New York pizza around? Even if you suddenly find out that the Las Vegas pizza you love is related to your New York pizza place by a chain restaurant, you can still check out the yellow pages for some worthwhile pizza joints.

Gluttony

Visiting my parents turns me into a bit of house wife. They have a huge kitchen full of irresistible contraptions all calling me to play with them. In the summer they have a garden full of the kind of produce that I can only dream about in the city. In the winter they have a freezer and pantry full of preserved ingredients (seriously, mom cans or freezes everything -- if the apocalypse comes there will be no better fed family of refugees). And year round they have empty tummies that I'm eager to fill. Holidays also provide a perfect opportunity for making food that I would not normally feel able to justify -- OF COURSE we should spend $40 on crab legs, IT'S CHRISTMAS! ABSOLUTELY I should make 5 desserts -- WE NEED TO BUILD UP OUR ENERGY FOR PRESENT OPENING. This year's vacation menu affords me not only an extra 5lbs (the Christmas miracle of the year is that I somehow still fit into my clothing) but also an easy blog post, it is the season of blessings.

Cioppino

For Christmas Eve dinner I made this fish stew for the second year in a row and like the first act the encore was a hit. I used this epicurious recipe which knows enough not to mess too much with a pot full of amazing ingredients, if you (or, you know, your dad...) feel like splurging on insane amounts of seafood this should impress the guests.

Chicken and Dumplings

I served this Smitten Kitchen recipe on Christmas evening (go check out her pictures, they make mine look like slop) and because I am incredibly lazy I didn't bother with the whole removing the chicken from the bone step which grossed out my sister-in-law to be but didn't seem to adversely effect the dish itself. This was the perfect comfort food and I found myself wishing for a blizzard while eating it. (Who am I kidding? I'm pretty much wishing for a blizzard every waking moment from November through March).

Pasta With Brussel Sprouts and Peas

This recipe is a Brianna original and my current favorite fast and easy winter dinner plan. If I may be so bold as to call myself a chef then I can also call this dish a lighter riff on the classic pasta carbonara. It starts with sauteing some cured pig (when I'm feeling fancy I use pancetta but at mom and dad's only bacon was available.) and garlic and mushrooms then add roasted brussel sprouts, peas and parmesan cheese. The recipe is a very forgiving refrigerator cleaner and I've replaced the peas with spinach and done without the mushrooms on many occasions never with any ill efects.

Fisherman's Pie

Last summer my parents shipped me 26 pounds of halibut from Alaska and since I am one person with one average sized freezer I was forced to share the bounty with friends. Because I am incredibly lucky my friends Alia and Owen shared the bounty back at me by inviting me over for dinner when they cooked their halibut ration. Owen got this recipe from his mother and I have dubbed it Fisherman's Pie since it's basically Shepard's Pie with fish instead of lamb and a cream sauce instead of a tomato base. I made this one evening when my parents had invited friends over and while there were many raised eyebrows upon hearing that I would be serving "Fish Pie" when we finally sat down to dinner there was a tableful of surprisingly happy tongues and many seconds served.

Eggnog Ice Cream

This was an ode to my love of the Starbucks Eggnog Latte which was as good an excuse as I needed to play with mom's ice cream maker. This is another epicurious recipe (I am their biggest fan and advertiser, they should pay me.) and while I was (obviously) tempted to up the rum portion I resisted out of fear that adding alcohol could adversely affect the freezing process which could lead to me being forced to eat a bowl of boozey liquid ice cream mix and while this sounds like the perfect way to celebrate the season I didn't think my parents would appreciate the image of me covered in custard and passed out on their kitchen floor. They have no idea how much I sacrifice for them. I am like the best daughter ever.

Slurping My Way Through Chinatown

I love a good theme. Mix tapes containing only songs with cities as their title. Costume parties where everyone has to dress as their favorite rock star. I’m always in. And today? A Chinatown soup dumpling crawl. This afternoon of theme based gluttony was sponsored by a coworker who, earlier this year (during a time of much warmer weather), also brought me the Chinatown pan fried dumpling crawl. He is fast becoming my favorite person.

For those of you not living in an area with a thriving Chinese community might I recommend moving? Because seriously you people are missing out. Soup dumplings are a dollop of meat filling (usually pork) floating in a sea of rich broth encased inside of a thick dumpling wrapper. They are amazing. During our romp around Chinatown there was much talk (between the slurping and moaning in pleasure) about just how they get the broth tucked away in the belly of the dumpling (a more ethnic and perhaps higher brow version of the “how do they get the crème in the twinkie?” debate) and the most likely answer seemed to involve a cube of frozen broth instead of a stock filled syringe but Wikipedia claims that both hypothesizes wrong. Apparently the broth is the result of a meat gelatin alone which when heated melts into a satisfying greasy sauce -- this might not sound appetizing but does explain the richness (and also exactly why the broth drippings were so quick to congeal on my plate). I promise that if you eat a soup dumpling you will not find that last sentence anything other than delicious.

The first stop on the soup dumpling crawl was the overflow location for New York’s most famous soup dumpling-ary Joe’s Shanghai, Joe’s Ginger at 25 Pell. We were brought 2 orders of traditional pork soup dumplings and one order of a pork and crab combo both of which were lovely though there were some incidences of perhaps less than well done pork.

Our next stop at Goodies at 1 East Broadway offered the most impressive showing for soup dumpling variety and we took full advantage ordering FIVE types of dumplings. Sadly when the bamboo baskets arrived at the table all of the dumplings had such a uniform look that we were unable to distinguish the three delight from the seafood until the broth hit our tongues. No matter since all were also uniformly scrumptious. Goodies also brought us a bowl full of fortune cookies at the end of our second stop on the dumpling-fest via which I received this notification.

By 2pm Shanghai café at 100 Mott was so packed that we elected to take our dumplings on the road. And so the crawl ended with the 9 of us munching on pork and pork and crab dumplings in Columbus Park. The broth in the Shanghai dumplings was by far the most flavorful and gently sucking it from our its doughy pocket while sitting under a clear November sky was a wonderful way to end a long American weekend that honors gluttony.

I love turkey and mashed potatoes and most of all stuffing but this year I am thankful to reside in the land of exotic edible delights. God bless New York City.

Candy Land

I have been avoiding reading Candy Freak for at least a year and a half out of fear that an entire book homage to chocolate and corn syrup might have calories embedded in the pages which would crawl into my body via the pores in my finger tips and cause me to gain roughly 250lbs by the time I reached page 73. Or (more likely) my will power would be no match for Steve Almond's passion and I'd have to set up a sleeping bag at the foot of the candy rack of my local 24 hour bodega. Either way the book seemed dangerous enough to put off digesting it until a recent trip had me stuck on an airplane and then locked away in the mountains at least 90 minutes from the nearest Hershey bar.

Unlike Almond, I have no right to blog about chocolate candy, we all know that were I to drown my sorrows in sugar and fat you'd find my bloated body bobbing in a lake of half melted Ben and Jerry's. As a kid I often claimed to hate chocolate -- unsurprisingly this was an exaggeration (something I've been prone to since well before the inception of this blog) as I was perfectly capable of wolfing down handful of See's caramels and thin mint cookies both of which were enrobed in my supposed arch nemesis. I do however, remember bemoaning the over abundance of chips in chocolate chip cookies and wondering why no one made a chipless version. Luckily, I've gotten over this ridiculousness and now keep an emergency supply of chocolate in my desk at work and the pantry cupboard at home. As is the case with most of my paranoid stock piles of emergency food much of the chocolate goes to waste waiting for a rainy day downpour that never comes but I'm comforted by its presence.

Almond would likely scoff at my candy bar snobbery -- virtually everything I buy is European and dark and occasionally (when my liberal guilt is boiling over) organic and fair trade. My go to candy is Ritter Sport bars in hazelnut, corn flake or biscuit (note to Ritter Sport president who totally reads my blog: make the biscuit and the corn flake versions in dark chocolate please) but if forced into a mass market candy bar decision I'll usually go Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, Twix or KitKat. I eat all of these from top to bottom, first peeling away the chocolate top soil to reveal the candy strata beneath. KitKats are the most satisfying to eat, on a good day I can peel away each layers of waffer and scratch off the chocolate goo with my front teeth until I have just the final bottom coat of chocolate melting in my hand.

I love to taste new things so Almond's chapters devoted to small regional candy companies had me salivating and making plans for a gluttonous cross country candy feast. I must try the GooGoo Clusters (Steve didn't mention there was peanut butter version -- I may need to schedule a trip to the south for tomorrow afternoon) and the snob in me can't believe she's lived this long without experiencing Five Star Bars. In the spirit of this book I've decided to bestow upon you, dear readers, a couple of candy reviews of my own.

First up is the Yorkie which I bought mostly because it was taunting me with its tag line, "Not for Girls," what self respecting feminist could resist? I have to assume that the Yorkie has a secret ingredient that reacts with testosterone to create a taste that would not be described as "waxy," "kind of off" and "gross." which are the words this estrogen machine immediately turned to upon first bite. Upon further reflection on the plain gritty low quality milk chocolate I was forced to consider the possibility that the Yorkie contains actual Yorkies.

While the Yorkie called to me as a challenge the Reese's Peanut Butter and Banana Creme (aka the Elvis) spoke directly to my pallet. I have always loved Reese's Peanut Butter Cups with their shockingly sweet jolt of peanutty goodness and in many moments of midnight snacking I have been known to spread peanut butter directly onto a banana and moan orgasmically so the limited edition candy seemed like a brilliant and much overdue idea. The modified peanut butter cups tasted exactly as billed -- the banana flavoring was authentic enough to make it easy to pretend that an actual banana has been hurt in the making of this candy and the flavor melded nicely with the peanut and chocolate. But... I kind of wanted my regular Reese's back. This taste test made it clear that my love for peanut butter cups is more about nostalgia then taste. As much as I thrive on new taste sensations in my heart I am still American and like the majority of Hershey's customer base, and like Steve Almond, I crave the candy that comforted me as a child and my tongue is ready to rebel against any veering from the expected Reese's path.

So I cannot recommend either of the new candy bars I tried but I heartily recommend Candy Freak. In addition to being a fascinating walk through our collective candy history it's also a touching glimpse into Steve Almond's particular kind of freak. I suspect that many readers may be annoyed by his tangents into noncandy related personal antidote but I was charmed. Steve, when you read this please don't be overwhelmed by my fame, leave a comment, fly to New York, no need to bring clothing.

Last Meal

I saw this post yesterday and was, of course, shocked that no one had contacted me. Am I not a foodie? Am I not in danger of being taken out and shot by multiple parties (Sandra Lee?, at least 2 lawyers?, a former Animal, a couple of Magni and 2 Swedish songstresses?)? Am I not VERY FAMOUS?!?!?!

Screw you Chew on This jerks! (just kidding, you seem very nice...)

I refuse to be censored by the man so in defiance I now present THE BEST LAST MEAL EVER (because eating all of it will cause a heart attack on the spot thus thwarting my enemy's plans to assassinate me.)

Appetizer: Lobster salad like I once had at Corduroy in DC. It's really just chunks of lobster with some cucumber and tomato but what else do you need?
Salad: Purple Cherokee heirloom tomato salad with fresh basil, syrupy aged balsamic and good olive oil
Soup: Mom's creamy potato leek with lots of pepper
Main: Ossobuco served over saffron risotto (exactly as described on wikipedia) and an artichoke with lots of melted herb butter for dipping.
Cheese: Very stinky aged blue cheese with the truffle honey that they serve at Otto served with a really crisp and tart granny smith apple and a sour dough baguette
Dessert: brownie sundae (the brownie has to be have a really crinkly top) with a chocolate peanut butter ice cream, a mint chip ice cream and a banana ice cream with a caramel swirl, hot fudge, piles of homemade whipped cream toasted pecans, homemade boozey maraschino cherry.

While I'm tempted to choose a separate alcoholic beverage for each course (perhaps Sandra Lee has inspired me after all) I'll settle for having everything served with champagne.

This exercise was ridiculously painful not only because there are just too many food stuffs out there to love (I think it's clear that before partaking in the last meal described above I will need to either schedule a few strategically placed bulimia breaks or magically turn into a ruminant (the roomy extra stomach almost makes up for the cud chewing!)) but also because I got obsessed with making a meal that worked together. I really wanted to include hand made corn tortillas and my uncle's shakshuka and while tortillas could be paired with margaritas (rocks, lots of salt) and the shakshuka could have been followed up with my aunt's chicken couscous neither option would go well with the blue cheese and truffle honey which I wasn't willing to compromise on. I should have specified in my execution contract that I need at least a week of extravagant last meals. There was also the issue of time of year -- if I'm being offed in August I might actually go for the Mexican meal or course after course of spicy cold thai dishes washed down with coconut juice but for a January death I need to pack on some home made mac and cheese and grandma's chicken soup with egg noodles.

Don't even get me started on what I'll be wearing....

How We Eat

Lately no one can mention peanut butter around with me without starting a discussion about why peanut butter is so popular in America (and also, how exactly it got to be so awesome.) but is seen as disgusting in many other countries. I start similar debates about pumpkin pie and BBQ and have long kept a mental list of American foods that are rarely recognized as such. As always, Wikipedia does a better job than I(leave it to the masses to make me look bad). And yet my experience has been that when most people think of American food they immediately turn to hamburgers, pizza and French fries. Somehow American food has become synonymous with fast food. I’ve been wondering about how our lack of a well define food culture is likely to effect the everyday American for some time but reading The Omnivore’s Dilemma has turned this occasional pondering into obsession.

It not only seems unfair to exclusively associate American food with Fast Food but also dangerous. Fast Food not only fails to provide nutrition but the way it is typically consumed enforces unhealthy eating habits like eating alone and eating on the run. In The Omnivore’s Dilemma Pollan discusses how food traditions affect healthy eating and hypothesizes that cultures who highly value food and the eating experience often have healthier eating habits regardless of the caloric content of their traditional foods. He addresses the common cliché that the French eat high calorie foods and never get fat by pointing out that the French meal encourages eating small bites over long periods of time and consuming higher calorie foods in tiny quantities and on special occasions – the French do not sit alone in their apartments at 3am gorging on pate, baguettes and red wine (though, obviously that sounds pretty awesome and I think we all know where to find me come Saturday morning…). Having pride in the food you cook, serve and eat leads to better food for all.

In addition to the obvious health implications the very nature of fast food (quick, heavily processed, not prepared at home, designed to be as cheap to produce as possible, designed to be eaten on the go, etc) makes it impossible for a healthy food culture to develop around the only food commonly seen as “American.” Pollan argues that the well established food cultures seen in other countries serve their citizen’s especially well because they have been tested over the course of human history and have benefited from a cultural survival of the fittest. By this standard one would think that Fast Food should quickly be approaching extinction. For good or ill in America our immigrant population has made it difficult to establish a cohesive food culture and our general wealth has made food so widely available that rationing and sacrifice are rarely necessary. The dark side of abundance is that nothing seems special or worth waiting for. With so many ready options it is not surprising that as a society we are often at a loss over just what to eat. I suspect that other cultures rarely suffer from the all to common American confusion around exactly which food is likely to kill us next (“Tonight on Dateline, Is water good for you or is this unassuming beverage really part of a terrorist plot to bring down America?”). Pollan points out that Americans have a very short established history with food and thus rely on science alone to dictate what is good and bad without regard for factors like portion size or meal balance. Combine this with our reactionary media and you have a society so confused that many of us have dropped out of the food discussion entirely choosing instead to eat whatever is cheap, readily available and requires the least amount of work. We eat the lowest common denominator and shouldn’t be surprised that the dollar menu has led to an obesity epidemic.

Many have pointed out that Fast Food isn’t even that tasty – sure, the occasional frosty, fries or chicken nuggets are shockingly decadent and often the best way to cap off a night of drinking but few would rave over the taste sensations available at McDonalds. When I was dieting I used to force myself to consciously think about if the caloric cost of any given food item was suitably offset by the enjoyment I was likely to experience eating it. Too often when faced with the bland, boring, processed foods that seems to have taken over the American table the cost:pleasure ratio came out wanting. I wonder if it would be possible to throw out our broken food model and improve health in the US by consciously developing a true food culture. I’d argue that our lack of established food customs gives Americans a unique opportunity to shape meals that work for our bodies, our taste buds our planet and our pocketbooks. This need not be a culture that outright rejects fatty and sweet foods but instead one that treats these foods as so special that they should only be consumed on an occasional basis. Indeed, the point of establishing this culture would be to elevate the American meal to something worth paying for with time, money and calories. Such a system would discourage overeating by associating high monetary and effort cost with foods of higher caloric value. How often would we eat cookies or pizza if we always had to prepare these foods from scratch? How much more enjoyable would these foods be knowing that someone spent the time and money to make them? Who wouldn’t choose homemade chocolate chip cookies over Chips Ahoy?

How to Make Friends and Influence People with Cake

In honor of Gillian's birthday last week I stole this recipe from Smitten Kitten. Nothing says Happy 33rd like a felony! Actually, nothing says Happy 33rd like 3 cups of whipped cream. I am very happy to report that this recipe has the most impressive ease of baking to number of oohs and ahhs ratio that I've ever experience in cake form. If you have no desire or ability to bake but somehow have been roped into providing dessert for people whose opinions matter this is the cake for you (if the dessert is for losers who you don't care to impressive might I suggest pudding cups?).

I made only one change to Smitten Kitten's recipe, I needed the cake to be substantially larger than the 7 cookie base that she describes, I accomplished this by surrounding the middle cookie with the halves of two other cookies (sorry for the blurry picture). The wafers were easily halved using a serrated knife though this did bring a certain amount of collateral damage to my kitchen floor where a week later I'm still picking up little black crumbs with my bare feet (brooms are for losers.).

Upon arrival at the office with this cake the gasps of "Oh my god you made that?!?" were almost deafening. I suppose I should have smiled, demurred and taken credit for my awesome baking skills but much as I cannot help replying to "cute shirt!" with "I know! JCrew online sale! FIVE DOLLARS!!!" in this case I could not help revealing that this was the easiest cake ever. The only skill required is the whipping of cream and I had the Kitchen Aide do that for me, from there on out it's just layering. If I make the cake again I'll spread the whipped cream out further to the edges of the cookies. When I assembled the cake having the cookie edges stick out looked great but after the requisite overnight setting period the wafers couldn't stand up to the extra weight of the absorbed whipped cream resulting in droopy cookies. Looking at the picture of the Smitten Kitten version also makes me wonder if I should have whipped the cream a little more but the texture of my cake seems good and I have a primal fear of overwhipping.

Ms. Kitten writes that she had considerable trouble locating the Nabisco chocolate wafer cookies needed to make this cake but I am happy to report that Key Food totally delivered on the cookies -- though it seems likely that they had been waiting around on the shelf since 1963. Cookies don't go bad, right? While in the grocery story I also came across packages of chocolate mint, ginger and lemon wafer cookies and I wonder if the recipe could be made with thee variations -- gingersnap icebox cake sounds pretty awesome.

Spending a good 15mins layering cookies is apt to wear a girl out so post "baking" Amy and I indulged in whipped cream sundaes while watching the last episode of Gilmore Girls. This might seem like the kind of eating that has lead to the obesity epidemic now so rampant in this country but might I direct you to the strawberries at the bottom of the bowl -- that's fruit people, fruit is HEALTHY.

The Omnivore's Dilemma

I recently finished The Omnivore’s Dilemma and despite typing the word dilemma at least 100 times over the past month or so I still spell it so incorrectly that I have to retype it about 5 times to get something close enough for spell check to recognize. The book was almost a direct response to my November, Why Organic? post so I assume that Michael Pollan has been psychically stalking me and poaching my thoughts for the benefit of his writing career, I would be angry but it’s not like I have the funding or the patience to write a book myself – someone might as well make use of my brilliant mental insights.

About two weeks into reading the book I had a dream that I was in a grocery store staring at a case of frozen chickens paralyzed over the decision between the standard chicken and the $4/lb more expensive organic free range version. In the dream I was so agitated that I started arguing with other customers and must have lingered in the meat aisle for days on end. Dream Brianna was obsessed with determining if the free range organic super powered chicken led a slightly less tortured life than boring old conventional chicken but, of course, could not determine this based on any of the information being offered by the packaging. This proves that my dream self is much more tortured and annoying than the waking Brianna – all of you should count yourselves lucky. (This also proves that my subconscious is ridiculously lazy when it comes to putting together interesting dream scenarios. Frankly, I think I’m getting screwed. This dream took up valuable time that could have been spent listening to Jack White sing a love song he wrote just for me while Rhett Miller feeds me spoonful after spoonful of premium ice cream. But back to food politics -- talk like that might keep all of my new readers coming back and I’m working pretty hard at scaring them away with a long boring diatribe.) In real life I am not so troubled as to attack other shoppers over the organic vs. local vs. conventional food choices that I make everyday but The Omnivore’s Dilemma has certainly further complicated the already stressful task of feeding myself.

Pollan’s research into the world of industrial organic food confirms many of my fears about the organic food industry. Despite what marketing claims much of the organic food on the market is only marginally “better” than most conventional options. The truth is that very very little of the US food supply begins life in the bucolic farmland featured in the pictures on the back of most food packaging. Sure, no pesticides were used in growing the organic produce but the operation likely required the use of more industrial machinery and it had to be carted to you from half way around the country (or even the world) both of which add up to more gasoline use which means more pollution for the planet in general. Organic standards seem even more irrelevant when applied to meat and dairy now that organic feedlots are a common occurrence. My father read The Omnivore’s Dilemma before me and the chapter on industrial organic led him to concluded that all organic food is a scam, but despite the somewhat dismal picture painted by Pollan I still haven’t completely closed my wallet on organic. If I could reliably find organic semi-local food that wasn’t ridiculously more expensive than the conventional alternative I would buy it. As my all organic all the time friend Sky (yeah, you think I had hippy parents…) said, “Isn’t less pesticide ALWAYS better even if it’s not perfect?” Sure, but that's hardly the only factor to consider. Usually it is all but impossible to know if the food I’m buying is sustainably farmed or humanly ranched. Large organic companies have mastered the game of “find the loophole” and are now often organic in name and legality alone. CSA season started last week so I’ll be happily living the dream of clean food for most of my produce until November (we even get fruit and some meat and eggs this year) but when I placed my Fresh Direct order on Monday the only organic food I bought were apples that the claimed were from a local orchard.

The “best” food conclusion Pollen comes to is that local food from a reputable farmer is probably the healthiest choice for your body, the bodies of farm workers and the planet in general. The chapter about Polyface Farm in Virginia has me all but convinced that I should just move as close to that farm as possible. In an ideal world the answer should probably be growing and hunting as much of your own food as possible. Despite Pollan’s assertion that this is a highly unrealistic goal my parents pretty much live this life. Growing up I had no idea that this was anything other than normal (this statement is a hilarious description of my entire life experience from age 0-18). My parents (yes, Mom too; she’s badass) went deer hunting evey October, in July they often purchased a pig or lamb from the 4-H auction, we ate out of the garden all summer and supped on jars of spaghetti sauce, dilly beans, jam and dried fruits all winter long. We had rabbits that we killed and froze; we went fishing and stocked up on trout. Dinner was eaten at the table as a family almost every night (apparently 47% of Americans claim this as the norm so even though “family dinner” seems to have a pretty loose interpretation in some households this puts my family on the cusp of normal for about the first time ever.). I blame this ridiculous upbringing for my inability to be at peace with food without knowing the intimate details of its origin – Thanks Mom and Dad.

I grew up in a family of hunters but Pollan was the first person to ever inspire in me a small desire to kill and eat an animal. I know that some of my vegetarian readers might now be wondering if I’m famous enough to warrant a PETA assault on my character (sadly, probably not) but I urge everyone to hear me out. I eat meat. I don’t really have problems with eating meat. I do however have a beef with the meat industry in this country (let’s hear it for bad puns!). So hunting offers the cleanest opportunity for procuring meat and I feel a little of that, “if you can eat it you should be able to kill it,” lefty carnivore guilt. The hunting chapter also reminded me of something my father once said during a conversation about a couple of friends who had gone vegan. The desire to completely remove oneself from the food chain seems to imply a want to further distance humans from the wild. Similarly it is somehow considered morally questionable to humanly kill a wild animal that has had a chance to live a healthy life but morally clean to buy packaged hamburger that likely originated at a factory farm where the animal lived and died in dismal conditions. (Though it seems possible that looking down on hunters is as much related to social hierarchy as to society’s feelings on killing animals).

The book also has me curious about mushrooms to the point of obsession. Until today I hadn’t been successful in locating any possibilities for wild mushroom hunting in the New York area and thought I would be reduced to scattering store bought fungi in Astoria Park and playing Easter egg hunt some Sunday afternoon (please join me, crazy is more fun in groups!). But today I found this radio program on the wild foods of Central Park and apparently there are tons of edible mushrooms hiding in the park including oyster mushrooms! I’m now ready to sign up for a park tour with the Wildman. He mentioned that the best tour is in the fall but I can’t wait and think I’ll be at the July 1 Central Park tour. Since I have reason to believe that poor website design is a sign of an awesome food tour to come I’m feeling pretty psyched about these plans.

About a year ago I started feeling better about the US food situation. Organic was picking up, fast food was tanking, and the populous seemed to be hearing the message of Fast Food Nation and Super Size Me and the organic movement. The US food system was in serious trouble and we, as a society, needed to work together to improve things. Today I don’t even know who to root for. I used to occasionally buy organic food under the guise of voting with my dollars, I felt like taking my money away from Con Agra and their ilk would send the message that I want the food system to change. Change is here but The Omnivore’s Dilemma leaves me even more unsure that we’ve improved upon the status quo.