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Feb 17

Where do Crunchwraps Fit in?

Things have been quiet around here because I’ve been mulling over a new web venture. Ha, that sounds much bolder than intended. I simply mean revamping and focusing my many errant webpages/blogs floating around the internets.

In the mean time, I pose a question/ask for help from any participatory NYC based readers: does anyone have strong opinions on quintessentially authentic Latin American food items (and their fake Americanized counterparts) at restaurants around the city? I’m researching things like American thick, chunky guacamole versus what you’d get in Mexico,which is thin and saucy. Crunchy tacos compared to soft corn tortilla versions. You get the idea. Any input is welcome.

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Feb 14

Pampano

Oh my god, every year I get brattier and brattier. In the old days I'd be shocked and amazed if a guy bought a carton of kung pao chicken and let me pick a few bites. Now I expect the world. Well, the world outside east midtown.

I've had such irrational aversion to the east 50s since my new job stuck me in this stagnant no-man's land. Sutton Place is scary. Shun Lee Palace is scary. All of Third Ave. gives me the heebie-jeebies.

So, it weirded me out when James mentioned he'd chosen a Valentine's restaurant near my office. I'm still not sure how he stumbled upon Pampano. But I guessed it because he has a propensity for Latin American or meaty restaurants for celebrations. Really, he was being thoughtful since I've been attempting to eat moderately light and figured seafood would be safe.

And Pamapano was perfectly nice. Unfortunately, it got overshadowed by our showier Blue Hill meal later that week. I mean, the two are nothing alike so I shouldn't compare them. Valentine's is one of those tricky dining occasions because it's hard to avoid the hype and hokeyness. It's definitely not the best measure of a chefs strengths.

We started with guacamole because that's what you're supposed to do at higher end Mexican places in Manhattan. And then we went with the prix fixe, which I'm having a hard time recalling in great detail, despite taking photos. I think drinking on an empty stomach before dining can exacerbate this memory problem. It is interesting to see the food all together in this fashion, as it's clear that there's a distinct color palette being employed.

Pomegranate seeds, roe and shrimp	Mixed ceviche
Shrimp, manchego empanada, pineapple bell pepper relish, chile chipotle vinaigrette	Squash soup with amazing huitalacoche wonton and epazote
Shrimp, calamari, scallops, octopus and cilantro rice with achiote-coconut sauce	This was James's and I'm not 100% sure which fish and preparation he had
a messy (yet tasty) panna cotta	pineapple and mango sorbet

Pampano * 209 E. 49th St., New York, NY

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Feb 11

Yemen Cafe

In the nearly two years I've lived vaguely near Atlantic Avenue, Waterfalls is the only Middle Eastern restaurant I've visited. I fear that whole strip is going to be gentrified into oblivion within a couple of years, so I'd better start branching out while I can. Yemeni cuisine is one that I could stand to learn a little bit more about.

I took the opportunity during the first flakes of the blizzard. After seeing Cache at that odd Brooklyn Heights Theater on Henry Street, Yemen Cafe was a short (albeit wet) walk down the street (and home, 15 blocks south of that). As I'd suspected might be the case, I was the only female in the sparse, spacious room that was maybe a quarter full. I think that's why I tend to be wary of many of these restaurants: the lack of women. Am I breaking a rule by wanting to try new and delicious food?

Many of the items on offer were highly tasty and not quite like things I've had before. The pita was large, pizza-sized and comes on a platter. It had definitely come straight from an oven, warm with charred, bubbly edges. I didn't order any appetizers because I assumed the entrees were meal enough, which they were. However, the foul madamas and the Yemeni fateh, bread with honey and butter, grabbed my attention. Maybe on another visit.

James had a lamb fateh. I gather fateh means things served atop torn pieces of bread. The gravy soaks into the flaps of starch and creates a chewy flavor combination. I had the house salta, which comes in two parts. I think the salta is the stew, which is laced with potatoes, carrots and zucchini and comes most interestingly topped with a white herby foam called houlbah. I'd never seen such a thing, at the same it's time ancient and avant-garde. You mix the strong flavored swirl into the liquid. I couldn't put my finger on what the bitter component was, but later I deduced that it was fenugreek. A roasty browned, juicy lamb shank comes on a separate plate (you can also get chicken). A lot of picking and dipping is involved.

The foam came as a surprise, and so did the hot sauce they bring on a small saucer. I swear it's a dead ringer for salsa. We were joking that there was a jar of Pace in the kitchen. The components were there: tomato, onion, jalapeno, but lighter on the tomato on higher on the heat. Not chunky, but a puree. This is what I enjoyed about Yemen Cafe, unexpected tid bits like the Yemeni salsa, foamy toppings and pita strewn stews.

Yemen Cafe * 176 Atlantic Ave., Brooklyn, NY

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Feb 11

Haute Shit

Stptux You’d think that I understood PR, especially since I’m now apparently working in the industry (corporate clients, not fun stuff), but I don’t, except to say that someone must be putting in extra hours for Vosges Chocolates. It’s not like they’re new (I did buy a friend a box for her birthday a few years ago), yet every Valentine’s candy related article I’ve read (ok, it’s not like there are hundreds of them) in the past few days has mentioned the company famous for using ingredients like wasabi and naming a collection after million dollar sperm donor Vincent Gallo.

Of course, now I can’t recall any of these mentions except from Apartment Therapy’s The Kitchen, Gothamist and yesterday’s Critical Shopper column written by that scary gazillionaire who lightheartedly wrote, “Until December I had not really eaten chocolate for about 10 years. A gift of chocolate was, I believed, a veiled and hostile gesture to make me fat.”

It’s inane omissions like that, that forces me to read the New York Post. Post columnists wouldn’t write about denying themselves chocolate for a decade. Food phobias like that drive me batty, I just can’t hear or abide that kind of nonsense. The kind of person (woman) who thinks that presents of chocolate are hostile is beastly. It shows the inner workings of their fat and sugar-deprived minds because a run of the mill individual would likely be happy with chocolate unless they were diabetic or allergic. That someone would even conceive of candy as mean spirited implies that’s the sort of passive-aggressive way they’d act out. Like not-so-innocently giving someone a dress a size too small, “oh, I didn’t realize you were a six.” Ew, because a six would be really huge and disgusting to someone who hadn’t eaten chocolate since Rent debuted on Broadway (and thinks Alphabet City–or for that matter, uses the phrase Alphabet City–is actually filled with kooky singing and dancing squatters).

Ok, I wasn’t intending to go to town on Mrs. Kuczynski. My original dilemma concerned Vosges founder Katrina Markoff. I’ve been having all these issues lately because I just can’t seem to settle on anything career-wise. No matter what I do, I end up loathing it. So I ask myself like a What Color is my Parachute retard: what would I like to do? Not work in an office, for starters. I’d like to have a product I could sell, but I’m not sure what said product would be. Unfortunately, I’m the opposite of entrepreneurial, have zero business savvy and an empty bank account. So, I’m always awed/annoyed by people who have successful food ventures, and look for the back story.

Like, obviously you couldn’t open a giant flashy candy store inside one of NYC’s most famous department stores if your father wasn’t a wealthy well-known fashion designer. I don’t know the Vosges woman’s background, but when I read things about people my age (usually younger, though, which is even more distressing) who go to France and study at Cordon Bleu, apprentice with renowned Spanish avant-garde chefs and travel around the world for months on end just trying new flavors, I can only assume that they don’t work for a living.

Where others see a fun, fascinating multi-faceted person, I see an irritant. I’m sure Katrina Markoff is a perfectly nice human being, I haven’t seen anything unpleasant written about her (in fact, this piece about Vincent Gallo being mean to her makes me like her more). I’m the one with the problem. I’m just miffed because I’m tormented 9-6 daily while others flit around the globe and make candy.

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Feb 10

Italians are Not Like Us

I've been so horrifically bogged down that I'm now paralyzed and wordless. Well, almost. I did find the time to squeeze in some vaguely (and I do mean vaguely) food related blah blah on my blog (you know, I'm starting to get desensitized to that word and it really bothers me). Oh my goodness, I just intermittently watched the Olympic opening ceremonies. You don't need me to tell you how not American that spectacle is. Total over the top, Cirque du Soleil style bodysuit, face paint nuttiness, ending with a Ferrari screeching around on a stage doing cookies (the most American part of the whole thing) It kind of scared me a little. You only need look at mascots Neve and Gliz to delve deeper into peculiar foreign aesthetics. At least they're cuter than '04s Phevos and Athena.

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Feb 10

Love Bites

Not that I personally buy into any edibles as aphrodisiac, but here’s my article "The Food of Love" (I don’t write the headlines, yet unfortunately I do write some pretty nice puns and alliterations) from yesterday’s New York Post.

Does it get any more exciting on a Thursday early evening? Apparently, it does–I'm just about to head over to the Outback Steakhouse across from my office. Foster’s and fried onions await me.

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Feb 9

Outback Steakhouse

Maybe it's the 44 ounces of Foster's talking, but this eerie Midtown Outback totally rules (sorry, no rules, just right). I've been eyeing this branch ever since I started a new job across the street from their take out window. There's something absurd about advertising curbside service ("no rules just right to your car") in a city where no one drives. But then there's something absurd about an Outback Steakhouse on the cusp of the Upper East Side, too.

Nothing pleases me more than the absurd so I was thrilled to finally pay this anomaly a visit. The most glaring difference between this Outback and every other one I've ever been visited, is that there wasn't a wait. In fact, half the tables were empty (though there was a minor male dominated happy hour scene at the bar) I've waited over 60 minutes in Edgewater for the privilege of a seat. This lack of large families with toddlers crowding the entrance was unnerving. Of course the prices are all a couple bucks higher ($8.95 Bloomin' Onion as opposed its $6.96 New Jersey counterpart), but that's the price you pay for NYC class.

To be honest, I'm not fanatical about steaks, meat is meat (well, Peter Luger is pretty convincing). I just like the rigmarole and side dishes. I never know which cut to order and really I don't know how much it matters. I ultimately went with a 9-ounce center cut filet, medium rather than my preferred medium-rare because even ordering medium gives the waiters conniptions. I'm sure it's part of their training, but they insist on explaining what medium means, emphasizing that there will be some pink in the middle like they're trying to scare you up a doneness notch. I don't think they're even allowed to serve anything prepared rare.

So yes, the steak was meaty. And after filling up on onion loaf, a peculiar dressing-heavy blue cheese chopped salad (I only ordered it because I never realized you got a choice besides the standard Caesar) bread and butter and a giant mug of beer, I only had room for half of my filet and chunky mashed potatoes. I don't think I've ever tried dessert at Outback. I'm not even sure what they offer–oh, that's right, The Chocolate Thunder from Down Under, duh. Maybe I'll get really wild and stop in for the disturbingly named hot fudge brownie sundae some night after work.

Outback Steakhouse * 919 Third Ave., New York, NY

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Feb 8

Let Them Eat Football Cake

What to make for a Super Bowl party that's really just an excuse to eat bad food and break in a new larger than life plasma TV? Of course, I had to at least skim my favorite messed-up standby, the Kraft site (I also enjoyed how Food TV had Steelers themed food that was all pierogies, kielbasa and sauerkraut while Seahawk fare consisted of wok seared Dungeness crab, oysters, smoked salmon and taro chips. Is that like blue state/red state cuisine demarcation?) because they know how to celebrate (using as many Kraft products per recipe, of course). I was a little wowed by the Cheesy Football, and amused by the sixth (at this moment in time) comment:

This cheese ball was so great! it was such a big hit at our super bowl party we will be having thanks to this website…i have so many great ideas to share w/ u and my friends of all ages including newborns! thank you see u there !

Uh, newborns are allowed to eat this shit? Or does Crazymel20041 just like hanging with newborns? I'm totally confused.

So, I skipped the Cheesy Football, and went pretty bar food basic: guacamole, hot jalapeno crab dip, and saucy little smokies. I'll admit I went with the cocktail wieners simply because we had half of a two-pound Costco bag in the freezer (same with jalapeno poppers, which I also cracked open).

Oh, and it was hard to resist the bizarre simplicity of the half jelly, half chili sauce smokies recipe (a variation floating around the internet is half jelly, half mustard). Grape jelly isn't something I keep around the house (poppers and smokies, sure, but grape jelly? You've got to be kidding) and I had the good fortune of having recently opened and nearly orphaned a jar of pineapple jam in the fridge that I'd only needed one tablespoon of. I conceded and bought a jar of that ketchupy Heinz chili sauce and shook in an additional blob of sambal oelek. Pu-pu platter perfection.

James manned the deep-fryer because it gives him purpose. He went to town with Buffalo wings and Jane showed up later with cornmeal breaded okra, which also got the hot oil treatment. We had intended to deep-fry a few candy bars, but reason got the better of us.

The past couple of years Rich has brought over his specialty, and my nemesis, Cincinnati Chili. I like to believe that I'm not a fussy eater. Really, the only thing I hate is melon, but there are items that are low on my list, just not in full loathsome territory. Those things include spaghetti, chili and wieners, all components of this regional treat.

I'm still not quite clear on the eating procedure. There's the pasta, which gets topped with the chili and grated cheese, but then there are those whole wieners floating in the chili to contend with, not to mention the hot dog buns and oyster crackers. It's all very confusing. Three-way, four-way, five-way?! I will say that I like the cinnamon as a chili component, it's not a spicy style, but weirdly mole-ish.

And while the Cheesy Football got a pass, the theme lived on in Patrick's Staten Island supermarket football cake. Score!

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Feb 7

Wink Wink, Pudge Pudge

Clip Ok, I was poking around the Food TV site, as I do from time to time, and about halfway down, in the middle of the page I noticed this peculiar line drawn man's face. Is this supposed to be a Food TV personality? I totally don't recognize the guy. It's not Alton, Bobby, Emeril, Mario or that whatever Ham on The Street guy. Who else is left? When you hold the cursor over him he suggestively raises his eyebrows or winks. I'm offended, he's almost as much of a nuisance as the Microsoft Word anthropomorphic paperclip. This animated chinless wonder is driving me nuts.

Er, ok, I just solved my own stupid mystery by actually clicking on the damn icon and…well, it is that Ham character. The whole thing is totally nonsensical. The illustration is a bit more svelte and sans soul patch (I guess it's tough to have a beard without a chin).

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Feb 4

La Flor

1/2 I feel like La Flor is one of those Chowhound darlings (at least it was some years back) as was corroborated by the 95% white middle class clientele (myself included, I guess) that mysteriously was almost exclusively made up of pairs of 40-ish women. But I've never been in all of my years. If I find myself along these parts of Roosevelt Ave., I inevitably end up in an Asian establishment. And even this excursion was a fluke. We'd been shopping at Western Beef in Ridgewood and wanted a taco, which could've been satisfied en route back to South Brooklyn. But the pull deeper into Queens was too strong to resist.

I know, La Flor is more capable than a mere taqueria–the short ribs sounded tempting and the cheesecake and bread pudding filled dessert case taunted me all evening–but we just wanted tacos. I had to try the special al pastor ones since I'm crazy for pork and pineapple. I happened to be sitting right near the spit, so I could see the meat being shaved off. Clearly I wasn't the only al pastor fan, as a lot of slices were stripped off before mine made their way to my table. The tacos looked larger than average, the two corn tortillas seemed to be slightly bigger in circumference. Or maybe it was an illusion because of the generous amount of filling. The meat was crispy edged, sweet and earthy with hints of fruit. I could eat a pile of it. The two tacos came with a mesclun salad topped with fresh corn for $8.95, which seemed fair enough.

We shared a shrimp quesadilla that came red, white and green stripes of salsa and crema. Festive. And the filling wasn't overly cheesy, in fact there appeared to be mashed potato chunks mixed with the seafood and green onions.

Coupled with a glass of the ever popular Yellowtail Shiraz (no, not fancy, but not jug wine either), the early evening meal was a nice way to waste time while waiting for a severe downpour to pass over the elevated 7 tracks. I can see how this corner caf appeals to locals looking for variety. (2/4/06)

La Flor * 53-02 Roosevelt Ave., Woodside, Queens

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Where do Crunchwraps Fit in?

Pampano

Yemen Cafe

Haute Shit

Italians are Not Like Us

Love Bites

Outback Steakhouse

Let Them Eat Football Cake

Wink Wink, Pudge Pudge

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