Posts by krista

Sep 23

Machismo, Page and Screen

It’s the first day of fall and I’m using air conditioning. Just thought I’d briefly share my 90% humidity sadness. On to oh-so-serious matters…

I think I was recently complaining about food writing. I say, I think, because I’m not sure that I was all that concerned with writing but more the voices that accompany so much of it. On the one hand, weirdly confident married men with children who do stuff that they think is brilliant, on the other hand, an often female bounty-of-the-earth worshippers, paying homage to home cooking and the wisdom gleaned from humble but all-knowing grandmothers.

Macho food writing? I hadn’t really even considered it as an irritant because I wasn’t aware that it was a rampant genre. But British food writer Paul Levy has been stirring the pot with his Slate article that takes issue with the likes of Anthony Bourdain and Bill Buford, to name two.

I don’t have a problem with “coarse” descriptions, and the author comes across as a bit of a persnickety relic, but I don’t completely disagree with the tiresomeness of needing to be extreme. I’ve always thought it was strange that Bourdain has developed such a cult-like following by being opinionated, balls out (hate that phrase as much as the visual image) and culinarily open-minded.

I don’t begrudge his success; what I’ve been curious about is why there is no female equivalent. Why aren’t there any women doing the foul mouthed gourmand shtick (because they have better sense, some might argue)?

Judging from TV, you have to be sexualized (Giada, Nigella), accessibly girl next door (Rachael), or frumpy and unintimidating (Paula, Ina). Ok, that’s Food Network, what do you expect? But as contrast, they just picked up that bumbling yet personable smartass from drinking with locals, Three Sheets and gave him another travel show. That’s what men get to do on TV.

Women travel too, of course. I had the misfortune of catching part of Samantha Brown: Passport to Latin America in Belize. I don’t even know who this blah, late-in-life-mom type woman is (I can’t find an official bio anywhere but her fan wiki claims her favorite book is Atlas Shrugged. Strange, I was just reading about Ayn Rand and her influence on modern businessmen) but she made a huge fuss over cow tongue in a soup that was presented to her. She wouldn’t even try one bite, which was an instant turn off.

Sorry, now I’m meandering towards TV and away from writing, different and more physical. However, it would seem that there’s wide open opportunity for even vaguely interesting female food TV personalities. Or does the public enjoy what’s currently on offer?

More reactions to Paul Levy’s Slate article (my original focus):
The Grinder
Word of Mouth

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Sep 20

Latin American Bayside Café

After our welcome to Miami mishap in finding the Latin American Cafeteria, we never made it back out to that part of the city. I’m not even sure what that part is even called. We passed through Coral Gables, that’s all I know. Sad, but we ended up settling for an offshoot, which may or may not be related to the original, wedged in a kind of horrific South Street Seaport conglomerate of shops called Bayside Marketplace.

Once again, I was so sweaty that I didn’t feel like eating (I began wondering if residents were somehow genetically inured to humidity because no one ever seemed to care, and even dared to dine al fresco, while I was perpetually hot and bothered, literally and idiomatically, even in air conditioned restaurants like this one. I was relieved to see one waitress moist-faced and fanning herself).

But I wasn’t going to come all the way to Miami and go cubano-less. A medianoche, which our waitress actually called a “midnight,” was the sensible solution. Sure, it’s on sweeter bread but it’s more manageable in size. I’m not actually sure why it’s named as such, though I can envision it as a suitable midnight snack.

There was definitely no NYC salami aberration occurring (which I actually like). And the most interesting thing I experienced and have heard is the norm, is no inclusion of condiments. The mustard I always assumed was standard, was offered in a foil packet, totally do-it-yourself. And definitely no mayonnaise, which is fine by me. The roast pork is so moist and naturally flavorful that it could actually stand as it’s served. I did try a few shakes of Frank’s Xtra Hot that was passed our way. Of course, the ham, swiss and pickle are included.

In a perfect world I could’ve conducted some form of taste test but that kind of determined eating requires more than an extended weekend.

Latin American Bayside Café * 401 Biscayne Blvd. # S102, Miami, FL

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Sep 20

Best Snack Ever

Nam prik + hummus = best treat ever. I don’t know if the painfully hot, shrimpy, just barely sweetened paste that recently singed my tongue mellowed with age or if I was just overly sensitive the first time I tasted it. But now it’s perfect. And spooned around a tub of the smoothest, tastiest (which I’m sure is directly attributable to fat content) pre-packaged hummus brand, Sabra, it creates a perfectly balanced dip.

I used to be satisfied with their fiery Supremely Spicy Hummus, but now there’s no going back. The minutely rosier blob in the center of my container is the barely touched chile mix that comes factory sealed. All the other mounds are my pungent addition. I want to eat this newfound snack every day. Last night I ate hard shell tacos for dinner (don’t laugh—they’re good maybe twice a year). Normally, that would be perfectly satisfying but I felt like I was missing something so I had to dig into the nam prik hummus for a makeshift dessert course.

What else can I put nam prik on? Yesterday, I was completely charmed by the idea of curry rice krispie treats. It’s not a giant leap to imagine chile paste mingling with puffed rice. There already is a Thai snack that drizzles caramel on something similar. But I can’t find a photo of that sweet anywhere and I swear I had one, myself.

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Sep 19

$20.07 Worth of Queens County

Who knew there was a Queens Restaurant Week, right? Well, duh, but it seems like the two “cooler” boroughs (no, not Staten Island and the Bronx) get all the attention for their dining promotions. Admittedly, many of the Queens options have less name recognition. Eh, caché ? Overrated.

I mention About.com’s round up of top picks for purely selfish reasons: my own recommendation for La Fusta.

By the way, I’d like to know what you get at White Castle for $20.07.

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Sep 19

Chilly with a Side of Chiles

50s? Hell yeah. I’m feeling nearly human again. Unfortunately, summer doesn’t peter out that rapidly. It’ll be back into the mid-80s by the weekend.

In the meantime, I got excited about impending dark, cool places to ferment things like the Hunan salted chiles I’ve been meaning to make from The Revolutionary Chinese Cookbook for months. It’s not like it’s hard. All you do is chop a pound, which seriously kills your wrist (I was taking a break for the photo–the pieces eventually became smaller) then ultimately toss them with a ¼ cup of salt and let sit for a few weeks. Mine are only a few days old so they still look pretty fresh. I had no concept of how much one pound of chopped chiles would yield so I bought a too big canning jar. I don’t think the extra space should effect the process, though.

I’m just afraid they’ll rot instead of turning into a proper delicious condiment. My recent failed attempts at mayonnaise and ice cream making made me question my recipe following abilities. But chiles and salt? That’s hardly possible to mess up.

I see that Tigers and Strawberries made the same relish last month.

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Sep 18

Fish House

Is there a food you like to eat even though it makes you sick? Battered, fried shellfish tends to make me a little queasy but I love it. I steer clear of coated, fried fish, though. I don’t know if it’s bad Gorton’s (check out their Halloween Fish Sticks Graveyard—spoooky) or Filet-O-Fish memories or what but I can’t handle it. Even in England, I eat chips and do without the fish part (it’s ok because I like meat pies).

So, I was a little bummed that since it wasn’t stone crab season I was kind of stuck with lots of places known for fish sandwiches. I’m sure The Keys are filled with great fish sandwiches but coupled with the long car ride, it would be courting digestive disaster.

We stopped at the aptly named Fish House in Key Largo. In my mind I had pictured a breezy spot with picnic tables on the water. In actuality, the seating is indoors (I couldn’t have stood the humidity anyway) and full of dark wood, fishing nets and maritime kitsch.

I went unorthodox and split a crab quesadilla. At least it wasn’t bulging with surimi. Crab is always either pricy or dubious here.

I was also swayed by an oyster and shrimp po boy, which despite the name was nothing like you’d find in New Orleans. For one, the bread was encrusted with melted cheddar. That seemed kind of wrong, especially since I’d just been barraged with oozing dairy in the quesadilla. The sandwich was more like seafood on garlic cheese bread topped with shredded lettuce, and then it kind of grew on me even though I got all dainty and had to use a knife and fork. Then I became concerned over the decadence and scared myself into only gnawing on one half of the roll. Like the damage hadn’t already been done.

My only regret is not trying the key lime pie. I was plagued by the same problem that always thwarts me in Southeast Asia: the too hot to be hungry syndrome.

Fish House * 102341 Overseas Hwy., Key Largo, FL

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Sep 17

My Babybel

I can’t tell whether Babybel is going for the bizarre foreign type humor intentionally or not. Every time the ad with the parachuters jumping out of a plane for the tiny wax covered cheese wedges comes on, I’m unable to tear my eyes from the horribly unfunny spectacle on screen.

Unfortunately, I can only find the UK version online, which is shorter and more restrained. The US one has the Rusty Griswold-looking kid making expressions a bit more manically and the song rocks out with more emphatic shouting at the end.

I don’t want to live in a world where Sally Field’s censored Emmy acceptance speech and a man on an elephant being attacked by a tiger are all over YouTube, yet American Babybel ads are nowhere to be found.

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Sep 15

No Name Pub

Pizza in Florida? I know, it doesn’t make any sense. And it’s not like Pizzeria Bianco in Arizona where you’re like, “wha?” but it’s all artisanal and quite possibly the best pizza in the entire nation (not that I know this first hand).

No, this was total childhood pizza, neither deep dish thick nor NYC skinny. ‘80s pizza is doughy yet still fairly crispy on the bottom. Kind of stiff, some might say cardboard-like. And there’s a buttload of cheese, what would pass for extra cheese anywhere else.

Despite being touristy as anything, No Name Pub where the gimmick is to inexplicably staple a dollar bill on any surface, became our Keys dinner destination. The little I saw of Key West was scary in a Beale St./Bourbon St., whatever other B street filled with frozen drink revelers, way. We didn’t have time to dig for charm. And it took so long to get there that by the time we turned around and left it was already approaching 10pm. I feared it might be slim pickings on Rt. 1 Sunday night. So, we hightailed it to Big Pine Key hoping that the pub in their name might save us with a reasonable closing time (11pm, as it turned out).

Wrong as it seemed, pizza definitely appeared to be their thing. Everyone had pies on their tables, along with pitchers of beer. I always take the opportunity to order a pitcher since they tend to be scarce in NYC. Plus, they’d already turned off the deep fryer, which ruled out most of the seafood side of the menu. It was our second attempt that day to try conch fritters. A pier side bar we’d stopped at earlier claimed to have run out. It was very suspicious. Did we look like people who should be denied conch fritters?

I can’t believe I got my way with the ham and pineapple, maybe James was too beat to argue. It’s not always easy convincing others of the beauty of “Hawaiian” food.

And the best part was the pitch black, windy drive on back roads back to the main highway. On the way down, I’d thought all the signs about deer crossing were bullshit (it’s not like I saw any alligators) but it turns out key deer are real, not a jackalope farce. All sorts of tiny, german shepherd-sized creatures popped into bushes as we drove past.

No Name Pub * North Watson Blvd., Big Pine Key, FL

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Sep 14

Reading is Fundamental

It’s easy to be critical, not so much when it comes to defining what’s “good.” At least for me. I thought I liked food writing until I tried thinking of who my favorite food writer might be and came up empty. As it turns out, I like to read and I like reading about food but not necessarily for the writing. I’m not literary minded. Maybe I’ve been ruined by the lawless potential of blogs.

With nonfiction I would want something funny, occasionally mean-spirited, highly personal, yet also informative. Sounds simple but I’m drawing a blank. Nothing overly intellectual or earnest. And I definitely don’t like reading about upper middle class+ and/or Ivy League educated men and their families. I think I’m probably supposed to read Julie and Julia (which I see has been retitled and packaged to look more chick lit) but I’ve always avoided it for no good reason. Book suggestions anyone?

Fiction-wise, well, I rarely read anymore, but I prefer mundane and/or melancholy, preferably about fuckups or outcasts. Raymond Carver and Sherwood Anderson are nothing alike but I enjoy short stories from both authors. I have Richard Lange’s Dead Boys and Junot Diaz’s (who plays food writer in this month’s Gourmet) The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao on hold at the library (who knows when I’ll actually get them).

In the early ‘90s, The Sterns drew me in with kitsch and a tangible passion for their subjects, frequently food-related. I still read their longstanding Gourmet column and even wrote them fan letter when I was younger and less guarded.

The only book I could think of in recent history that was ostensibly about food while maintaining an entertainingly personal bent was Candy Freak. Not by a food writer. And apparently, a nut. Such strange timing that I would think of Steve Almond the same day Gawker mentions him (unflatteringly, of course). And then I remembered that he's now also a daddy blogger and I got grossed out again.

Last night I cracked open The River Cottage Meat Book, my birthday present that showed up a month and half late because it was so massive that it had to be shipped surface from England (as a money-saver not because it HAD to be). It’s kind of cruel that I make my non-meat-eating sister send me such fleshy books as gifts. A few years back it was Nose to Tail Eating. Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall definitely doesn’t fit my M.O., he’s very back to the land and posits that meat should cost twice as much for half the amount. I get his point, especially juxtaposed with slaughter photos of the livestock he’s raised (that seems so British right now, being all straightforward and graphic about animal husbandry). But it’s certainly not light reading.

Then this morning I received an email from Amazon suggesting that I preorder the Best Food Writing 2007. WTF? I haven't even looked at the list of authors yet. Am I being led to water and I just don’t want to drink? I will give it a read (via the public library again) and I’ll do so with a mind as open as I can possibly muster.

Photo from the South Carolina Library History Project

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Sep 14

Confiteria Buenos Aires Bakery & Café

1/2 I seem to have it in my head that I love South American bakeries even though Chilean San Antonio Bakery is the only one in NYC I’ve actually been to. There’s an Uruguayan one in Woodside that’s perpetually on my to try list. In the spring, I attempted another Uruguayan bakery that I think was called La Nueva but it had turned Italian and was covered in a Grand Opening banner. I picked up a tasty mini cheesecake but that wasn’t my original goal.

So, perhaps it’s a bit premature to declare my love of South American bakeries but Confiteria Buenos Aires in Miami certainly bolstered my feelings. I like these places because on the surface they them seem to be all about sweets, yet they also tend to have interesting sandwiches and sell imported groceries from behind the counter like an old-timey mercantile.

On Labor Day proper, The Miami café was bustling enough to require taking a number. Fine by me because I like order and it prevents awkward and frequently inaccurate NYC-style sideways lining up. I was overwhelmed with choice and could only pick a few things because a cubano was scheduled for our next stop.

I wish I knew what things were called but there wasn’t any signage and everyone even the least Hispanic-looking (I know that’s a ridiculous call with Argentina since the population is heavily European in origin) customers spoke fluent Spanish. That’s something that struck me about Miami compared to NYC. You certainly hear Spanish here but not to the same degree. Even in the Keys, at a seafood shack, all of the diners and waiters were speaking Spanish. I would definitely get up to speed with my language skills quicker in Florida.

We got an OK spinach empanada, a ham and cheese sandwich that was dazzlingly sweet/savory (one of the world’s best flavor duos) because it was on sugared crackly pastry like a napoleon, and an incredibly dense dulce de leche roll. You could barely even cut it with a plastic fork the caramel was so thick.

Others seemed to be enjoying a breaded chicken cutlet sandwich, eggy tortilla/quiche wedges, and what appeared to be croquettes of some sort. There was a stack of crustless tea sandwiches in a domed refrigerated countertop case. Those never tend to be that exciting (except for the bizarre England by way of Malaysia interpretations with prawn sambal) but I do wonder what the fillings were. I should’ve picked up some alfajores. So many should haves, would haves. I’m just glad that we didn’t skip over this seemingly non-essential shop.

Confiteria Buenos Aires Bakery & Café * 7134 Collins Ave., Miami, FL

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Posts by krista

Machismo, Page and Screen

Latin American Bayside Café

Best Snack Ever

$20.07 Worth of Queens County

Chilly with a Side of Chiles

Fish House

My Babybel

No Name Pub

Reading is Fundamental

Confiteria Buenos Aires Bakery & Café

Featured

Occasional Instagramming

Yes, it’s come to this

My Other Blogs

What?

The Past Will Haunt You

Pigeonholing 101