Feb 4
Are you a chef if you don’t cook? I keep seeing headlines like “Dolphins are Talented Chefs” detailing recent findings that porpoises meticulously prepare and clean cuttlefish before eating them. Yes, it’s impressive that they are smart (and finicky) enough to remove ink sacs and tenderize flesh. But that’s more like being a prep cook than a chef, don’t you think? Raw foodists and ceviche-makers may beg to differ.
Ah, Super Bowl. The perfect excuse to drink too much on a Sunday and fry the heck out of things. Luckily, the lack of an F train (could a subway line possibly be more useless? And don’t say the G, it’s always come through for me) didn’t dampen spirits or scare away guests.
Of course there were wings. And unusually hot this year. I think someone got carried away with the cayenne pepper.
My annual plea for non-Buffalo wings was finally granted this year. I never man the fryer but I do try to influence what gets dipped into the bubbling oil. This Vietnamese-ish recipe came from the chef of Pok Pok, a Portland Thai restaurant that I always read good things about but have never tried because I am bad and never visit my hometown. Thai food is not enough of a draw, I’m afraid. These were sweet and salty. I would’ve liked to have eaten more than one.
I’ve never made wiener wraps out of Lit’l Smokies in my life, and then the one year I do someone brings a big pack from Stew Leonard’s. Call them lowbrow if you will but there was not a single piglet in a blanket left by the end of the evening.
An attempt to recreate the salt and pepper ribs at Irving Mill was not unsuccessful though not exactly the same either. These were braised in soy-orange juice blend, which added a touch of sweetness. And the finishing lime squeeze added more citrus punch, as you can see pulp got all over the place. As you can also see, the pile was decimated by the time I realized ribs had been brought out. The crisp-and-tender interplay was right on.
Trying to balance the fried with the fresh, I made Vietnamese rolls (there wasn’t an intentional Vietnamese theme), some with pork belly and shrimp, others with smoked tofu. The vegetables included bean sprouts, lettuce and carrots. I just can't bring myself to use rice vermicelli, a crime akin to rice inside a burrito. For dipping there was a hoisin-peanut sauce based on White on Rice Couple’s recipe and a nuoc cham that used both lime juice and rice vinegar. Maybe a little too tart? You could make 50 of these (think I made around 35) and they will still all get eaten.
Also, a Japanese-flavored avocado dip/salad with jicama, watercress and wasabi-soy dressing for the sake of variety. I figured others would bring guacamole (for the love of god, don’t say guac) and sure enough two showed up bearing the chunky green gift.
No photos of the two cakes that were randomly brought from New Jersey Wegmans by two different people. Everyone in the know goes to Wegmans.
For whatever reason, certain party-goers watch the smaller downstairs TV instead of the big HDTV in the living room. The 30-or-so seconds delay between analog and digital becomes apparent when wild screaming bellows from the basement and nothing exciting happens for upstairs until half a minute later.
I don’t even follow sports. I just like having people over, drinking and making food (not the cleaning, however. James went on such a scrubbing and mopping rampage that he’s now physically sick. I honestly don’t think the average person notices dirt the way he does). However, guests did get riled up as evidenced in this video documenting the downstairs/upstairs divide. I had no idea such fervent Cardinals fans were in the house.
While french fries and hotdogs aren’t an unusual duo, wieners and fries as a standalone dish is bizarre by most standards. And as it turns out, the unhealthy duo is more international than I ever knew.
I’ve always associated the two with salchipapas, the Peruvian treat that’s not too hard to find in NYC. Here’s a basket I recently had the pleasure of digging into at Urubamba.
In December I was shocked, (ok, no Asian food combos really surprise me after finding the 7-11 Big Gulp mashed potato meal) to encounter crinkle-cut fries and sausages commingling behind a glass counter in a Singaporean food court. This one leaned heavily on the meat.
Let’s not forget the Korean fry-coated frank.
Resto La Banquise in Montreal serves poutine with cut up hot dogs. I’m sure other Quebecois eateries must do the same, though I’ve never noticed such a thing on any visits. I’m not sure if the curds and gravy would distract or add to the meat and potatoes.
And now Italian pies in my own backyard? Ziti pizzas have always given me the heebies. I won’t even stand for rice in my burritos so pasta on pizza is beyond the pale. I assumed this was Brooklyn hubris, but no, it’s an honest to goodness Neapolitan style.
We have four continents represented: North and South America, Asia and Europe. I have little hope for Africa but there must be something in Australia. Probably with a fried egg and beets tossed into the mix
Is anyone familiar with other examples of fry-wiener goodness?
As I’ve often suspected, a Queens Under $25 review don’t mean shit. Initially, I was concerned about crowds (and worried that I’d look a mindless follower—I swear I suggested this place the previous week) but when I arrived with a group of six a little after 9pm three days after Urubamba made the Times, (possibly the first instance of a food blogger in this slot) there were only a handful of tables occupied. Sripraphai appears to be the only restaurant in that borough that can draw a genuine crowd from all parts of the city.
Urubamba is the bizarro Kampuchea. You order eight dishes and show up with three six-packs (Budweiser, Negro Modelo and St. Pauli Girl, oddly each female counterpart knew exactly which brew was chosen by their significant other. I easily pegged James for the St Pauli Girl) and only leave $20 lighter. It’s extremely rare that I am shocked over a bill being so low.
This Jackson Heights excursion was to meet up with a former Spanish class taker who’d recently bought a co-op in the neighborhood, a current classmate who still lives in South Brooklyn, and both women’s husbands. I’d like to believe that our Peruvian group dinner wasn’t as dorky as a high school Spanish class field trip (not that I would know first hand—I took French and we never left the building).
The roast chicken was awesome, which shouldn’t have been surprising since I’ve never had bad Peruvian pollo a la brasa (I still don’t understand why the West Village Pardo’s morphed into a cevicheria). The salty (soy sauce is the not-so-secret ingredient) crispy skin and juicy meat never fail to win diners over. Don't forget the green sauce.
The chicken combo came with everyone’s (ok, my) favorite junk food mashup, salchipapas.
As well as a pitcher of chicha morada, a scarlet cinnamony beverage that gets its pretty color from purple corn. Or maybe just a powered mix, who knows? I was recently informed that in Spain chicha means love handles, though I suspect this isn’t true in the Andes.
Ceviche ties with rotisserie chicken for best Peruvian specialty. This is the mixto with shrimp and octopus. I like the crunch offered by the dried corn kernels. Sometimes the chunky sweet potato rounds are overwhelming. I’m neutral on the white potatoes.
Tiradito is more purist, fish-only. These crudo preparations were lime juice tart and not terribly spicy. Despite the use of aji amarillo and rocoto peppers, Peruvian cuisine isn’t known for hot flavors.
A yuca rellena stuffed with ground beef and hardboiled eggs (they really love their hardboiled eggs) didn’t go far split into sixths.
No one got too excited about the papas a la huancainas, classic as it may be. The cold dish of yellow-sauced potatoes reminded me of a mild curry. I had no idea that the creamy texture was a result of pureed cheese, evaporated milk and Saltines. Strange, but good strange.
Still hungry, we debated getting a whole fried fish, which seemed to be popular but by the time we asked they were sold out of snapper. When asked for ideas, our waitress suggested the chicken, which was kind of like the potatoes. It appears that you can huancaina-up anything.
Arroz con mariscos, a paella-ish dish in a heavy pot, was the crowning glory.
Sorry, lovebirds. I wasn’t trying to capture you on film; you just happened to be the only patrons left in the restaurant.
Pre-dinner drinks combined with meal-time beers caused us to lose track of time. Normally, I’m a freak about being the last one in a restaurant or arriving near to closing, but you know, I’m trying to cut loose in 2009. Overstaying your welcome will get lights turned off on you, though.
Urubamba * 86-20 37th Ave., Jackson Heights, NY
I’m hesitant to review (if that’s what you can call this) freebies because, you know, I just can’t be bought (not to mention how mom blogger it feels). But I eat a granola bar every couple days anyway so it was no big thing to try three varieties of the new Quaker True Delights line. Quaker must be on a promotional rampage; Wednesday they had Top Chef contestants oat encrusting everything during the quickfire challenge. No one needs to be eating eggplant spackled with dry oatmeal.
Granola bars are a strange foodstuff. I wouldn’t say that they’re good for you and it’s not as if they do shit in the way of filling you up; they’re just a less egregious snack than a candy bar.
In grade school I was jazzed when chewy chocolate chip was invented. And don’t get me started on Dipps or Kudos (that is how I added the previously unknown word to my vocabulary, though). It’s hard to believe that soft, granola bars studded with M&Ms, Oreos and drizzled with chocolate did not exist before the ‘80s. It felt like you were getting away with something in comparison those dusty, dense Nature Valley bars that were usually packed in my lunch. To this day I still prefer Kashi TLC (tasty little chewies) over the heartier crunchy Kashi Pumpkin Spice Flax that James occasionally picks up from Target not knowing any better.
Coconut Banana Macadamia Nut: Banana was the strongest flavor and I wasn’t sure if it was artificial or real until I noticed the embedded banana chips. Then there was a mildly salty, baking soda-y effect followed by coconut crunch. Whole macadamias were nice.
Honey Roasted Cashew Mixed Berry: Sweetest of the three, must be that honey, and heavy on tart berry flavor. The cashews added richness. This was my favorite by far. The odd good thing is that if you’re a poor sap who’s resigned to doing Weight Watchers, this bar only has two points where the others have three.
Dark Chocolate Raspberry Almond: More subtle than the other two. I didn’t encounter any whole berries like in the promotional photo, just speckles. And despite the petite chocolate chunks, this bar felt more Kashi-style healthy than the rest.
So, I would eat a Honey Roasted Cashew Mixed Berry bar if someone handed me one and I was in need of a snack, but as long as corn syrup is the second ingredient I’ll stick to my Kashis. The Corn Refiners Association won’t sway me on their “sweet surprise” no matter how many commercials they produce.
I haven’t eaten at Pizza Hut in years (though I did work at a takeout-only branch the summer between high school and college and ate personal pan pizzas nearly every day) so it’s not likely that a marketing gimmick such as their new (nationally—it launched in test markets last year) pizza, The Natural, will sway me. What I do find interesting is how quickly a food fad will sweep the nation, not that I’m one to argue with a move toward zero high fructose corn syrup and filler-free sausage.
Pizza Hut’s own research found that 73% of those surveyed believe “foods that are natural have flavor the way it was meant to taste.” Ok, that’s a bit vague.
But this newfound faith in nature has been bolstered by recent studies. According to Mintel, in the US 33% of new food and beverage products touted being natural in 2008, a 16% rise from the previous year.
Nielsen has reported that food with natural claims accounted for $22.3 billion in sales in 2008, a 10% increase versus 2007. Meanwhile low carb products decreased 3% during the same time period. Natural in, restricted eating out.
When it comes down to it, taste is what really matters. Check out mixed reviews of The Natural on Chow and The Impulsive Buy.
Kampuchea was considerably more winsome than bumbling Cambodia Cuisine, but it’s also one of those places where you order soup, sandwich and a salad and next thing you know your bill has snuck into the $80+ range. (Yes, alcohol has a way of adding up. As an aside, I’m still not sure how my request for Torrontes was interpreted as Cotes du Rhone. I just went with it because I’m easygoing that way.) Even though I’m not a recession panicker yet, I’m always price conscious.
I went in with every intention of trying a noodle soup (NY Noodletown was the original after work plan) but after skimming the menu I broke down from sandwich deprivation. And I honed in on the most expensive offering, the $15 oxtail that I will try to refrain comparing to a $2.75 banh mi (ok, they’re like four bucks now in Manhattan Chinatown, right?) because you don’t generally eat Vietnamese sandwiches amidst even a hint of décor and they’re probably not making their pate in house or using Duroc pork.
There was a large amount of tender beef, broken into large hunks, and a spiked mayonnaise that resembled Thousand Island dressing. At least I think it was mayonnaise despite the tamarind-basil descriptor to throw you off. I was not disappointed by this sandwich. While you can never recreate the toasty bread, warm meat and crisp vegetable combination the next day, I still was happy to have a softer room temperature half for lunch Saturday.I’m looking forward to creatively named Num Pang if it ever opens.
Pork belly cubes were a must and had a high meat to fat ratio (one of my two squares was almost too lean for my taste). A sharp sweet-andsour effect was created with honey and apple cider vinegar. Strangely, all of the cracked black pepper made little impact.
Smoked duck was served carpaccio-style with ribbons of green mango speckled with salty dried shrimp. I only wish that the portion was a little more substantial.
This is an impressive looking bowl of soup chockablock with pork belly and shoulder as well as mustard greens and herbs. Unfortunately, I didn’t even try a sip so I can’t compare it to anything taste-wise. I immediately though pho, though the broth appeared cloudier, visually closer to a tonkotsu ramen base. I tend to think the ingredients were more flavorful than the liquid they were bobbing around in.
I left tipsy, well fed and still thinking everything on the menu could stand to have a few dollars shaved off the price.
Kampuchea Restaurant * 78 Rivington St., New York, NY
Anyone who is sick of reading food-related tidbits yet for some odd reason would like to hear me prattle on about even less interesting topics should head to Project Me!: Part 2 [www.projectmetoo.com]. I've brought my personal blog back from the dead.
This fresh start is too late for 2009 but just in time for 4707, year of the ox. I always give myself a month before taking a new year seriously.
*At some point Eurotrip renamed itself to Korzo.
There seems to be an Eastern European culinary renaissance going on. I used to practically equate the post-3am East Village with pierogies and it’s not like cabbage and dumplings have ever gone out of style in Greenpoint and Ridgewood. But that’s old world.
Recently, schnitzel and goulash has shown up at places like Fort Greene’s Catherine’s Caffe, Draft Barn in Gowanus, and Eurotrip in South Slope giving nearby Café Steinhof some competition. You could even toss in Ost Café, even though I think they only serve Hungarian pastries not hot meals.
I’ve been curious about Eurotrip, as well as its location choice because it fits in with the smattering of Slavic holdouts in what some people like to call Greenwood Heights (technically Sunset Park starts at 16th St. but everyone seem averse to calling it like it is. Ack I sound elderly when I get tough about neighborhood boundaries). Slovak/Czech Milan’s is just down the street, Smolen, a Polish bar, is on the same block and Eagle Provisions is also in the vicinity (it’s a little musty and overpriced but they do have a good beer selection—I used to buy chopped liver and poppy seed sweets there on my way home from the gym, sabotaging my workout and then some).
Honestly, I’ve never had much interest in Austro-Hungarian cuisine because it seems so bland and heavy (as opposed to Scandinavian fare, which I unfairly ignore because it seems bland and light). And I’m still not convinced otherwise. At least I chose one of those nearly-single-digit-degrees nights to find out for sure.
My goal to try and not bulk up over the winter was not helped by the langoš, a.k.a. fried pizza. Yes, yes, I could’ve ordered the quinoa with flame-grilled paprika shrimp and microgreens but doesn’t that kind of defeat the purpose of even going to an Eastern European restaurant?
The fried dough was good in the way that fluffy, yeasty batter crisped up to goldenness should be. Instead of the purist butter and garlic version we tried the simply named pub style, a totally americanized treat oozing with Edam, tomato sauce and spicy German sausage. Just like I believe Sriracha goes with pizza, I can get behind pickled cabbage too. This condiment would never be right with thin crust, but the pillowy richness needed some bite.
While the chicken schnitzel took up much of the space on the plate, the accompaniments hidden in the photo were more interesting. The breaded chicken cutlet was kind of dull, not dried out, thankfully, just not exciting. Beneath the splayed out poultry were wedges of red potatoes and a pile of soft sauerkraut (I do love sauerkraut) that I thought were studded with juniper berries. Hard on the teeth, but the nuggets turned out to be crispy pork bits. Nice. Sugary, pickled cucumber slices rounded out the dish.
There was also a plate of geographically diverse sausages involved. Poland, Germany and Hungary were all represented. All of this combined with a pitcher of Krušovice, the house lager, make dessert an impossibility. I wouldn’t mind knowing what’s included in the $5 tray of homemade cookies, though.
Eurotrip * 667 Fifth Ave., Brooklyn, NY
Leave it to the Taiwanese. First they stirred up the pot with their lavatory-themed restaurant, Modern Toilet, and now they’ve recreated airplane dining with A380 In-Flight Kitchen. Airline food has a bad rap, but plastic trays would be step up from toilet bowls, don’t you think?
Photo from Reuters. See more.
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