Brandon Eats

A New Address

2005-11-07T09:26:00.000-05:00

I have a newly designed site and a new address! Please change your bookmarks and follow the link to Brandon Eats at http://www.brandoneats.com.

Cupcakes, Cupcakes

2005-10-11T06:24:00.000-04:00

I'm not sure why everyone seems to be crazy for cupcakes. What in the world is this trend all about? I know its origin: the juxtaposition of the gorgeous icing stylings (see above) of the Cupcake Cafe in Hell's Kitchen versus the deliberate hominess of the Magnolia Bakery in the Village were coupled with a little publicity from Sex and the City and conspired somehow, some way insidiously to infiltrate American pop culture. Suddenly, cupcakes are the guilty pleasure in which to indulge. Now don't get me wrong, I LOVE cupcakes and I have a hard time resisting any guilty pleasure (doesn't the guilt just make it so much better somehow?), but I also love regular cakes, and pies, and cookies, and . . . I don't quite understand the chic-ness of cupcake consumption. There's a blog devoted to them, a cupcake delivery service in DC called Le Cupcake (trés imaginative), and even this month's Food & Wine has an article on retro sweets featuring a cross-section of a cupcake that could make a grown woman (or man, of course) weep aloud in front of the bakery window. It's all been percolating for a long time, and I guess I didn't pay too much attention to it because, first of all, I'm not a New Yorker, and secondly, cupcakes for me, as the mother of elementary school children, are strictly the stuff of bake sales and school birthday celebrations. I don't have the time nor the desire to indulge in that kind of nostalgia when I'm so busy creating it for someone (three or four feet tall) else. For me, eating a cupcake is simply a straightforward pleasure--not a fetishized baby boomer blast from the past. I grew up, and now I bake my own cupcakes and give them to my kids; it's not necessary for me, myself, to be the kid anymore. I tried the Magnolia Bakery cupcakes and was a little disappointed (who wouldn't be after all that hype?) with them. They were dry, and the icing was teeth-achingly sweet, so chock full of confectioners sugar that there seemed just the merest hint of butter binding all that cloying sugar together. The Cupcake Cafe was much more impressive although, I must confess, their cupcakes were also a little dry. Nevertheless, the amazing and not too sweet butter (LOTS of butter) cream icing and the spectacular flowers topping these cupcakes absolutely saved them. I did want the perfect cupcake however, and I considered the fact that the cupcakes I make are usually a little dry as well. Baking time, it seems, is everything--even the professionals can't quite get it right. Buttercream can go a long way, but ultimately, a slice of a big, moist, regular-sized cake is the only thing that truly satisfies that cake-y craving with which some of us are periodically tortured. technorati tags: food, food and drink, restaurants, New York

Google

2005-10-06T20:53:00.000-04:00

My favorite Google search: what eats a baby chicken? Why my site is, of course, the perfect place to look! technorati tags:richmond, food, food and drink, recipes, restaurants, cooking

New York and the New Yorker Festival: Eating Words, Eating Food

2005-10-06T06:44:00.000-04:00

I do a lot of thinking and reading about food but of course, my very favorite thing of all to do is to eat the food I read and think about. Luckily for me, I was able to spend a weekend in New York eating and thinking and even, on occasion, listening to writers and performers at the New Yorker Festival. It's my second year there, and although I had a revelatory moment at a reading by Sherman Alexie last year (I cried, actually cried during his extremely moving reading--one of the few NOT available for download at Audible.com) that was unmatched this year, I did get to experience talent overload* at the Katrina fundraiser at Town Hall Saturday night. Before I went to Town Hall, however, I went to Sugiyama and had one of the best meals of my life. Now, I can only really think of one other meal that came close to this one; it was a meal that really was a feast, an astoundingly diverse and scrumptious reception at a wedding a couple of years ago, also in New York. Now, before profound scepticism sets in, dear reader, this was a wedding reception in the Rainbow Room at the top of Rockefeller Plaza at sunset, catered by the Ciprianis. The groom was friends with the chef and this particular chef pulled out all the stops to make the occasion a culinary masterpiece. The buffet before dinner, accompanied by the Cipriani signature Bellini (they're the family who owns Harry's Bar in Venice), featured dozens (yes, dozens) of different dishes, including four kinds of pasta, an array of seafood, technicolor vegetables cooked a myriad of ways, little sandwiches, tiny, tray-served, hot lamb chops, and so many other things redolent of garlic and olive oil, I just can't even remember them. Then they served dinner. And we danced on the revolving dance floor all night and looked out over the lights of Manhattan and felt as if we'd been transported back to the heady days of Fred Astaire and a vintage sophistication we could only dream about at the movies. My next great meal was entirely different. Just a friend and I were dining, and we had a fixed amount of time we could spend eating before the show began that night. A narrow, low room full of amber wood and orchids in Midtown, Sugiyama promised epicurean delight and a certain Zen-like ambiance (I'm always looking for that, aren't I?). Our friendly waitress quickly seated us and without even consulting the menu, we asked for the omikase kaiseki. Ah, the power of research; I do not, faithful reader, speak Japanese but I do have a graduate degree, so of course I did a little research before I arrived (ah hem, well, actually, I was researching sushi prior to reviewing a new place here in Richmond but it did come in handy). Omikase essentially means the chef's choice and kaiseki means a meal of seasonal dishes. Our only quandary was whether to go all out for the 8-course meal or conservatively stick to the 6-course. Our waitress recommended going with the six and adding the other two course in if needed. Six was plenty. Again, this meal began to blur in my memory like the one at the Rainbow Room almost as soon as I finished it. Taste after taste, many of them unfamiliar, sake and the lack of a notebook conspired to strip my recollections of detail. I remember an unctuous sea urchin mousse and a less than delicious raw quail's egg I drank out of a small glass quickly. Lots of sashimi, all of it meltingly tender followed, as well as vegetables, greens, and then, legendary Kobe beef. Small chunks of beef with raw mushrooms and asparagus arrived at the table with a tiny, hot rock, hibachi-type thing called a toba (from the volcanic rock out of which it's made). You quickly sear the beef and vegetables on the hot rock and then rub them with hunk of butter you hold with your chopsticks. Although the beef was, as claimed, delicious and well marbled, it wasn't quite the amazing taste sensation I'd been expecting. Yummy, yes--but remarkable, no. Sticky rice, miso soup and the most eye-poppingly tasty assortment of Japanese pickles I've ever had followed to clear our palates. Dessert was last (of course), and I must confess, I expected little. I've never had a good dessert in an Asian restaurant and have often wondered how sugar can be used so artfully in savory dishes and so poorly in sweet ones. Of course, like almost everything else to come out of the kitchen at Sugiyama, the dessert was both suprising and scrumptious. A smooth, cold grapefruit wine jelly (read jello) arrived with a substantial drizzle of heavy cream on top. The cream mitigated the tartness of the grapefruit but didn't overwhelm the lightness of the jelly. In short, it was refreshing, interesting, and most of all, satisfying. I don't have the natural affinity for Asian food that I do for Mediterranean cuisine. It's been a long learning process for me and I still think I have a long way to go (re: I need to go to Asia--anywhere in Asia) before my opinion is truly informed. Nonetheless, when something's good, I eat it right up. No question about that--and Sugiyama passed my eat-it-right-up test with flying colors. As soon as my credit card recovers, and I can find an excuse to go to New York again, I'll be back to eat some more. And maybe learn something new (although I do know I don't like raw quail's eggs). Bring on the sea urchin mousse! *Let's see, we were a half an hour late and Willem Dafoe was reading as we were seated; then we saw David Byrne, Little Queenie Harris, Kevin Kline (singing and playing the piano), Phillip Seymour Hoffman, Queen Ida, Toni Morrison, Lou Reed and Laurie Anderson, Richard Ford, Elvis Costello, Mary-Louise Parker, Patricia Clarkson, those guys from the Jayhawks, and that's all I can remember right now. By the time Buckewheat Zydeco and his crazy old man self had coralled all of the luminaries on stage to sing a song NOT ONE of them knew, it was time to leave and collapse panting in my hotel room. I can only be dazzled for so long. technorati tags: food, food and drink, japanese food, restaurants, cocktails, new yorker, new york

The Union Square Greenmarket

2005-10-04T14:34:00.000-04:00

I had an amazing weekend not too long ago in New York, and although I've begun and discarded several posts about it, I can't quite seem to finish any of them. No matter--here are some photos I took of the astonishing Union Square Greenmarket to whet your appetite. technorati tags: food, food and drink, cooking , new york, union square

Viva Italia!

2005-10-02T17:09:00.000-04:00

The sense, last night at the Richmond Italian Street Festival, was of a gauntlet thrown down, of an initiation of a new rivalry between ethnic food festivals: the Italian-Americans of Richmond seemed to be directly challenging the supremacy of the Greek Festival and its heretofore unthreatened preeminence in the cycle of outdoor Richmond events. Of course, in terms of variety and organization, the Greek Festival wins hands down, but then, they've been putting on their event for what? Forever? They've had practice (and a drive-through too). The nascent Italian Festival is still fumbling with the inevitable missteps and vision lapses any inaugural event entails. The line for wine stretched far, far down the block, the Peroni ran out at the beer truck, and at times I despaired that my children would remain content to watch passersby as I wanly stifled my hunger pangs, and waited out all of the people ahead of me, just to snatch a hot, gooey rice ball* from the stand that at that moment had the relatively shortest line. But if you're not willing to endure long lines and crowds at a Richmond festival, you're better off just staying at home and ordering a pizza from Mary Angela's. You have no business mixing it up on the street. Although the entertainment was on the thin side and the children's activity section virtually non-existent, I have hope that this festival will blossom and grow over the coming years. I can imagine days and evenings filled with the pungent scent of garlic and performers from the Virginia Opera wandering through the crowds in costume, singing Verdi. I can see more wine booths (separate the red from the white maybe?) and more culinary variety (where was the participation from high-end Italian cuisine, like Amici and La Grotta ?) offered in a more centralized fashion. I'd like to see street musicians (accordions, anyone?) and magicians and most of all, even more of Richmond flocking to the beautiful, restored ambiance of Church Hill to eat some of the best food this town has to offer. *A ball of cooked aborio rice and tomatoes encircling a hunk of fresh mozzarella, lightly breaded and deep-fried, then smothered in marinara and parmesan. Delicious! And I'd never had one before either. technorati tags:richmond, food, food and drink

Must Read

2005-09-30T10:44:00.000-04:00

A must-read for anyone serious about food: "Debbie Does Salad" by Frederick Kaufman in this month's Harper's Magazine. No link to it yet on their site, so pick up a copy on newstands. It's a fasinating essay comparing the food media industry to the porn industry. In other words, food porn delineated for those of us with an interest in cultural studies. technorati tags: richmond, food, food and drink, recipes, restaurants, cooking

2005-09-27T18:33:00.000-04:00

In honor of Slashfood's Pizza Day (well, it was yesterday, so I'm one day late), here's a rerun of a post from July 22, 2005. I know, I know, it's the new fall season, but I just got back from New York and I haven't gotten it all together yet. Is it easier to make your own pizza instead of ordering take-out? A few years ago I would have scoffed at the idea--make your own dough, sauce, chop toppings? Crazy! Then I moved to a neighborhood a mere ten minutes away from my favorite pizza joint and inexplicably, they won't deliver to my house. Nope, absolutely no delivery to the northside of Richmond from Carytown. We have our own pizza delivery service, of course, but the pizza is so bland, so unexciting that I can't even bring myself to eat it even when I'm exhausted. For years my husband and I debated whether Piccola's pizza or Mary Angela's pizza was the best and the most authentic (in that NYC slice kind of way) in town. My husband was partial to Piccola's and I was a staunch Mary Angela's fan. Complicating the debate is the fact that the two families who own these places are related; the pizzas are very, very similiar. It becomes therefore, a debate hinging on degrees of greatness, and as you probably know, that kind of discussion can continue indefinitely. Nevertheless, the whole issue was rendered moot when we moved. No delivery service from either Piccola's or Mary Angela's (I will repress my ranting and railing vis a vis this issue for the moment); if we wanted pizza, we had to drive ourselves and get it. One day though, as we were loading our car to leave for home, my father-in-law stashed a pizza stone and a peel in the back along with our luggage (this is how my in-laws get rid of things they don't need). At first, I began making pizza just to see how it was done and then, as the drive to Mary Angela's became more onerous, I slowly started to take it for granted that when we wanted pizza, I would make it. Once I began stocking up on the basic ingredients--yeast, flour, mozzarella, cans of crushed tomatoes--I didn't really think too much about it. We still drove to get take-out, non-delivery pizza now and then, but I also made my own more and more. Eventually I developed a comprehensive, will-please-everybody sort of pizza that comprises three distinct sections: a pepperoni section, a plain cheese section, and for adults, an artichoke-goat cheese section. Remembering to make the dough ahead of time is the only real challenge. Leave it to trusty Christopher Kimball, however, to streamline even this process and reduce the rising, topping, and cooking time to a mere 75 minutes. Here's a link on the web to his Quick Pizza Dough. I also use his uncooked tomato sauce but you'll have to go to Cook's Illustrated-Recipe Resource for that one (again, I must exhort you to subscribe to this site--it's well worth it). Once the dough has risen and then rested, I roll out the entire ball, instead of dividing it in two as recommended. I have a hard time stretching the dough wide enough (although I have found Lora Brody's Dough Relaxer helpful) when it's that small, and I also prefer my crust a little thicker. Crispy is nice but crispy is also easy to burn. And as everyone knows, if it's black, children won't eat it, even if they're starving. Goat cheese, artichoke hearts, kalamata olives, and chopped scallions are my current favorite toppings, although with tomato season now in full swing, fresh tomatoes and fresh basil (the basil under the cheese to keep it moist) may replace them. I'd also like to try my hand at grilling a pizza--somehow that starts to sound like too much work though. Come to think of it however, I think--actually--it may not be so bad after all. The mandatory 500 degree oven for pizza cooking is a real killer these days and the grill would relocate the heat outside of the house. Hmmm . . . is it worth sacrificing dinner and losing a whole pizza (I have horrific visions of all of the toppings sliding ineveitably into the coals when I try to get it on the grill or try to take it off) just in the name of culinary experimentation? Maybe I should call Mary Angela's and have them hold me a table before I start. richmond technorati tags: richmond, food, food and drink, recipes, restaurants, cooking

Paella, Baby

2005-09-20T06:25:00.000-04:00

I’m still mourning the loss of summer and at the same time, simmering with quiet resentment that my husband just got to spend ten days in northern Spain. I too could have gone if I’d moved heaven and earth to arrange childcare, but opted instead for the easier, stay-at-home cop-out. Nonetheless, the summer continues to persist here in Richmond despite the start of school and despite the sycamore leaves littering the lawns. High humidity and temperatures in the nineties make it hard to think about fall dishes and the changing of the seasons, so I’m still stuck firmly in seafood mode—flip flops and bathing suits optional. And my husband’s trip has only intensified my continuing fixation with the cuisine of Spain. That and the five pounds of homemade chorizo he brought back in his suitcase. Seafood and chorizo, hmm . . . what could I make? Although truly, the possibilities are nearly limitless, the most obvious choice is also my very favorite dish. Paella has a long, rich tradition in both Spain and in my household. It’s my husband’s signature dish and the dish that has given him the reputation of high culinary excellence within his own family. Although my husband rarely cooks—paella and arroz con pollo are about it—he is widely seen as the latest in a long patrilineal line of men who cook (his grandfather was Francisco Franco’s personal chef before the revolution—and before said grandfather went AWOL to sail for America). I don’t really mind; all of the lovely calphalon pans and cookbooks he gets for his birthday and Christmas go straight to me. My husband’s paella really is wonderful, however. The recipe comes straight from his grandmother by way of his mother, and the only modification to it is my insistence upon using real, short grain, Bomba rice from Valencia. The rice is the foundation of this dish, and without the best, paella can never, ever shine the way it was intended. Other than that, I’ve left it alone. Now this is the real, peasant version of the dish—no fancy homemade chicken broth (I’ve tried, with disappointing results) but good, salty bouillon straight from a cube. This is the way it’s made (according to my husband, and he should know, because HE JUST SPENT TEN DAYS IN SPAIN WITHOUT ME) if you go to someone’s house and they pull out the paella pan and the bag of mixed seafood (from a scoop-it-yourself bin marked “Paella Mix”) they picked up at the store in your honor. Like most Spanish recipes, the amounts are guidelines only; feel free to increase or decrease different ingredients according to what you like. Oh! And you might want to add a few peas for a more authentic dish—we never add them because my husband hates peas (and so does his mother).

Pea-less Paella Serves 6-8

2 TB. olive oil 1 red pepper, sliced 1 onion, diced 4 cloves garlic, minced 2 double-sized cubes (like Knorr) chicken bouillon 4 cups hot water 2 very large pinches saffron (lightly toasted in a small pan ahead of time) 2 c. Bomba rice or, if you must, and you promise you looked really hard for the right kind first, Aborio rice 1 lb. real Spanish chorizo (no substitutions; smuggling optional), sliced into 1/2” rounds 6-8 pieces of chicken, skinned, rinsed and patted dry 1 dozen littleneck clams, scrubbed 1 1/2 dozen mussels, scrubbed 1/2 lb. large shrimp, peeled with tails left on 1-2 lobster tails, split (optional) Sauté the garlic, red pepper, and onion over medium heat in paella pan until soft and fragrant. Add chicken and sauté until golden brown. Dissolve bouillon in hot water; add to pan. Sprinkle with saffron and stir. Add rice and chorizos; bring to a boil and reduce heat, simmering with the pan covered in foil. After about 8-10 minutes, the rice should be well on its way to being cooked, but still have a significant amount of liquid with which to steam the seafood. Add seafood (and, if you’re using them, the dreaded peas) and stir it into the rice thoroughly (this is a little trickier than it sounds because your pan is going to be quite full by this time) and re-cover. Cook slowly until all of the liquid is gone, and the rice and seafood are cooked. Serve from your impressive paella pan right at the table and put on the flamenco music. It’s time to celebrate! technorati tags: richmond, food, food and drink, recipes, cooking

End of the Summer Blues

2005-09-07T18:20:00.000-04:00

As I dropped my children off for their first day of school yesterday, instead of the elation (alone at last!) I usually feel at the beginning of the school year, I felt sad and regretful that the summer was really over. No more lazy days at the pool or at the beach, no more long car trips to new places, and no more of the fresh vegetables I've come to depend on. Well, actually, that's an exaggeration, the vegetables should be around until early October, but you know what I mean. Seafood will be around too, but somehow, it never tastes quite as good as it does when the sun's been baking the sand and the salt from the ocean is drying on your ankles. To commemorate the summer's end, I loaded up the stockpot and made a glorious seafood stew, courtesy of Michele Scicolone (Savoring Italy) and Julia Child. From The Way to Cook, I first created the base for the stew with Julia's lobster stock. Now, you don't need a lobster to make this--you just need its shell. A brilliant idea, don't you think? Whenever you splurge and boil up lobster for a romantic dinner for two (and you really should, you know, every now and then) or if you eat lobster out (this takes a little more courage when you make this request of the server), save everything you don't eat and throw it into the freezer (or bring it to my house). When you want to make stock, whip out your frozen shells, wrap them in a kitchen towel and crush them into smaller pieces with a rolling pin. Or mallet. I don't happen to have one of those. Whatever. When they're thoroughly banged up, toss them in a large pan and saute with onion, celery, and carrot until the vegetables are soft. Add four cups of chicken broth, two cups of water, and half a can of diced tomatoes with a pinch of dried tarragon and a bay leaf. Simmer for about 45 minutes and then strain. Now you have your amazing, aromatic base. Add garlic, squid, clams, assorted fish, and tomatoes, and once again Italy transforms the simple into the sublime. Click here for Scicolone's recipe for Zuppa de Pesce alla Romana. The essence of summer will be distilled directly into your bowl, and although the season's passing will seem a little melancholy, this culinary balm will soothe your fretful soul. technorati tags: richmond, food, food and drink, recipes, cooking

Hurricane Katrina [Emergency Exit]

2005-09-04T00:23:00.000-04:00

Hurricane Katrina [Emergency Exit], originally uploaded by slight clutter.

It's time to give folks--no more excuses. Instead of talking about food or reading about food or--gasp--actually eating food, donate to the Red Cross so that hungry people devasted by Hurricane Katrina can eat again. For a more eloquent (and righteously profanity-laden) plea, see Heather Havrilesky over at the rabbit blog to get inspired.

technorati tags:richmond

Chocolate and Insomnia

2005-09-02T17:25:00.000-04:00

Sleep is precious, fragile, and so easily broken. For those of us who have problems sleeping, sometimes the night can stretch on endlessly, while at the same time, the inevitable daybreak arrives like an unwelcome guest, inducing panic and dread. What to do to while away those endless hours awake and alone, to stave off the inevitable anxiety that the lack of sleep engenders? Have a treat, I say--a delicious, ridiculous, guilty pleasure in the middle of the night. Most doctors (including mine, if I ever admitted to it) would counsel against eating in the middle of the night, and probably would advise even more strenuously against eating food containing chocolate when attaining sleep is the goal. Sometimes though, the calming act of cooking is all it takes to relax a little and allow sleep to silently sneak up on you when you finally go back to bed. Cooking however, inevitably leads to something on a plate that needs to be eaten; maybe it's just a bite or maybe it's the whole thing, depending upon what you whipped up there at the darkest moment before dawn. I always find myself turning to what I think of as my guiltiest of guilty pleasures: a grilled chocolate sandwich fried up in lots and lots of butter. It might be the endorphins the chocolate triggers or it might be the fat slowing the crazy carbs surging into my bloodstream but this sandwich always enables me to go back to bed, sleek and satisfied, and to drift off effortlessly in my already sleeping household. Grilled Chocolate Sandwich 1 slice of good bread (not sandwich bread--firm, European varieties only) Semi-sweet chocolate pieces to cover half a slice (Scharffen Berger is my favorite) 1-2 Tb. Plugra unsalted butter Cut your piece of bread in half (moderation, remember?). Melt the butter in a heavy skillet over low heat and swirl each half of the bread, one side only, in the butter. Place the piece of bread, buttery side down in skillet. Layer with chocolate pieces. Top with the other piece of bread, buttery side up and raise heat. Cook exactly as you would an ordinary grilled cheese sandwich, pressing down on the bread occasionally and flipping after the first side browns. Remove when the second side is golden brown and the chocolate has melted. Cool slightly and eat. Clean the kitchen carefully and never confess to your late night culinary excursion. technorati tags: richmond, food, food and drink, recipes, cooking

Pimentos de Padron

2005-08-25T11:49:00.000-04:00

In the summertime throughout Spain, at every tapas bar and restaurant, plates of little green peppers cooked quickly in olive oil are on every menu and sometimes—if you’re lucky—will arrive unbidden to your table. Each bite becomes a game of culinary roulette; you never know which little morsel might potentially set your taste buds on fire--most do not, however. Instead, as you pick them up by their little stems and pop them in, your mouth is filled with a savory, intense pepper flavor that transcends the green pepper cousin to which we’re all accustomed. Pimentos de padron are highly addictive (just ask Calvin Trillin) and are meant to be enjoyed hot and unadorned, save for a little coarse salt. They’re never used as an ingredient in other dishes nor are they eaten out of season. They are simply the quintessential summer tapas, exclusive to Spain. Until now. At a farm in New Kent county, Virginia, and available by mail order through Tienda, pimentos de padron are for the very first time grown and sold in the United States. I gasped when I first saw them on the Tienda site and rushed to order a pound immediately. I fired up a pan with some olive oil at once when they arrived two days later in their styrofoam cooler, and as I savored my first bite, I was flooded with memories of long days spent eating scrumptious, new dishes and drinking lovely, crisp, inexpensive wine. Last year, in northern Spain, rain and mist were the default weather pattern (unlike the drought conditions this year), but when the sun broke through the clouds and illuminated the green, green mountains backing the sparkling, blue north Atlantic, nowhere on earth was more magical and more transcendently evocative of summertime. Now, with just a click of my mouse, I can conjure up that feeling of contentment I felt as I sat by the beach in a seaside café, listening to the murmur of a language I barely understood, whenever I want, even in the most prosaic of American kitchens. Pimentos de Padron 1/2 lb. fresh, Virginian pimentos de padron 1 TB. good Spanish olive oil coarse salt, to taste Heat the olive oil over high heat until shimmering and add the pimentos. Toss rapidly with a wooden spoon until lightly browned in spots and puffed. Immediately transfer to a waiting plate and sprinkle with salt. Try to wait until slightly cooled to eat. Be generous; allow your dining companion to have their fair share. You always can order more--while they last. Serves 2 technorati tags: richmond, food, food and drink, recipes, cooking

Sticky Rice

2005-08-15T16:58:00.000-04:00

Sticky Rice is not a restaurant for the impatient. Or the intolerant. Or the sort of person who starts to lose it watching a table set for six remain empty while waiting at the bar and not being seated for almost 40 minutes. No, no, no. It is not for you, the customer, to fret, or to complain, or to question why; it is for you, the customer, to suck it up and order another martini. Good things come to those who wait. Or do they? Yes and no. The martinis are good and the beer selection is good. The bartender is warm and accommodating, and the giant bucket of tater tots we ordered as an appetizer was fabulous--as all tater tots are, by definition. They're also a significant clue that the funky, eclectic red and black interior with a myriad of upside down rice paper umbrellas hanging from the ceiling isn't the only thing about Sticky Rice that's unconventional. The menu is a gloss on all Asian food, from noodles and satays to sushi and tempura. In between are pop cultural nods, like the afore-mentioned tater tots, and Asian-influenced entrees like umeboshi (a pickled Japanese plum) barbecued pork chops with wasabi mashed potatoes or ponzu (a Japanese citron sauce) tuna with pineapple salsa. We heard a rumor before we came that children eat for free on Thursdays, but if they do, our server couldn't be bothered to mention it or to dig up a children's menu. By the time we were finally seated and the waitress was ready to take our order, we were so light-headed and cranky from lack of nourishment, we forgot to ask about the children and began to order wantonly from the menu presented to us. It's never a good idea to order appetizers and entrees all at once when you're flat-out starving, and predictably, we ended up with a large bill at the end and much more food than we could possibly eat. Much of it was delicious; the barbecued ribs we ordered as an appetizer were tender, sweet and sticky, although too spicy for our children (sadly, we had to eat them all ourselves). They were out of spring rolls so we substituted steamed pot stickers instead and, unfortunately, they were less successful. They arrived underneath a pile of shredded carrot and although there was nothing wrong with them, they were only mildly agreeable and unmemorable. The miso soup was nothing to write home about either and the fact that it arrived lukewarm did nothing to enhance the taste. I ordered the pork satay from the noodle section of the menu and was impressed with the choices offered to go along with it: soba, udon, or rice noodles, and, of course, sticky rice. I chose rice noodles and when my large bowl of pork arrived, it was drenched in a pallid and flavorless brown sauce, accompanied by an ungodly amount of shredded carrot. I remembered this dish from past visits as being spicier, livelier, but what I had in front of me was so bland and boring, it just wasn’t worth eating. Besides, my ravenous husband had ordered an excess of shushi and that suited me just fine. Here, at last, Sticky Rice finally began to shine. We began with the sticky balls, which turned out to be a sort of deep-fried sushi: tuna, crab and rice were stuffed into an inari pocket and topped with fish roe. As you bit down, your teeth encountered a delicate crunch, and then the soft seafood flavors effortlessly melded with the rice and hint of wasabi on your tongue. My daughter valiantly tried to eat all of the kappa maki—cucumber roll—we ordered for her and, although it’s her favorite, was unable to manage even half of the enormous portion. As my husband plowed through the hamachi (yellowtail), umagi (eel), and smoked salmon roll, I concentrated on the crunchy shrimp roll, a combination of tempura shrimp with avocado and carrot rolled up in rice and nori. Although it was reminiscent of the sticky balls, it had a softer chew and more traditional sushi flavor. All of the sushi was well made and served neither too cold nor too hot; I couldn’t find a thing to complain about. The rice was delicately flavored with vinegar, the fish was tender and fresh, and the portions were large and attractively presented. Next time, I’ll stick with the sushi and skip the rest. Aside from the appalling service, I really enjoyed the rambunctious energy of Sticky Rice with its pseudo-Japanese murals and loud music. The crowd was as diverse as its interior; we were easily the oldest customers, although fashion-wise we fell somewhere in the middle of the pierced and tattooed hipsters and the complacently preppy frat boys. Yet, despite our age (and hey, we’re not that old!) and our children, we didn’t feel out of place. Sticky Rice has a genuinely egalitarian vibe. There were other children there with their parents and besides, it was fun to watch the couples lurking oh-too-cool-for-school by the front door while waiting to be seated and know that one day, in the rapidly approaching future, they too would be seated metaphorically in our booth, wondering where the damn children’s menu was. technorati tags: richmond, food, food and drink, restaurants, cocktails

Dogwood Grille

2005-08-09T18:52:00.000-04:00

Fan restaurants come and go, and Dogwood Grille and Spirits opened in an inauspicious spot on Main Street that had seen its share of restaurants close down. Location, location, location, isn't that what they always say? Well, the Richmond restaurant scene continually confounds that old cliché--from Mama Zu's in Oregon Hill to 1 North Belmont Restaurant (a former 7-Eleven), and now, Dogwood Grille (I have a really hard time not putting a "the" in front of that name but I'm resisting). Richmonders have proven that they know their food and they'll show up when it's good. I had a difficult time getting a reservation and finally took an early 6:30 pm cancellation in order to go on a Saturday night (well, I was calling Saturday morning), but since I get hungry early, this was just fine. The only problem with the early reservation--the problem for my dining companion, that is--was that everyone else eating in the restaurant happened to be in their late fifties and early sixties, and we had a brief flashback to our one and only visit together to the Union Square Cafe. I had eagerly anticipated this particular meal, as well as the play across the square we were to see later, and the neither food nor the acting disappointed. The atmosphere at the restaurant was a little Sunday-brunch-with-grandma, however, and the clientele decidedly elderly. My husband couldn't believe he was spending a Saturday night in New York not in the hippest of trendy bistros but in a restaurant that looked like the kind of place where your family took you to celebrate graduation. As I continued to argue against the importance of decor in favor of the importance of the food (which I must mention again, was fabulous), they wheeled in a guy that had to be in his late eighties and propped him up at the table right next to us. I desperately needed a celebrity (even a B-list celebrity) to come in at that very moment and save me, but alas, my husband won the point and never has let me forget it. Part of the problem with the Dogwood Grille (there, I put a "the" in, I just had to) is its lack of design. It's a long narrow space with dark, wooden booths and exposed brick--a typical Fan restaurant interior. The paintings hung about are of diverse styles (although they have two by Jennifer Holloway, one of my favorite artists) of varying quality and aside from the lovely, repetitive orchids arranged across the front window, the room is completely forgettable. The clientele of the moment, therefore, creates the atmosphere of the moment, instead of the restaurant providing a specific ambiance for the clientele. The room felt stuffy and a little bit creaky when we were arrived because everyone there (besides us) was of a certain (older) age. As the evening wore on and the customers became younger, everything became louder--deafeningly louder--and the mood shifted dramatically. I'm going to talk about the food in just a moment, don't worry, but I'd like to address the issue of restaurant interior design first. I don't like to be intimidated when I eat out and generally, a restaurant that demands high heels for me and a jacket for my husband simply is too much bother. That being said, however, I do like a little theater when I go out. I've aired my decidedly ambivalent feelings about Can Can previously, but as far as my feelings about that bang-up French bistro interior complete down to the last little detail: I LOVE it. I also love Millie's 1920'/30's-flavored funkiness and I love Comfort's faux peeling paint. I love the Tuscan-y feel of Bacchus and I even love the retro space-age cliché that is the Galaxy Diner. I'm bored and annoyed however, when I pay $25 for an entree and the owner hasn't even made an effort, besides white tablecloths, to remind me that I'm in a restaurant and not in my own, dull house (actually, my house is very nice but it's also nice to get out of it once in a while). A restaurant should be a change of pace, not just from your own home, but from all the other restaurants around town as well. And yet, and yet! The food is amazing. I started with the grilled Caesar salad and was immediately impressed. Reminiscent of the deconstruction of dishes going in trendy restaurants elsewhere in bigger, more cosmopolitan cities, a half of romaine heart, lightly charred, shared the plate with half of a tomato draped with white anchovies, both of which were propped up on two large, chewy croutons and drizzled attractively with aioli and a reduced balsamic syrup. I was suspicious of the grilled lettuce and was taken aback by how well the smoky flavor enhanced the entire dish. I rapidly dissembled the pieces, cut up the lettuce, and ate it all with gusto, mopping up every bit of the delicious, garlicky, sweet sauce swirled across the bottom of the plate. My husband's appetizer was less spectacular; "Swimps Gone Wild on Tijuana," a name a little too precious for my taste (as were many of the other items on the menu--lounging tuna, for instance?!), failed to deliver the heat or complexity of its name and instead, remained just a few jumbo shrimp in an ordinary tomatillo sauce with black beans. Our entrees made up for this one misstep. My husband ordered the pan-seared duck breast in a light hoisin barbecue sauce (I'll spare you the cute version of the dish's description) that was succulent, gingery, and sweet. Although I've had good duck in Asian restaurants, this dish was far more flavorful and moist, and again, surprised me with a savory punch. I opted for the crab cake special. Two very large crab cakes arrived, so chock full of large lumps of backfin crabmeat, I couldn't for the life of me figure out how they were holding together; there was no discernible binder. They sat in a tangy pool of dill beurre blanc and were topped with an equally tangy, but entirely different béarnaise tartar sauce redolent of tarragon. Dill and tarragon are flavors I previously would have suspected would compete, but in this dish they are unexpectedly complementary. Although both sauces could have been heavy, overpowering the rich flavor of the crabmeat, they were instead light and airy, and both emphasized the herbs instead of the butter or oil. All in all, what's not to like about nearly a pound of crabmeat in two lovely, complementary sauces, with a couple of little potatoes to absorb what's left on the plate when the crab is gone? We only had room for one dessert (remember, I'm not eating on an expense account here; no food can go to waste!) and a good thing that was too. We ordered the carrot cake ice cream sandwich and received two large triangles instead of the expected one. Two layers of frozen carrot cake enclosed a layer of rich, vanilla ice cream. I suspect the ice cream, although delicious, was not made on the premises but the lush carrot cake overrode any finicky considerations in that respect. My only wish would have been to allow the carrot cake to thaw a little so that its characteristic mélange of spices would have been more prominent. My husband felt that each sandwich should have been made to order with fresh cake and ice cream but I disagreed. I don't really see how that would be economically or practically feasible and besides, I don't think what would be essentially carrot cake à la mode is nearly as interesting as Chef David Shannon's take on the familiar ice cream sandwich. The dollop of mascarpone on the side of the plate was a perfect accompaniment and cleverly echoed the traditional cream cheese icing. Dogwood Grille and Spirits takes its food seriously, despite the cutesy prose of its menu, and the owners need to take the ambiance of their restaurant seriously as well. Such creativity in the kitchen demands a similar spirit in the dining room. The service is impeccable—warm and attentive—and it seems a shame that such wonderful elements are shrouded in visual mediocrity and overwhelmed by the din generated by the other diners. I’ll return for the food, of course, although perhaps not as quickly as I would if the atmosphere were more inviting. richmond, food, food and drink, restaurants, cocktails

Feeding Children; Or, A Lesson in Zen-Like Patience and Fortitude

2005-08-02T12:06:00.000-04:00

It is excruciatingly difficult to feed my children. I make them three square meals a day, and I'm lucky if they eat a third of each. Now, those of you without children or with tiny babies, don't stop reading--you made need this information one day. I swear, I've truly exposed my daughters to a wide variety of foods (like all the books say) yet they still are reluctant to try even the most innocuous looking vegetable, the most benign seeming chicken dish. And although they have tried some real exotica--calamari, chorizos, and manchego cheese in Spain-- that's all they ate there for three solid weeks, and it was only starvation that drove them to eat those foods in the first place. Oh, and the promise of ice cream.* My children's friends, now, they eat up everything I make; I've even acquired the reputation as a "good cook" in elementary school circles (and that's high praise, you know). While those other children eagerly (gratifyingly) gobble it all, my children disdainfully pick and reject, suggesting hot dogs or plain buttered pasta as more appetizing alternatives. I don't want chubby little porkers, but I would like to see just a meal or two that actually disappears inside of a child instead of inside of the garbage can. They will eat a few things (they'd have to, or growing bigger wouldn't be an option) and one of them is Judy Hesser's (Amanda Hesser's mother) oven-fried chicken (here's a link to the recipe). The simplicity of this recipe is astounding. Brine the chicken, shake it with flour and cook it in the oven until done. It takes a bit of cooking (usually an hour and a half to an hour and forty-five minutes) so you have to plan ahead, but that's the only real drawback. Instead of being spattered by burning hot oil and setting off your fire alarm, you can do whatever you want, knowing that hot, tender, crispy "fried" chicken awaits you at dinner time. My only modification is to add an equal amount of sugar along with the salt to the recipe to make it a true brine. Buttery macadamia nut oil, if you have it around, can stand in for the butter the recipe calls for to make it a bit healthier, and you have my word, no one in my family is the wiser. Even with the butter, however, this version of fried chicken is far, far healthier than any you might pick up at a fast food place or grocery store (using organic chicken alone ratchets up the health factor) and far, far tastier--simultaneously crunchy and sticky, with meat that falls right off the bone and into your mouth. It guarantees membership in the Clean Plate Society and allows me to feel what it's like to be a "good cook" in my children's eyes, for one brief, shining moment. *One more piece of advice: while on vacation, especially when traveling in a foreign country with children, lift your ban on bribery. Life away from home is hard enough. richmond, food, food and drink, recipes, cooking

Amy's Tomatoes

2005-07-31T21:45:00.000-04:00

Another amazing batch of tomatoes from Amy's Garden at the 17th Street Farmers' Market. richmond, food, dmblgit,does my blog look good in this

Iced Tea

2005-07-30T00:44:00.000-04:00

Temperatures rose and fell over the course of last week, and as they hit their ascendancy, iced tea played a large role in my day-to-day management of the heat. I didn't want to cook, I didn't want to leave the house, and when I did either, immediate liquid refreshment was necessary. Now, I know I should have been drinking water and I did, lots of it. However, despite the overwhelming selection of (very similar tasting waters) on the market, I craved something with a bit more of a kick, something that said "summer in the south" a little louder than all of the cicadas droning on and on in the background of every boiling day. Iced tea was the only solution. The US is divided into two iced tea-drinking camps: the sweet tea camp of the south and the unsweetened camp of the north. Virginia, as the northernmost outpost of the south, has always been conflicted about to which camp it owes its allegiance. While I was growing up here in Richmond, tea was generally served in large pitchers unsweetened, but venturing even just a few miles southward towards Charles City or Petersburg, the tea became abruptly sugar sweet. As Richmonders, my family always gave me the feeling it was vaguely déclassé to stir sugar into your tea (what was that tall skinny spoon there for then?), and it was years before I discovered that sugar did, in fact, make that brown stuff sitting on the dinner table every night more palatable--and even enjoyable. My grandmother served her tea resolutely unsweetened and lightly infused with the fresh mint that grew wild all over her backyard. I've tried to duplicate her tea over the years and because she wasn't the kind of fondly maternal sort of grandmother who carefully imparted her culinary wisdom to the rising generation, I've tried different techniques I've been told or read about over the years. What's so hard about iced tea, do you ask? Well, for one, consistency. Sure, you can dump some teabags in a pitcher, pour over boiling water, and let it steep for a while, but invariably, this kind of haphazard method leads to nasty, weak tea, fit only for plant-watering--not to put too fine of a point on it. Steep it longer you say and add more tea bags? Well, that leads to acrid, foul-tasting dark brown sludge you can't even drink. You need a formula to get it actually right each time. I like my tea amber gold, minty and slightly sweet. True to my upbringing, however, I leave the sweetening to the individual, although I have discovered a mere 1/2 to 1 teaspoon of sugar added along with the tea bags during the brewing process cuts the acidity of the tea without adding any noticeable sweetness. A pinch of baking soda will also do the same thing--it's your choice. I've never had much luck with sun tea and I like instead to brew a concentrate to which I add cold water. That way, my tea is ready to drink right away without having to chill in the refrigerator, and (even better) the ice cubes don't melt and immediately dilute my tea to dreck. I don't think you need to be too fussy about the kind of tea you use. We all grew up on Lipton's and that's the flavor most people are looking for in a good glass of iced tea. That being said though, my personal favorite is a half and half combo of any good quality English breakfast and orange pekoe teas. The orange pekoe gives it that Lipton-y amber flavor and the English breakfast tea lifts it a bit and adds a little complexity (Yorkshire Tea, if you can find it, is another good choice). Water? I use tap water but I'm sure the more discerning would prefer spring water (they always do). Just make sure it's at a full, rolling boil before you pour it over the tea. None of this "near boiling" stuff you read about for brewing hot tea; you want to extract all the flavor you can and you don't need to be finicky about it. Iced tea should be easy to make, at any rate, and watching the proverbial pot doesn't sound like a lot of fun. Lastly, pour over ice in a tall glass, sweeten to taste, and garnish with a sprig of mint if you have company. Ahhhh . . . now sit back, relax, and cool off. All those sweaty chores can wait for another day. richmond, food and drink Iced Tea (makes 1/2 gallon) 6 tea bags or 8 teaspoons loose tea in a large tea ball 1 bunch fresh mint 1/2-1 teaspoon sugar 2 quarts water Add mint to the bottom of an unbreakable pitcher and bruise with the back of a large spoon. Add tea and sugar. Bring 2 cups of water to a rapid boil and pour over the tea. Steep for 15 minutes. Strain out mint and tea, and add 6 cups of cold water. Serve.

Pizza, Again?

2005-07-22T11:40:00.000-04:00

Is it easier to make your own pizza instead of ordering take-out? A few years ago I would have scoffed at the idea--make your own dough, sauce, chop toppings? Crazy! Then I moved to a neighborhood a mere ten minutes away from my favorite pizza joint and inexplicably, they won't deliver to my house. Nope, absolutely no delivery to the northside of Richmond from Carytown. We have our own pizza delivery service, of course, but the pizza is so bland, so unexciting that I can't even bring myself to eat it even when I'm exhausted. For years my husband and I debated whether Piccola's pizza or Mary Angela's pizza was the best and the most authentic (in that NYC slice kind of way) in town. My husband was partial to Piccola's and I was a staunch Mary Angela's fan. Complicating the debate is the fact that the two families who own these places are related; the pizzas are very, very similiar. It becomes therefore, a debate hinging on degrees of greatness, and as you probably know, that kind of discussion can continue indefinitely. Nevertheless, the whole issue was rendered moot when we moved. No delivery service from either Piccola's or Mary Angela's (I will repress my ranting and railing vis a vis this issue for the moment); if we wanted pizza, we had to drive ourselves and get it. One day though, as we were loading our car to leave for home, my father-in-law stashed a pizza stone and a peel in the back along with our luggage (this is how my in-laws get rid of things they don't need). At first, I began making pizza just to see how it was done and then, as the drive to Mary Angela's became more onerous, I slowly started to take it for granted that when we wanted pizza, I would make it. Once I began stocking up on the basic ingredients--yeast, flour, mozzarella, cans of crushed tomatoes--I didn't really think too much about it. We still drove to get take-out, non-delivery pizza now and then, but I also made my own more and more. Eventually I developed a comprehensive, will-please-everybody sort of pizza that comprises three distinct sections: a pepperoni section, a plain cheese section, and for adults, an artichoke-goat cheese section. Remembering to make the dough ahead of time is the only real challenge. Leave it to trusty Christopher Kimball, however, to streamline even this process and reduce the rising, topping, and cooking time to a mere 75 minutes. Here's a link on the web to his Quick Pizza Dough. I also use his uncooked tomato sauce but you'll have to go to Cook's Illustrated-Recipe Resource for that one (again, I must exhort you to subscribe to this site--it's well worth it). Once the dough has risen and then rested, I roll out the entire ball, instead of dividing it in two as recommended. I have a hard time stretching the dough wide enough (although I have found Lora Brody's Dough Relaxer helpful) when it's that small, and I also prefer my crust a little thicker. Crispy is nice but crispy is also easy to burn. And as everyone knows, if it's black, children won't eat it, even if they're starving. Goat cheese, artichoke hearts, kalamata olives, and chopped scallions are my current favorite toppings, although with tomato season now in full swing, fresh tomatoes and fresh basil (the basil under the cheese to keep it moist) may replace them. I'd also like to try my hand at grilling a pizza--somehow that starts to sound like too much work though. Come to think of it however, I think--actually--it may not be so bad after all. The mandatory 500 degree oven for pizza cooking is a real killer these days and the grill would relocate the heat outside of the house. Hmmm . . . is it worth sacrificing dinner and losing a whole pizza (I have horrific visions of all of the toppings sliding ineveitably into the coals when I try to get it on the grill or try to take it off) just in the name of culinary experimentation? Maybe I should call Mary Angela's and have them hold me a table before I start. richmond

Taste Unlimited

2005-07-07T11:23:00.000-04:00

Virginia Beach, Virginia. Tangy, creamy, savory, unctuous, delectable--it's hard to come up with a way to describe the house dressing at Taste Unlimited. It transforms a simple sandwich into an amazing and addictive meal, one whose sum far outweighs its parts. Neither mayo nor mustard, nor most delicatessens' ubiquitous Russian dressing, the Taste Unlimited dressing is unique, one-of-a-kind (although I have sampled a pale imitation at Take It Away in Charlottesville), and memorable. My first sandwich was a gift; my good friend Courtney Allen road her bike over thirty blocks from her parent's beach house to the beach front store and back when we were teenagers just to introduce me to what would become one of my very favorite sandwiches. A small local chain of prepared foods as well as a comprehensive assortment of gourmet items, Taste Unlimited, then and now, offers no lettuce, no tomato for its sandwiches, just a pile of meat and cheese on a variety of freshly baked breads. That day, Courtney brought back French bread sandwiches, layered with thinly sliced, rare roast beef and imported Swiss cheese, smothered in Taste Unlimited's amazing house dressing. As I mentioned before, it is the dressing here that emphatically makes the sandwich. For years this dressing was unavailable beyond a sandwich you purchased at the store, but now, thankfully, you can buy an entire bottle of the stuff to take home with you and enliven even the dullest of home sandwiches. And through stealth and persistence, I, years ago, even got a hold of its proprietary recipe. Unfortunately, one of its key ingredients is no longer available, and I'm not sure what's taken its place--the dressing tastes exactly the same. Previously, the dressing was combination of Hellman's mayonnaise, Kosciusko spicy brown mustard, and imported Sharwood steak sauce. The last ingredient is no longer available (I think they've stopped manufacturing it) so I'd speculate that perhaps HP Sauce replaced it. Unfortunately, not being a fan of steak sauces, I never compared Sharwood's to any other brand and therefore, can't give a definitive answer. Besides, they sell it in their stores now--why make it when an expert will hand you a bottle ready-made? I love to cook but I also love to eat. Somehow, the real Taste Unlimited house dressing always tasted better than mine ever did when I did make it. I just don't have the incentive to experiment like I used to when I had to drive 100 miles to the beach to get a sandwich dripping with the stuff. And, in fact, now that I'm a little older and a little more adept at delaying gratification, a trip to Taste Unlimited becomes an integral part of my trips to the beach; the prior deprivation only enhances my satisfaction once I take that first bite. virginia beach, richmond

Country Club Living

2005-07-07T10:33:00.000-04:00

Virginia Beach, Virginia. I don't really get to experience the lifestyle of the rich and comfortable too often, and country club living is generally beyond my purvue. Nevertheless, during the 4th of July weekend, I was fortunate enough to partake of the lavish brunch at the Cavalier Golf and Yacht Club in Virginia Beach. As I ascended the curving staircase to the upper floor, I was greeted first by a spectacular floral display in the middle of a light, lovely room. Lining the walls were tables groaning with a diverse array of culinary delights. There were muffins, pastries, cakes, biscuits, fruit, sausage, bacon . . . there was an omlette station and crepe station . . . there was caviar, smoked salmon, bagels, and my very favorite breakfast food of all, eggs benedict. Most eggs benedict are disapointing; the eggs are usually rubbery and over-cooked with tasteless, bland hollandaise topping them. I'd almost given up ordering them when I went out, assuming only what I prepared at home would be acceptable. The Cavalier (at long last!) proved me wrong by serving eggs benedict almost exactly how they should be. I must qualify with an "almost" because the thick, English muffin rounds (Wolferman's, no doubt) were soggy from soaking in excess hollandaise. Not altogether a bad thing, especially considering how perfectly creamy the eggs were poached, how ever so slightly crisp the ham was cooked, and how delectably smooth and lemony the hollandaise was. A little excess butter, after all, hardly offends the palate and I can, without qualification, pronounce these eggs benedict, the best I've had outside of my own kitchen. virginia beach I've always relied on Julia Child for hollandaise. You'll find her (always perfect) recipe below. Hollandaise 3 egg yolks 2 TB lemon juice 1/4 tsp. salt Pinch of white pepper 1 stick (4 oz.) butter, melted until bubbling hot Place egg yolks, lemon juice, salt and pepper in blender. Cover and blend at high speed for 30 seconds. Uncover, and still blending at high speed, start pouring in the hot butter by droplets. Allow time for the butter to absorb and emulsify with eggs. When about two thirds of the butter has been added, you can pick up the pace a little more. Makes about 3/4 cup. From The French Chef Cookbook

Ham Biscuits and Holidays

2005-07-06T18:01:00.000-04:00

Wakefield, Virginia. One of the pleasures of beach traffic during the summer is--wait a minute, what am I saying?! Every year, the traffic along I-64 East from Richmond to Virginia Beach seems to get worse and worse. It bottles up around Williamsburg, it bottles up around Hampton, and then it stops dead at the Hampton Roads Bridge Tunnel. Hours and hours pass as all of the adults in the car sigh heavily, use colorful expletives, and generally bemoan the fact that they didn't choose to take Rt. 460 instead. Yes, 460 is longer and has annoying stop lights, and yes, you feel like throwing yourself out of the moving car when you have to loop back onto I-64 in the end in order actually to get to Virginia Beach but, BUT no one else is on the road except you and the small-town cops in the speed traps; it's smooth sailing all the way. When it's finally conceded that 460 is the best way to go, gratitude to the traffic gods overwhelms me, and I am compelled to offer my thanks at the Virginia Diner in Wakefield, VA. Or, more precisely, I am thankful for the Virginia Diner and the absence of 21st century homogeneousness that plagues the highways of this country. I've been going to the Virginia Diner all of my life; there was a time before the existence of I-64 (believe it or not) and this was the way everyone went to the beach. Although the Virginia Diner has spiffed up some since those days, has expanded and added a gift shop at the entrance full of various varieties of boiled Virginia peanuts, it's not so entranced with its own quaintness and anachronisticity to forget why people stopped there in the first place--the food. Basic southern fare like ham biscuits and fried chicken provide the bulk of the menu, although when we stopped there last Friday on the way to the beach for the 4th of July weekend, they had a pretty impressive buffet happening. There was a large roast beef (medium, of course), fried shrimp, fried fish, barbecue, ham, corn, biscuits, etc., etc, for $10.95 a person. That was a little steep for us, so we opted for the menu and immediate seating in the smoking section since there was a long, long wait for non-smoking. Oddly, no one at all was smoking in the smoking section--not a single person. Of course, we were stashed in the back, away from the windows in what looked like a banquet section, but then, we weren't really there for the atmosphere. Ham biscuits were my goal (although I was sorely tempted by the fried chicken)-- barbecue for my husband. The children, of course, wanted hot dogs. The biscuits at the Virginia Diner aren't the flaky kind that pull apart in layers; these are high-rising biscuits, fluffy and buttery, that seem indigenous to this part of the country. I love those flaky kind, but I've never been able to make them and I can't recall ever eating them when I was growing up at anyone else's house either, unless they came from a can. Inside my three hot biscuits, folded in paper-thin slices, was a mound of salty, smoky country ham with just the slightest hint of sweetness in the sliver of fat left around the outside rim of each slice. After the addition of a little more butter to the inside top-half of each biscuit, my dinner was perfect and ready to eat. Each bite reminded me of the ham my grandmother would send us for Christmas every year and the somewhat laborious process involved in readying same ham fit to eat. First you had to remove the cloth covering, then peel away with a sharp knife the mold that invariably grew over the outside (my mother would always assure me that the mold was "normal"), and then soak the ham in water overnight to remove the excess salt. Then and only THEN, was that ham ready to cook--for hours. I think that's why I love ham biscuits so much: they are presented to you ready to eat, no work involved, just the perfect hot and tender vehicle to transfer the cold and salty deliciousness to your mouth. Accompanying my wonder biscuits was the Virginia Diner's signature side of Peanut Waldorf Salad. Now, don't forget, Wakefield is the center of peanut country, and the cooks at the Virginia Diner try to slide peanuts in wherever they can. They're most successful with their peanut pie--think pecan pie and replace the pecans with peanuts--and this great twist on the traditional Waldorf. The usual apples, celery, and raisins were there but peanuts subbed for walnuts and topping it all was a lusciously sweet, almost Asian peanut dressing. It provided a succulent counterpoint to the salty saltiness of the ham (reduncies just abound with Virginia ham), displacing my (usually) favorite salt back-simmered green beans, and almost replacing dessert. As I slid behind the wheel, I knew, fortified with ham, I could deal with any traffic exigency, as long as I had enough water to slake my thirst all the way to Virginia Beach. I tossed back a few peanuts and settled in for the long holiday drive through the country, and the seashore that waited at the end. richmond

Eggsactly How I Would Do It, If I'd Thought of It

2005-06-29T17:59:00.000-04:00

According to the good folks at Cook's Illustrated, if you'd like silky smooth deviled egg filling, run the yolks through a Mouli grater (for small batches) or a fine sieve (for large batches) before mixing with the other ingredients. Consider yourself informed.

Spain, Chicken, and Bouillabaisse

2005-06-28T16:25:00.000-04:00

Sometimes imagination fails me and I'm forced to fall back on an old stand-by. Not a bad thing really, especially if it's been a while since I've made it, but disappointing at the same time since I love to try my hand at new dishes. Nevertheless, the following recipe is one that my family loves and will eat (if I haven't served it the week before). My husband's family is originally from Spain and since we've been together, I've been inspired by family gatherings, trips to Spain, and most of all, Penelope Casas to infuse a Spanish sensibility in my cooking. As an average American WASP, I crave ethnicity and cultural differences. Green bean casserole and mushroom soup-based cuisine are my only authentic heritage, so I've had to make it up as I go along. Trying on my husband's heritage for size, I found it fit nicely--garlic, olive oil, fabulous wine, chorizo, what's not to like? Over the years, the following chicken recipe has slowly evolved. Its original inspiration was a Martha Rose Schulman recipe in Mediterranean Light, which in turn, was inspired by bouillabaisse. To transport it south of the Pyrenees, I decreased the wine and chicken broth, increased the garlic and added smoked paprika to the mix. The original recipe was a little finicky about cooking technique; I found that just plunking all the ingredients together in a pot or large covered saucepan and simmering for 45-60 minutes was far easier and just as tasty. My only problem with the dish--actually all chicken dishes--is the gradual erosion of bone-in, organic chicken pieces available in this town. I really don't understand why the groceries around here think I want pallid boneless breasts and thighs. I can still get a whole chicken, no problem, but butchering a chicken is a real pain. I mean, I have a nice (Wusthof) knife, a great knife sharpener, yet no matter how sharp my knife is, I still have to brutally hack off the wings and legs, while the slippery chicken slides around the counter and befouls me with its slimy juices. I didn't go to culinary school, I admit, so technique may play a part in my ineptitude. Nevertheless, the whole business just seems needlessly time-consuming and unnecessarily nasty. Why can't a real butcher at the store or the chicken packaging place do this for me, like they used to? I believe in organic farming fervently and love the superior taste of happy chickens--I just can't let myself succumb to the easy convenience of Purdue although I'm sorely tempted at times. The nearest Whole Foods Market is 75 miles away and besides, I live in a semi-major metropolitan city and shouldn't have to drive to a far smaller town to get the variety I want (although I have). What's going on? Enough ranting--onto the (did I mention it's child-friendly?) recipe: Chicken with Saffron, Smoked Paprika and Garlic 1 organic chicken brutally butchered by hand in Richmond or professionally cut into 8 pieces if you're out of town 2 TB. olive oil 1 small onion, diced 5 cloves garlic, minced 1 14.5 oz. can diced tomatoes 1/2 c. white wine 1/2 c. chicken broth 1 t. dried orange peel 1 bay leaf 1/2t. dried thyme 1 t. smoked paprika 2 large pinches saffron (toasted lightly in a small skillet beforehand to bring out the flavor) salt and pepper to taste Remove skin from chicken and lightly salt with coarse salt. Heat the olive oil in the bottom of a dutch oven or large saucepan, and sauté the garlic and onion until soft and fragrant. Add the tomatoes, chicken, white wine, chicken broth, dried orange peel, and spices. Stir gently and bring to a simmer. Simmer for 45-60 minutes or until chicken is tender. Serve with small new potatoes or couscous (my favorite, but not my family's), a large green salad, and a crisp and flavorful Albariño. Serves 4.

Is My Blog Burning No. 16: Eggs!

2005-06-25T18:57:00.000-04:00

The Seattle Bon Vivant is hosting Is My Blog Burning? No. 16 and the theme this time around is eggs. It's not hard to think of literally dozens of recipes that would showcase the lovely farm eggs of Brookview Farm I buy every week--you know, the ones I've been exhorting you to go down to the Farmers' Market and buy? Wherever you might get them, farm eggs are worth seeking out and paying a premium for--consider yourself lucky if you have access to them at all. In a previous post I mentioned living on a farm and not being allowed to touch a single one of the many, many eggs the chickens there laid every day. In fact, I had to listen to the farm manager complain about all of the eggs she was forcing herself to eat and how monotonous she found it. All the while I fumed inwardly, cursing this woman and her lack of imagination. I had to drive 25 miles into town to buy pricey organic eggs on a grad student's salary! I knew what I would do with all of those extra eggs if I had a chance. As I thought about eggs in the here and now however, the infinite possibilities dazzled me. Should I bake something (I'm always looking for an excuse), should I scramble a few with chorizo (now that's breakfast), or should I just highlight the intrinsic goodness of the egg itself? Deviled eggs are a minimally gussied-up hard-boiled egg and seemed to fit the bill the more I thought about them. Besides, they sustained me through pregnancy. Afterwards, post-partum, post-nursing, I began adding horseradish to the predictable mix and serving them to unsuspecting guests (that's a great face to see). Although they were good, it wasn't until I traded in my boring old jarred horseradish for wasabi that these babies began to sing. You've just got to have the best eggs available for this recipe to make it work, and when you do, you've got a recipe that bites back. Without further ado . . . Wasabi Eggs 6 eggs (if you let them sit in the refrigerator for a few days or even a week after purchasing, the whites will gel a bit more and the egg will be easier to peel) 1/4 cup mayonnaise 1/2 t. Dijon mustard 1/2-1 t. wasabi paste (brands vary in strength, so taste it before adding more) salt and pepper to taste Hard-boil eggs (I wouldn't even presume to tell you how to do this--everyone is convinced their way is the best way). Peel and slice in half those six now chilled and newly hard-boiled eggs. Plunk the yolks in a medium bowl and mash thoroughly with a fork. Add mayonnaise, Dijon mustard, and wasabi. Stir. Season with salt and pepper to taste and fill whites with yolk mixture. Serve proudly and refrain from mentioning your little variation on the traditional deviled egg. richmond

Party at My House

2005-06-22T11:20:00.000-04:00

Bob Blumer (aka The Surreal Gourmet) is always an inspiration to me--primarily because he takes some of the sting out of entertaining. You know how it is, you make a great dish one night you want to share with your friends and so a week or so later, you invite them all over. After a hellish day shopping and cleaning your house, by the time evening rolls around and your guests start arriving, your supposedly fun dinner party has transformed itself into an excruciating chore you can't imagine why you wished upon yourself. Instead of cooking, you're ready to chuck it all in the trash and go out for dinner. Even the carefully planned cocktails are just an ineffective balm to take the edge off the stress. Or is this just me? In all of his books (and particularly The Surreal Gourmet Entertains), Blumer plots a strategy to calm even the most neurotic of host(esses)s like me. He clearly outlines the steps for a successful dinner party for each dish, including not only tips for what can be made ahead, but also wine and music suggestions (and as the former manager of Canadian singer/songwriter Jane Siberry, his advice is both informed and broad, not to mention, ultra-cool). Couple that with flavorful and unusual dishes (Dishwasher Salmon? Don't knock it till you've tried it), I find myself turning to his books almost every time I (foolishly) entertain. His "Build-Your-Own Burrrito Fiesta" on p. 70 of The Surreal Gourmet Entertains last night inspired me to try the dinner party thing once again. Marinated and grilled pork tenderloin provided the base for the burritos with guacamole and salsa recipes following. His marinade is fine but really can be stepped up to a full-fledged adobo with the addition of garlic and a little oregano (recipe to follow). Since I had guests bring guacamole and salsa, I can't attest to those particular recipes, although I've had such good luck with Blumer's books, I wouldn't hesitate to make and serve them without reservation. Nonetheless, besides the pork and the recommended condiments (things like sour cream, green onions, cilantro--obvious really, but I love having it spelled out for me in list form), I felt compelled to put my own spin on the whole burrito theme. It occurred to me that the fresh peaches I had ripening away on the counter might make an interesting salsa--if you can do it with mangoes, why not peaches? The sweet and spicy chunks complemented the smoky meat perfectly (if I do say so myself) and my only recommendation is to serve it with a slotted spoon because it was a little too juicy after sitting for an hour at room temperature (the peaches, not the pork). Pushing the theme a little farther, I remembered that summer is the perfect excuse to serve margaritas. In Off the Eaten Path, Blumer has a frozen watermelon margarita recipe I've served before. I recalled though, that it needed a little punching up. It wasn't quite strong enough and I really wanted the watermelon flavor to shine. More watermelon and less ice didn't really do the trick. More tequila and Cointreau instead of triple sec helped but it still wasn't quite enough. Then I remembered my favorite Switch soda--it's a carbonated juice my children adore and are actually allowed to drink--strawberry watermelon. Ah ha! Three or four frozen strawberries added to the mix enhanced the watermelon flavor just enough without the whole thing morphing into the predictable margarita so many restaurants seem to have whirling away in a big slurpee machine behind the bar. Now, don't think I actually relaxed that evening. Despite the Los Lobos and EL Vez albums playing on shuffle and repeat, I never did calm down completely. Blumer isn't a miracle worker, although, come to think of it, maybe I should have taken his advice and done tequila shots out of the empty lime halves. That might have been his best advice after all. richmond, cocktails, food Adobo Pork Tenderloin (inspired by the Surreal Gourmet) 1 1b. pork tenderloin 1/2 c. fresh lime juice 1/2 c. fresh orange juice 4 cloves garlic, minced 1 t. cumin 1 t. oregano 1 t. coarse salt 1/2 t. black pepper Combine the juices, garlic, and spices in a large ziploc bag with the pork. Marinate a minimum of two hours. Pat dry, and grill over indirect heat for 18-25 minutes (turning in 5-6 minute intervals) until a meat thermometer registers 160 degrees F. Slice thinly and have guests wrap with warmed flour tortillas, choosing their own condiments. Serves 4-6. Peach Salsa 3 ripe (but not mushy) peaches, diced 1 small red pepper, diced 2 cloves garlic, minced fine 2 green onions, chopped 1 jalapeno, chopped 2 Tb. fresh lime juice 1/2 Tb. honey salt and pepper to taste Combine all the ingrediants in a small bowl and allow flavors to meld at room temperature for about one hour. High-Test Watermelon Margaritas (based on a recipe by the Surreal Gourmet) 3 cups seedless watermelon, cubed and frozen 3-4 frozen strawberries 3 Tb. (or 1 1/2 oz., if measuring with a shot glass) fresh lime juice 6 oz. tequila 2 oz. Cointreau 1 c. ice Place everything in a blender and whirl away like a slurpee machine until smooth. Serve in salt-rimmed glasses and be prepared for seconds. Serves 4-6, depending on the size of your glasses.

Happy Pigs

2005-06-17T06:17:00.000-04:00

Market Report 6/16/05: As the humidity lifted yesterday and the cool breezes blew in overnight, it was not only almost bearable yesterday but downright pleasant first thing in the morning at the Farmer's Market. It was easy to ruminate over the pleasures of pastoral living as I took in the sights and sounds of the decidedly urban landscape around me. I lived on a farm about a hundred years ago, just outside of Charlottesville, but even then, I really was just a tourist. I didn't run the farm (which primarily raised Angus cows and brood mares), wasn't even allowed to collect any eggs from the farm's prolific chickens. I did, however, have a small garden that ran riot with tomatoes and basil; because of its fecundity, I felt like a real farmer. Decidedly delusional, I know, particularly when I realized that the sharp, acrid stench making my nostrils burn as I took my daily walk down our dirt road was chemical fertilizer spread by the small planes I heard periodically. All of my organic efforts in the garden and at the table were negated every time I left my house and breathed in the air. I could forget about the darker side of farming (not just the chemicals but, you know, all that hard work) yesterday though and concentrate on the food. I wanted to make the strawberry jam I read about on The Amateur Gourmet's site--I love his sense of humor and real, practical advice--and so inspired, I made my way to Amy's Garden. Unfortuantely, no strawberries this week, but she did have her amazing bicolor squash, sugar snap peas, tiny beets, pac choi (baby bok choi) and little, red-skinned potatoes. Most of her greens were sold out by the time I arrived, just after 9 am, and I had to make due with some peppery arugula. I was slowly perusing the other stalls, sipping a bubble tea (note to self: not my favorite), when tucked away in the corner, I discovered the wares of the Double A Farm, home of free range pork products. I've been increasingly frustrated with the limited cuts of organic pork, beef, and recently, chicken (!) available in the local grocery stores. Why, I ask, why can't you buy bone-in pork chops? Or ribs? I'm happy to see the bacon and the pork tenderloin but why can't I have variety in my choices? The farmers at Double A Farm have solved at least the pork part of the problem. They have not only nice, thick bone-in chops but ribs, bacon (actually, thick uncured strips of pork belly) and yes, spicy homemade sausage. I can even get fresh rendered lard (don't knock it till you've tried it in your pie crust) if I call ahead (434-535-8406; ask for Linda or Ronnie Beale). I immediately went home and made plans to make Pork Chops with Golden Onions and Wilted Tomatoes with sauteed bicolor squash and garlic. The chops were as I'd hoped, juicy and flavorful, and this recipe was gratifyingly easy, complemented by Amy's outstanding squash. Why are her squash bursting with so much flavor? How does she get them to taste so unexpectedly delicious? How many other ways can I think to serve them? All questions I hope to answer as the summer wears on. Hopefully, everyone else in Richmond will join me as I cook and eat my way through the Farmer's Market this season. richmond, dmblgit, does my blog look good in this

The 17th Street Farmer's Market

2005-06-10T15:05:00.000-04:00

I have a hard time making it to the Farmer's Market every week now that I have children and my synapses have somehow derailed. I just can't seem to remember to go until it's too late. All of the local organic (and non-organic) farmers come to 17th and Main every Thursday throughout the summer and early fall between 8:30 am and 2:00 pm to sell their wares. This year, in addition to the lovely fresh produce, eggs, and meats, there seem to be more stalls than ever with vendors selling a plethora of handmade goods. This week proved the exception however, when I actually noticed "Farmer's Market" written on my calendar and retained the information long enough to get into my car. I triumphantly returned home laden with bags full of eggs, greens, peas, and squash. Although I was drawn to the eclectic jewelry next door, I decided to spend my money at Amy Hicks' stall (Amy's Garden) and splurge on strawberries and flowers. I've been wondering where the local strawberries have been--not in any grocery store (I know of) as in past years. Amy's were beautiful and lushly fragrant, glistening, beckoning to me from beside the brilliantly colored flowers. I had to have them and as Amy warned me that they wouldn't last past today, I couldn't believe I had an excuse to eat them all immediately. They turned out to be a mixed bag; the larger ones, although pleasing to the eye were bland and less pleasing to the palate. The smaller ones, however, were exquisite little flavor bombs, sweet, juicy, and all too easily gobbled up. Even better, I didn't have to drive forever in my car and sweat it out picking in a strawberry field with two cranky children who are too hot to understand why this is supposed to be fun. I also found lovely bicolor squash and lots of fabulous greens--Asian greens, arugula, mesclun. Always popular, a crush soon developed around Amy's stall and I decided to get out with what I had. Although tempted mightily by the scent wafting from nearby of homemade crepes filled with amazing things like marscapone and rasberries or goat cheese and spinach, I resisted with almost inhuman inner resolve (where did that come from?) and browsed, bought three dozen farm eggs (I really, really love them) from the Brookview farm, and was talked into some freshly picked oyster mushrooms from Dave and Dee's Homegrown Mushrooms that did, in fact, lived up to Dave's hyperbole. Fresh mushrooms, like fresh eggs, really do taste far, far better than what we're all used to getting in the store--their earthy succulence perfectly complimented the organic steak with which I served them. Of course, to truly appreciate the subtleties of the mushrooms flavor, I need to make either a risotto or pasta dish that features them as the main ingredient. Maybe next week. I can only hope the proper sequence of neurons in my maternal brain fire properly on Thursday, reminding me to get there before the market closes. richmond

The Heat and the Humidity

2005-06-07T15:48:00.000-04:00

Grilling is mandatory at the moment for most of us here sweltering on the East Coast. The thought of turning on my oven makes me want to run for the nearest take-out joint but the thought of eating pizza again makes my family glare at me with murderous eyes and demand Captain Crunch for dinner instead. Therefore, I needed something to grill and something cool to go with it. I wasn't in the mood for a lot of fussing and at the same time, I wanted a little more than plain, grilled fare at the very least. I turned to Bobby Flay (his cookbook that is, Boy Gets Grill) who is not only innovative (anyone who has incorporated Spanish flavors so thoroughly into his repertoire is my kind of cook) but reliable as well. His Grilled Shrimp Skewers with Soy Sauce, Fresh Ginger and Toasted Sesame Seeds fit the bill perfectly. I took some shrimp out of the freezer--now that's a lifesaver; everyone should keep frozen shrimp in their freezer all summer long--brined it in a mild solution (2 Tb. coarse salt in 1 quart of water) until thawed and turned to page 116. Here's a link to the recipe on the web. It was a lovely Asian mélange of flavors: the piquancy of the ginger and garlic married nicely with the smoky flavor of the grill without overwhelming the sweetness of the shrimp. I also tried the Crunchy Vegetable Slaw with Peanut Sauce and Crispy Noodles on page 66 (it's renamed Crunchy Noodle Salad with Cabbage and Peanut Sauce for his Food Network show) Flay recommends as a side dish but I wasn't nearly as impressed. Although I loved the peanutty dressing, it lacked a certain something, a certain oomph to complement the shrimp and its rather subtle flavors. Both the shrimp and the slaw are a little two nut-ridden for my taste when eaten at the same meal and I wanted more of a contrast. Then I remembered another slaw I've made many times in the past, the Surreal Gourmet's (aka Bob Blumer) Psychedelic Coleslaw. Some sesame seeds, yes, but that dish packs a wallop and is gorgeous to boot, with the crazy purples and reds and yellows of the red cabbage and peppers all intertwined and dripping with a spicy, sweet dressing you want to lick from the bottom of the emptied bowl. With a food processor, slaw is a snap and you get all of those phytonutrients raw vegetables are supposed to be brimming with to boot. That would have been the perfect accompaniment to Flay's shrimp and next time, you can bet it'll accompany mine. richmond

The Best Cake in the World

2005-06-04T17:47:00.000-04:00

Ah, Martha, Martha, Martha! For years I've been garnering accolades for Martha Stewart's amazing Italian Cream Cake, listed on pg. 555 of The Martha Stewart Cookbook. It's a moist, heavy cake I frost with a cream cheese icing spiked with a little sour cream and sometimes Fiori di Sicilia (although I adore this fragrant, orange/vanilla flavoring, a little bit goes a long way and I have a tendency to overdo it at times, necessitating long breaks in between uses). Everyone truly raves about it, and it's the kind of cake that pulls you back in for a second, guilty slice. But Martha’s connection with this recipe compromises some of the pleasure for me. I don't want to cook from her cook book and even more importantly, I don't want to admit my signature dessert is really the creation of an obsessive-compulsive control freak who makes me feel inadequate every time I see the cover of her magazine at the check-out counter (even going to jail seemed to make Martha more successful--where is the justice in that??). I feel weak succumbing to her cultural power and just a little but used. But damn, this cake is really good. I was relieved, then, when researching the possibility of finding a link to this recipe, to discover that Martha can't really claim this recipe as her own. After sifting through dozens of recipes, her only significant change is to leave out the coconut and nuts that are ubiquitous in every other recipe. Not a bad innovation actually, since I personally loathe coconut, but the measurements and ingredients are consistent with a cake made by Emeril Lagasse on his show. I don't really want to be associated with Emeril either particularly, but still, it remains a cake worth making. Suitable for any occasion when you just want a slam dunk dessert (I seek them out). I do have a few tips: 1. Leave out the coconut (duh). 2. I can't vouch for those nuts. 3. Use cake flour and sift it twice before sifting it with the salt. 4. Increase the salt to 1 teaspoon. 5. Have all of your ingredients at room temperature (especially the eggs) 6. Stir the baking soda into the buttermilk instead of sifting it the dry ingredients. 7. Use Plugra butter! It really does make all baked goods taste better! Any cream cheese icing will do, but I particularly like the Cook's Illustrated version with its added tablespoon of sour cream. The tang of the sour cream subtly enhances the buttermilk used in this cake (it's secret ingredient, actually) which a plain cream cheese icing fails to do. richmond

Food a Nine-Year Old Can Make

2005-06-03T18:44:00.000-04:00

At last, a recipe even a nine-year old can make. And in fact, mine did, after attending a cooking class by the incomparable Johnny Giavos of the Sidewalk Cafe, 3 Monkeys, et al. Actually, my daughter learned a lot of recipes she can make on her own that night, but so far, the only one she's been able to remember and reproduce was Johnny's extra easy version of mac and cheese. Now, I guess Johnny is a little more persuasive than I am or maybe it was the do-it-yourself aspect of his presentation, but no one has ever eaten the macaroni and cheese I lovingly prepare by hand. Nope, Annie's from the box always wins, hands-down, every single time. And I end up eating my scrumptious, nutritious mac and cheese for days and days, all by myself. Johnny changed all of that. Here's his recipe, as remembered by a nine-year old chef: Giavos Mac & Cheese (*remember, all quantities are approximate) 8 oz. pasta of your choice (i.e. about half a box) 1/2 c. each, three cheeses of your choice: my daughter remembered cheddar and Manchego; we added Gruyere to the mix because we had some on hand 2-3 Tb. milk 2 Tb. butter lots of salt NO PEPPER! Cook the pasta according to its directions and drain. Add back to the pot over low heat; add butter and milk. Slowly sprinkle in cheese, and when melted and creamy, remove from heat. Serve. (Will feed two adults as a side dish and two children as the main course, with leftovers for lunch the next day. As nutritious and delicious as my more complicated--and spurred--version.) I didn't have to do anything at all except boil the pasta. What could be easier? richmond

The Tyranny of the Recipe

2005-05-27T07:18:00.000-04:00

I am a cookbook cook. I didn’t go to culinary school; I didn’t apprentice with a chef. In fact, I don’t, most of the time, have the confidence to just throw a few things together without measuring. I can, however, read a recipe. I can read a recipe in the same way a musician reads music--I can taste the dish in my head. This is really the only skill you need in order to cook, this ability to read with imagination. That’s not to say that I don’t make adjustments as I go along because along with imagining a recipe, you also need to imagine improvements as well. Here’s where experience guides you, I suppose. After countless dishes and innumerable recipes tried or discarded, a sense of where a recipe might go wrong (or right) emerges. I have Christopher Kimball of Cook's Illustrated to thank for my obsession with measuring. His unrelenting exactitude and almost pathological precision in cooking produces recipe after recipe that not only reliably work but which are imbued with an air of scientific mission as well. How wonderful to be able to quantify and control the messy business of cooking! How amazing to predict a successful outcome each and every time if (and only if) Mr. Kimball’s detailed instructions are followed exactly! I am helpless in the face of such towering authority. Yet I still stealthily make minor adjustments to the recipes I read and substitute what I have on hand for what I don’t have. Sometimes I read a recipe once and then can’t remember where I initially found it. So I recreate it as best I can and sometimes my recipe strays so far from the original once I find it again that suddenly it can be considered my original. Yet I still continue to measure (forgetting my somewhat arbitrary decision in the beginning to add a teaspoon here and a tablespoon there) and find myself now tied to a recipe that I’ve foolishly written down and therefore, must follow exactly from henceforth. And, of course, that makes me feel like a complete nutcase. I just can’t give up those measuring spoons (Japanese, calibrated, purchased from Williams-Sonoma nearly ten years ago for what was then the astronomical sum of twenty dollars). I’m addicted, I think, to the predictability of success. If I believe truly (and I do) that I can discern a jewel of a recipe amongst the dross, I always am compelled to follow its instructions to the letter. John Thorne writes about his mother and describes how she always first checked a recipe taped to the cupboard door even though she’d made it over and over again. I share that same insecurity. Actually, it should be called a neurosis, I think, given the patent silliness of this checking and re-checking of favorite recipes. If I were running back into the house to check whether or not I’d left the stove on, people might mention professional help or medication. Recipe checking though is regarded as normal. Professional chefs have tried to remedy this troubling problem that I think most home cooks seem to share, most notably Julia Child in her wonderful (and physically unwieldy) book The Way to Cook. She offers one master recipe for a dish and then enumerates variations, some subtle and some branching off into an entirely different direction. A New Way to Cook by Sally Schneider is similar in technique although I haven’t had as much success with her recipes as I have with Julia’s. And even Jamie Oliver attempts the same educational project in Jamie's Dinners but his scope is much smaller with just one chapter devoted to improvisation in cooking. Pam Anderson, former editor of Cook's Illustrated and author of How to Cook Without a Book, is perhaps the most comprehensive proponent technique over recipe although she seems to be a bit conflicted: the following year her book entitled The Perfect Recipe came out in its second edition. Each of these chefs, however, in stark contrast to Kimball and brilliant but crazed writers like Rose Levy Beranbaum of The Cake Bible, aims to demystify the art of cooking and to encourage the home cook to attempt techniques that are second nature to the professionally trained chef. Julia, in particular, essentially seems to be saying that the authority invested by the reader of a cookbook in its author is misdirected; there can be no “perfect” recipe. A “perfect” recipe will always be a matter of personal taste, and although a gifted chef can offer guidelines to the reader, ultimately, that perfection will always reside in individual execution (which by its very nature will change from one meal to the next). Julia Child and the rest of the writers I mention want to give the confidence the reader has in the chef back to the reader. Alas, I have yet to embrace that kind of confidence. I read and research and continue to measure. Maybe one day I will be free of the tyranny of the recipe, even when that recipe is my own. richmond

Diversionary Tactics

2005-05-26T17:23:00.000-04:00

Something different? Something cool? Something unrelated to food? After all, you can't eat your computer . . . click here.

Pasta with Mussels

2005-05-13T10:45:00.000-04:00

Yesterday I became ambitious and decided to dust off my pasta machine and get cranking. Sadly, the demonization of carbohydrates has relegated my once coveted appliance to the top shelf where it has been gathering the proverbial dust. I'm tired of not eating one of my very favorite foods and so I assembled the ingredients. I use Jamie Oliver's recipe for homemade pasta dough, but since I can't remember which book it's in, I generally just wing it. Here's how I made it last night: 1 1/2 to 1 3/4 cups bread flour (about 8-10 oz. for those of us who weigh things) 3 large (organic) eggs semolina flour for dusting Throw it all in the food processor and process until it adheres and forms one or two balls (add more flour if it's too sticky; dribble in a little water if it fails to come together). Knead on a floured board for a minute or two until the dough is silky and somewhat elastic (it'll still be rather stiffish). Wrap in plastic and rest in the refrigerator for an hour. Remove, divide in two and return the unused portion, wrapped back in the plastic, to the refrigerator. Now for the fun part. Flatten the dough with your hands and run through the lowest setting of your pasta machine. Fold the two ends into the center and run it through again. Repeat. Move up to #2 setting and run through twice. Then, run the dough through each of the settings--taking care to dust generously with semolina--until you get to the second to last one. Cut your enormously long pasta noodle in half, and again, dust very generously with semolina. Attach your pasta cutter to the other side of the machine, and carefully roll the dough strip through, separating each of the strands. Hang on dowels or, like me, the back of a chair. Repeat with the other dough strip and then repeat the entire process with the other ball of dough taking it easy in the fridge. You should have enough for two adults and two children. You can either use the pasta right away (it should only take a minute or two to cook up in boiling, salted water [use a tablespoon or two of salt]) or leave it to dry, about three hours (now the pasta will take about five minutes to cook). For the mussels, I used Mario Batali's admirable recipe (here's a link to it). My only change was, instead of halving the recipe for two, I simply reduced the wine, garlic, shallot, and onion mixture down to a quarter of a cup or so and then added the mussels. I always think the steaming step in the cooking process of mussels and clams dilutes the sauce to its detriment, so this seemed a method to intensify the flavor sufficiently. The bread crumbs sounded unappetizing to me, so I omitted them. It turned out beautifully and my oldest daughter even ate a few of the mussels with her plain, buttered pasta. That, to me, is success.

Can Can in Carytown Redux

2005-05-11T14:25:00.000-04:00

I want Can Can to be my favorite restaurant, I really, really do. Like a lovesick schoolgirl, I’m so taken with its looks and style and most of all, promise, I just want Can Can to love me as much as I love the idea of it. But, sadly, I’m disappointed each and every time. When, I sob inwardly, WHEN are they going to get the service together?? I decided to try lunch on for size and was thrilled to see that the evening crush is non-existent during the day. I had a lovely little table smack dab in the middle of the window so that I could inhale the fresh bread smell and watch passersby through the loaves on the rack next to me. My waitress arrived promptly, took my drink order and returned, again promptly, with my iced tea and nice little basket of delicious bread. I was particularly impressed with the diminutive pitcher of sugar syrup that accompanied my tea. Back in my waitress days, I heard over and over again, ad nauseum, about the impossibility of dissolving a spoonful of granulated sugar into a glass of iced tea (you’d think people could find more trying things to bitch about). So I thought the sugar syrup was a nice touch. While perusing the menu, I was torn between a traditional Croque Monsieur (a fancy grilled ham and cheese), the lobster salad, and the braised lamb sandwich. I finally settled on the lamb; it sounded a little heavy for this particular sunny day—braised lamb with roasted peppers, olives, and caramelized onions—but I was hungry and wanted something out of the ordinary. Surprise! My waitress brought me the braised pork instead. Nor did she offer to bring me the lamb instead when I pointed this out to her. Knowing the fury of cooks when a waitress keys in a wrong order, I didn’t push it. Fortunately, she did remember to bring me the delectable pommes frites (that’s French fries to you plebeians) sprinkled with coarse salt that Can Can is rightly becoming famous for. The pulled pork was pallid and virtually tasteless on focaccia smeared with whole grain mustard. The paltry apple onion jam on top did little to revive it. I tried salt, I tried pepper, but the sandwich remained stubbornly uninteresting. Then I tried the odd-looking, pale yellow slaw next to it. Wow! What fabulous flavor—tangy and spicy with hot mustard, and a few flecks of celery leaves (I found out afterwards that the “slaw” is actually shredded granny smith apples instead of the expected cabbage). I immediately piled this on top of my sandwich and ta da! I saved it! My sandwich was now highly palatable. Except too bad for me, as Junie B. Jones would say, I was getting too full to eat it all. I was even sadder when I realized I was too full (or too guilty for having stuffed myself with food I didn’t really want?) to have dessert. This, for me, is almost unheard of. Although that’s not to say I wasn’t sorely tempted. I dearly wanted to try the Meyer lemon tart or the beignets with cheese filling and white chocolate sauce. Or the chocolate pavé or the profiteroles or . . . it was hard to walk away. I vowed to return for coffee and dessert in the near future. Maybe even tomorrow. I love brasserie food and I think Can Can has filled a real void in the Richmond culinary scene. But damnit, can’t they get the food I ordered to me in a timely fashion, free of wait staff screw-ups? When I was in last for dinner I was appalled by the bar prices that seemed more suited to New York than little ole Richmond ($30 for two Grey Goose martinis and a glass of wine?? C’mon now!). I was even more appalled when I got home, glanced at our receipt and realized that we’d paid the wrong dinner check. My husband had handed the waitress his credit card without looking at the bill because it took so long just to get her attention. Time, as it is for most parents, was of the essence. Our babysitter was about to turn into a pumpkin. Hope springs eternal though, especially in cases of unrequited love, and I know I’ll have to give Can Can another try in a few months (or tomorrow for chocolate pots de crème). However, in the meantime, I’d like to hear about your dining experiences at my favorite/least favorite restaurant. Please avail yourself of the comment section of this post. It would be great to hear a different (or even the same) perspective. richmond

Comfort in Richmond (on Broad St.)

2005-05-04T19:28:00.000-04:00

Anthony Bourdain says you should never eat out at the beginning of the week in his book, Kitchen Confidential. He states unequivocally that the food is left over from the week before and the real chef has the night off. And so it was with some trepidation I made a stop at on Comfort on Broad St. Tuesday night. With a name like “Comfort,” though, how could a chef go wrong with things like meatloaf and pie, or mashed potatoes and string beans? A long, narrow airy space, full of light and a spectacular tin ceiling, Comfort easily integrates lots of modern blond wood without jettisoning the old storefront sensibility of downtown Richmond. Although the space tends to get a little loud as it fills up with diners, our table was far enough away so that normal dinner conversation wasn’t a problem. Add a wait staff that was attentive, quick and knowledgeable—what more could you ask for on a Tuesday night? We started with a straightforward appetizer of shrimp and grits. The creamy grits were redolent of sharp imported Parmesan and contrasted nicely with the perfectly grilled shrimp drizzled with a piquant sauce. Although our server called it a barbecue sauce, this particular sauce was non-smoky and delicately tangy. Fried green tom atoes as our second appetizer had a great cornmeal crunch to them and a nice peppery bite, accented by a remoulade sauce on the side. All of the entrees came with a choice of either two sides for the very hungry or three for the gluttonous (and are priced accordingly, $12-$18). For large parties, family style portions are available and I admit, I felt a little wistful as I saw a large steaming bowl of macaroni and cheese we ordered for the children. It was a hard choice; order the pan-fried catfish or the salmon topped with micro-greens? The creamed spinach or the potatoes au gratin? We finally decided on meatloaf and bacon-wrapped trout, but unfortunately, only the trout was a winner. It was smoky, moist and succulent from the bacon surrounding it. The meatloaf, however, was a disappointment. It was dry and compact, and although I could see what looked like little white bits of Parmesan inside, I couldn’t taste them. The pallid mushroom gravy did nothing to disguise what might have been (gasp!) meatloaf left over from the weekend. The sides we chose more than made up for this one misstep. Lovely braised greens enhanced with little chunks of country ham and a sprinkling of vinegar were merely a prelude to the best mashed potatoes I’ve ever eaten. Although just potatoes, cream, butter, salt and pepper, they were unbelievably light and fluffy with a few tender lumps. I ate all of mine and would have eaten my companion’s except that they were all gone. Neither of us had any room for dessert but forced ourselves to try one anyway. The dessert menu was surprisingly limited and between the banana pudding, two choices of ice cream, and the apple-rhubarb crisp, we chose the latter (with a banana pudding back up). It took a long time to reach our table, and although our server apologized, it really wasn’t worth the wait. Apples weren’t a strong enough foil for the assertive rhubarb and the excessive amount of cinnamon in the crumb topping (which had unaccountably slid to one side of the plate) was overwhelming. A generous dollop of slightly sweetened whipped cream almost saved the dessert—it was the real thing and a joy to taste. However, the banana pudding really hit the spot. It was actually, once scrutinized, a jazzed-up crème brulee (a favorite of mine) with a cookie crust and very thinly sliced bananas just underneath the crackling sugar topping. Although plain fare is ostensibly its mission, the food at Comfort both satisfies the nostalgic urge for the food our southern moms used to make while at the same time actually serving food far beyond the capabilities of most of the cream-of-mushroom-soup-toting mothers with whom we actually grew up. Overall the meal was a somewhat uneven but the mostly well-made individual dishes far exceeded the less than perfect ones. I’ll be back to Comfort whenever the craving for a home-cooked, I mean far better than a home-cooked meal hits me, Monday through Saturday. richmond

Shu Mai

2005-04-30T16:09:00.000-04:00

Siew Mai, originally uploaded by framboise.

Richmond's Full Kee Restaurant

2005-04-30T16:08:00.000-04:00

The Full Kee Restaurant on Horsepen, just off of Broad, is an infrequent pleasure. Although the food is generally top-notch, it has, unfortunately, prices to match. Dim sum though, is a treat I feel compelled to indulge in once in a while despite the price. And dim sum is only available at the Full Kee. Since Asian food is generally considered cheap take-out food, I’ve wondered if I harbor some unacknowledged (until now) bias against paying a lot for non-European food when I wouldn’t think twice about it in, say, the Dogwood Grill or Millie’s. After all, I don’t expect them to charge diner prices, do I? Nevertheless, I can’t seem to squelch my resentment when I get the bill at the Full Kee—it always reminds me of the many amazing meals I’ve had at the Oriental Garden in New York that are half (literally) the price. In fact, the food at the Oriental Garden is far superior to the Full Kee—but wait a minute, I digress. This isn’t a review of great restaurants I wish I could visit but a review of the one I went to last Saturday. One reason I love dim sum is because the waiters bring it around to you on little carts. You can eyeball everything available, choose what you want, and eat it immediately. Talk about instant gratification! For those of us attention-deficient diners, this is the ideal setting for a feast. The first cart to come around only had two dishes I liked on it—fortunately, they were my all time favorites: sticky rice and turnip cake. The sticky rice is wrapped in lotus leaves that you unwrap carefully with chopsticks in case of errant steam. Inside the packet, the sticky rice itself surrounds a savory concoction of ground chicken, little Chinese sausages and tiny shrimp. I knew something was wrong when no steam escaped from my little packet. The sticky rice this particular Saturday was cold, with the rice firmly adhered to the lotus leaves in a gluey mass. Although sorely disappointed, I inhaled the lukewarm filling and gamely tried to peel the rice away from leaves. My turnip cake too was cold and grainy, instead of hot and creamy. I didn’t try to eat more than a few bites of this dish and looked anxiously around for another cart with a functioning steam element. Although disappointed, I was not daunted. Within a few minutes, a waitress pushed by with more little bamboo steamer baskets full of dumplings. These are the backbone of dim sum and they did not disappoint. We chose from an array of pork and shrimp dumplings and standouts included both shrimp and chive dumplings and shu mai dumplings. Although the Full Kee chive dumplings suffered in comparison to the truly outstanding Oriental Garden ones, they were still good, bursting with chives and shrimp in a delicate rice noodle wrapper. I thought the shrimp was unnecessary though and distracted from the delicious chive filling. The shrimp fared far better in the tiny spring rolls we chose that tasted deliciously fresh from both the sea and the deep fryer. In shu mai dumplings, minced pork and shrimp are mixed to form a meatball that’s wrapped in a gently pleated wonton wrapper. These were perfect, small and savory and effortlessly edible. In fact, I ate all three of them. The danger of dim sum is ordering too much. At the Full Kee this leads to profound sticker shock when the bill arrives. Even preparing ahead of time for it only partially mitigates that shock. It’s hard to get too upset however when you’re slow and addled by extreme eating. The Full Kee is, frankly, the only game in town when it comes to dim sum, and despite their price-gouging, they do a good job. Ultimately though, the style of food itself is the real standout. The Full Kee will satisfy your craving, but for truly amazing (and cheap!) dim sum, you’ll have to travel to Chinatown. richmond

Spanikopita Soothes the Soul (and the Stomach . . .)

2005-04-21T14:17:00.000-04:00

After a grueling two weeks enduring a low-level stomach virus, I'm finally thinking about food again in a positive way. It was a strange illness--eating actually made me feel better, but of course, I didn't want to. I solved the problem by making a big pan of spanikopita (recipe to follow) and more or less living off of that (chicken salad helped too). My children were allowed to graze free-range: hot dogs, cereal for dinner, buttered pasta, I gave them whatever was the least amount of work. My husband was in Spain for the last week, so I could only slough off my domestic duties while everyone was at school. No fun. My spanikopita recipe is a close version of Mollie Katzen's from the New Moosewood Cookbook:

Spanikopita

2 Tb. olive oil 1 large onion, chopped 1 tsp. coarse salt 1 Tb. chopped fresh basil 1 Tb.chopped fresh oregano 2 Tb. chopped fresh dill 3 packages thawed, frozen chopped spinach, drained and squeezed* 4 cloves garlic, minced 3 Tb. flour 1 lb. feta cheese, crumbled 1 cup cottage cheese (I prefer large curd, if available) 1/4-1/2 tsp. black pepper 2 sticks (1/2 lb.) unsalted butter, melted 1 lb. filo, thawed according to package directions *Or you can torture yourself and do it the hard way: wash , de-stem and coarsely chop two 10 oz. packages of savoy spinach. Add to onions and garlic and stir until wilted. Preheat oven to 375 degrees F. Brush 9x13-inch baking pan with butter. Heat oil in large sauce pan or Dutch oven. Add onions and garlic and saute until soft. Add spinach and stir until heated thoroughly. Add flour, stir, and cook over medium heat for 2-3 minutes. Remove from heat. Stir in fresh herbs and salt. Mix in feta and cottage cheese, adding black pepper to taste. Add more salt if needed. Place a sheet of filo in prepared pan, letting the edges climb the side of the pan. Brush with butter and add another sheet, remembering to give the underside of the sheet that overhangs the pan a quick swipe with the butter each time. Repeat until you have a stack of 8 sheets. Add half of the filling in evenly spaced dollops and then spread so that it fills to the edges of the pan. Cover with 6-8 more sheets (this will be your middle filo layer) and add remaining filling on top. Finish with another 6-8 buttered sheets. Brush remaining butter on top and tuck in the edges. Bake 50 minutes or until golden. Let cool 5-10 minutes before cutting. Serves 6 generously, 8 more conservatively. If you happen to make it, let me know what you think.

Flank Steak Does Not Go Well With Cereal

2005-04-08T10:13:00.000-04:00

Last night's dinner wasn't exactly an unqualified success. I tried the new flank steak recipe in this Cook's Illustrated (they haven't posted it on their website yet), and although it was good, it just didn't knock my socks off as I've come to expect from this consistently reliable (redundant, I know, but these recipes work, baby) if you're not a subscriber to their website, fork over the twenty bucks for unlimited access to culinary success*) publication. As opposed to the typical marinade of herbs, vinegar or lemon juice, and oil, CI called for a wet rub of garlic, shallots, rosemary, and olive oil. I remembered to do the steak the night before (miraculously) so I expected a really pungeantsteak, redolent of garlic and rosemary. Instead, the flavor wasflat, with little penetration to the interior of the meat. I much prefer Steven Raichlen's outstanding marinade on p. 54 of Barbecue! Bible : Sauces, Rubs, and Marinades, Bastes, Butters, and Glazes which does call for 1/4 cup of lemon juice. CI claims the acid in a marinade makes the beef gray and mushy, but--oh, no, no, no--I beg to differ. Or maybe I don't care about a little mushiness if it means fabulous flavor-packed meat. At any rate, that's the way I wished I gone. I whipped up pureed cauliflower and roasted green beans to go along with the steak and was a lot more successful with these reliable side dishes. The cauliflower is simply a South Beach Diet innovation. Although the South Beach people offer it as an alternative to mashed potatoes ( Surprise South Beach Mashed 'Potatoes'), I think it really stands on it own. I steam up a bag of frozen cauliflower for about 10-15 minutes or until very tender, and then puree the now steamed cauliflower in the food processor with about a tablespoon of butter (or, more healthily, Brown and Brummel spread), 1/4 c. milk and lots of salt and pepper until smooth, creamy, and delicious. Roasted green beans are even easier: toss your beans with about a tablespoon of good olive oil and some coarse salt, spread in a single layer on a cookie sheet, then bake for about 8 minutes in a 500 degree oven, turning once. Transfer to a serving dish and toss with a tablespoon or two of grated parmesan (with thanks to Ann Hodgman's book, One Bite Won't Kill You. Of course, my children only ate the green beans and a little steak. And complained loudly when they were denied breakfast cereal to round out the meal. *I am neither compensated nor bribed by Cooks Illustrated or any of their associates. None of the links I include constitute advertising, and although they do mostly constitute endorsement, contextually, I might just be dissing them. richmond

Can Can's Horrible Service; or Why A Great Wine List Can't Make Up For An Empty Glass

2005-04-06T21:00:00.000-04:00

As a former waitress, I am simultaneously the most forgiving and the most demanding of customers. I understand the vagaries of bartenders, cooks, and busboys, and will make every allowance when the service gets a little rocky. I am ruthless however, when I think my server is incompetent or lazy--or both. I still can't punish a server financially--15% is the most insulting amount I'll leave (I could be wrong you know, about the laziness or incompetance, even though I'm probably not). I once strode out of a British restaurant, leaving only the change from my bill, after being simutaneously ignored and sneered at by my waiter for the duration of my stay. And I've felt guilty about it ever since even though a British waiter doesn't even expect more than that. He probably would have been even more contemptuous of me for over-tipping. But I digress. The service at Can Can is truly horrible--agonizingly slow with no apologies. Nevertheless, I'm convinced it isn't actually the waitstaff's fault. Somehow, I think the management has put into place a particularly inept system for getting food and drinks to the table. There seemed to be a whole lot of waiters and waitresses rushing around, so it couldn't be overloaded sections--our waitress was friendly and polite, if a bit distracted. The physical space is large--do they have too far to go from bar to kitchen and to table? I'm not sure. Perhaps it's some sort of communication breakdown between the three sections of the restaurant. I'm not the only one who's experienced bad service; it seems to be a universal complaint. Hopefully, these are growing pains. I really do like the staff and the vibe and above all, the food. My husband was less taken with the crowd of customers, but then he has a fear of pink shirts and khakis. I'm generally too busy drinking and eating in restaurants to notice the other people around me. My recommendation is qualified, obvously, but I plan a repeat visit in a few months and I'll let you know what I think. Oh, and by the way, the wine list really is pretty fabulous--as far as French wines go, that is. richmond

Can Can in Carytown

2005-04-04T00:09:00.000-04:00

Although I went to Chopsticks Thai Diner (Chopsticks' newest incarnation) last night, I'd like to talk about Can Can across the street instead. It is, of course, the restaurant everyone in Richmond is talking about and on the surface, it's pretty spectacular. It occupies an enormous space (the old Tiffany's Bridal Shop spot in Carycourt), and the attempt to recreate a French bistro is pretty spot-on except for the lack of grime and tobacco residue that seasons all of the real bistros I've been to in France. In many ways it reminds me of the Paris hotel in Las Vegas--fabulous food for the masses in a setting not unlike Busch Gardens (for grown-ups, that is). In Vegas though, they do try to recreate that Parisien grubbiness with some fancy faux-finish aging (and they almost pull it off too, if you squint your eyes and/or drink three or four martinis while ignoring the incessant ringing of the slot machines). Can Can is brand-, spanking new and they keep the lights up all night to prove it. This is unfortunate, since as that oppressive light grates along your neural pathways, you're reminded not so much of the fabulous Fifties in Paris as you are of a Red Lobster anywhere in the Eighties. I can't even begin to speculate why they keep it so bright in there. My bistro days are not as recent as I'd like them to be, but I don't remember a pervasive warehouse ambience throughout the restaurants of France. That being said, the food lived up to the expectations such expensive interior design inspires. I went on a Wednesday night, and was startled to see pork belly as that night's weekly special. Pork belly sounds decidely down-market; visions of pre-Depression era speculators waving scraps of paper as the futures market soars by way of Bugs Bunny and his Loony Tunes pals would normally tap dance through my head. I'd been fortunate enough, however, recently to have heard Lynn Rosetto Kasper of The Splendid Table wax poetic with one of her callers on the subject. In fact so inspired was I, I actually contemplated mail-ordering some but was put off by the (exorbitant) price. And I wasn't disapointed. Pork belly is the cut of meat from which bacon comes--it's just not smoked. At Can Can, it was slowly braised so that the meat was falling away from the unbelievabley unctuous FAT. My small yet extravagantly rich portion was so tender, so sensuous, and so sinful; the meat merely acted as a vehicle to convey melting pork fat to your mouth. This is a dish that violates every dietary rule you've ever heard of (I think even Dr. Atkins, if he were still around, might blanch at this one), and a dish you simply must try if you're ever passing Can Can on a Wednesday and lucky enough to get a table. Tomorrow . . . HORRIBLE SERVICE; or Why A Great Wine List Can't Make Up For An Empty Glass. richmond

Cooking For Children, or Put Away The Hot Stuff, Mamma

2005-03-30T20:44:00.000-05:00

So much for the mission statement. What am I cooking tonight? Simmering away on my not-so-ideal Magic Chef stovetop (circa 1965 and cranky about it) is a big pot of spaghetti with meatballs. Did you expect something more exotic? I have three hungry children (two of my own and one spare) and a hungry husband to feed, and since my children have been subsisting on Easter candy since Sunday, I thought I'd try to get some real food--their definition, not mine--that is, familiar food, into their sugar-saturated insides. So spaghetti with meatballs it is. Years ago, I found an amazing meatball recipe on Salon.com (5 years ago?? Could it possibly have been that long??): see Spicy meatballs. It's fabulous and easy, but in my version, not so spicy. I want my children to eat, remember? Therefore, the red pepper flakes languish in the spice drawer, awaiting their reappearance when all the nay-sayers are off to college. I simmer them in a pot of "New Basic Tomato Sauce" from p. 775 of Rosso & Lukins' The New Basics Cookbook. Here it is with several personal modifications: Basic Tomato Sauce 2 28 oz. cans diced tomatoes (preferably Muir Glen) 1 14.5 oz. can plum tomatoes, drained 2 tb. olive oil 1 medium onion, chopped 1/3 c. finely chopped carrot (the food processor makes short work of this) 4 cloves garlic, minced 1/2 c. red wine 2 Tb. tomato paste 2 Tb. roughly chopped fresh Italian parsley 3 Tb. chopped, fresh oregano (or 1 tb. dried)* 2 Tb. chopped, fresh basil (or 2 t. dried)* 1/2 t. sugar 1 t. coarse salt Lots of freshly ground black pepper In a dutch oven, heat the oil, and slowly saute the garlic, onion, and carrot until the onion is translucent. Add the diced and plum tomatoes, wine, tomato paste, herbs, sugar, salt and pepper. (Add meatballs) Cover and simmer for 30 minutes, and then, remove the cover and simmer another 30-45 minutes. *Fresh, is, of course, better, but if it's winter or raining in your garden, dried will work. I love the carrots in this sauce. I was leery at first, but now, whenever anyone eschews salad (my family's default position, vis a vis leafy greens), I don't worry so much. I'm the only one that knows about them and I'm not telling. I do leave out the nutmeg--nasty stuff that only belongs in eggnog and Swedish meatballs. Fortunately, it's gone completely out of style (remember the eighties when this book was written?), although occasionally someone will ruin a perfectly good quiche with it. I hear the timer beeping--let's hope they eat it. I know I will.

Good Food

2005-03-30T17:40:00.000-05:00

I love good food and I love to talk about good food. I eat out, I eat take-out--I cook for myself, my children, and my friends. Sometimes I diet, sometimes I don't, but I spend entirely too much time thinking about food when I'm not reading about it, cooking it, or, of course, eating it. I'll post my thoughts about what I'm eating, occasional recipes, and intermittent reviews of restaurants.