Chinese Take Out

Picture source: The Gowanus Lounge

Last night I had the best take out from my local place, Chinese Musician (serving Greenpoint since 1982). I love that tag line. Hey, if they have been around for almost 30 years, then they are doing something right.

Anyway, I ordered seafood dumplings in soup and cabbage with black mushrooms, because I am trying to eat like the USDA says I should. It was da bomb. I am looking forward to finishing it tonight.

P.S. I will buy a beer for anyone who can tell me what show this block was featured on.

What I'll Be Eating 'on' My Birthday

Salt Cod Fritters, Lamb Sausage Ragu, Curry Aioli

Assorted Charcuterie

Berkshire Pork Belly, Rock Shrimp, Turnips, Romesco, Sherry Caramel

"Smores," Graham Cracker Ice Cream, Toasted Marshmallow,
"Hot" Chocolate Ganache

Joey is taking me to Recette for my Birthday (tomorrow, the 27th) on Friday. This is very exciting not only because it has been called one of the best restaurants by the New York Times and by New York Magazine, but also because it rhymes with my name. Awesome.

What's For Dinner Tonight?

Sourced from: barbequegrillingtipsandrecipies.com

Tonight is the holiday dinner for my company. We will feast on Morton's steaks. I'm excited! What cut of meat should I get? Morton's has a nifty little tutorial on how to choose. What do you think dear reader?

Shilla Be Serving You Some Good BBQ

Lauren with a creamsicle tasting treat at the end of our meal, complements of Shilla

This past weekend I had the good fortune to be a part of Lauren's birthday celebration. Happy birthday girl! Lauren had a Korean BBQ dinner in little Korea. We went to Shilla, which I had been to one time before with Lauren. The first time I went, we were conservative in our order, placing two meat orders for four people. This time we put in three meat orders for four people and ordered stir fried rice, which was a much better spread. Everyone left happy and Satisfied.

The meat was very juicy and flavorful. I enjoyed the beef and the chicken, thigh meat only, recieved very high praise from everyone. We even had shrimp on the grill. The waitress cooked, cut and served it all for us. Lauren told me that the side dishes change every day. Unfortunately, I did not like a few of the complementary plates this time. It might just be that my palate is not experienced enough in Korean food to appreciate the delicacies, but the deep fried greens with tofu and the bitter herb, somewhat like collard greens, was lost on me. I missed the fish cakes they served last time, but was happy they served the pickled cucumbers and the potato salad.

The beef bbq with various small plates. The potato salad and pickled cucumbers were on the right. They are gone!

This Little Piggy Got Roasted

On July 10th of this year the New York Times published an article that has left me dreaming of roasting a whole pig. This past weekend at Atlantic Antic Joey and I shared some pulled pork from Jolie and it was so awesome to see the little roasted piggies all lined up. Over at Gothamist they posted a video of the Fatty 'Cue guys smoking their pigs and it is a thing of beauty. You guys know that Fatty 'Cue made the list, so I hope this entices you to check it out.

How the Pig Gets Smoked at Fatty 'Cue from Gregory Stefano on Vimeo.

Michelin Copies Arlette

Okay, not really. We do, however, both have lists of places to eat and those lists meet up at certain places, meaning that we can rest assured that Michelin is to be trusted. Right, that's how the logic goes on that one? You can head to Grub Street to see what is on their list. Here is the list Joey and I have compiled. What do you guys think? Am I missing anything here, should something be omitted? Opine damnit! My taste buds need to know.

Luke's Lobster
Fette Sau
Fatty 'Cue
Comadore
Salty
Riverside Cafe
Mercadito
Al di La
Blue Ribbon
Scarpetta
French Bistro on Franklin(Le Gamin)
Pauly Gs
Five Leaves
Frankies Spuntino
Freemans
Manhattan Inn
Traif
Lamb and Jaffy
mesa coyocana
Acapulco (for a bite or take out when near your apartment)
Jimmys Diner (fried chicken!!!)
OTT
Christies (Polish food)
Cafe Colette
Osteria il Paiolo
Empanada Mama

Heaven on Plate, If a Little Late

Back in March I went on a kick where I was obsessed with the tiny slow cooker that Maybelle gave me. Over a three day period I created a simulacra of a meal I had with Joey, or rather that he had on one of our first dates. We went to Mesa Coyocana and I had tacos, he had enchiladas and we shared cactus, which I loved. It was a really amazing night except for when the runner left us guacamole and we decided it was complementary, which has happened to me at the wonderful Mercadito Cantina--only to be later blamed as the cause of our neighbor's delayed appetizer by a catty waiter.

Anyway, Joey gave me a bite of his dinner and it left me hankering for a full plate of my own, so I set out on my adventure. Below is a picture diary of the process.

I started by making a pot of beans with aromatics. Of course, the beans were cleaned and I added salt to taste, but pretty much what you see is what you get. All you need is about a medium low heat and patience. You want your beans to be velvety not gritty, so take your time and taste often.

The next day I cooked a nice fatty pork shoulder in my little slow cooker. It fit quite nicely in the pot. The idea is quite simple here too. I took a generous amount of adobo and applies as a dry rub. Then I cut up green peppers, onions and dropped garlic cloves in. I also added water and covered it. This cooked all day and night until the pork fell off the bone. Before heading to work the next day, I put it in a new container and stored it in the fridge.



The following day I took out my spices to create the sauce for the enchilada. I had done this sauce before and had taken it from one of m cook books. I decided that it was too thin in it's original form so I added tomato sauce to get the right consistency.



The trick to the sauce is too heat all of the dry ingredients until they are aromatic. This whole endeavour is an exercises in patience. Heat oil, garlic and then spices. Then add can of tomato sauce and vinegar. Leave a comment if you want exact proportions.



I then went to gather all my materials to put together the enchiladas, including the pork that gained a nice golden hue over the many hours of slow cooking.



Putting together the enchilada was a cinch. I heated the oven and then dipped tortillas in the sauce and then added beans, pork and finished them with a smoked cheddar.



I kept it simple and just did an overlap wrap. I poured some more sauce over the enchiladas before putting them in the oven.



I had a nice system in place while I was making them. I would pop a few in the oven and then wrap them in aluminum foil. I planned to keep a few and to give some to Joey, since he played a part in my inspiration.



Here is a close up of the enchiladas when they were done. I really enjoyed them. I will probably make them again when the weather gets cold again. Let me know and I will set some aside for you. For all the work it takes, it doesn't make sense to make a small batch!

Dinner at Sylvia's

A few weeks ago I had the pleasure of seeing Lia's family. I had not seen Don and Linda in a long time, and it was great to catch up. I'm a little sad that Eric wasn't in town, but there's always next time!

See, aren't they a handsome bunch?

We had dinner at Sylvia's, the famous soul food restaurant in Harlem. It was a wonderful time. I ate fried chicken, collard greens and mac and cheese. It was tempting to eat as much as possible, but Don, Lia's dad, spoke so highly of the peach cobbler I knew I had to save myself. I used my deep mental powers to excercise restraint. Lia took a different approach, keeping one eye on her plate and the other on Pete's.

Eventually the time came for dessert and the glorious peach cobbler arrived at the table:

Since everyone had eaten a large meal, we decided to split two cobblers between four people. Don and Pete had one and Lia and I had the other. Linda was the true picture of restraint, opting out of dessert. We fork-cheered as Linda documented the sweet ritual:


We may be two dainty ladies but we managed to finish up our dessert, while Don and Pete lost steam, sadly leaving some of their cobbler on the plate.

We win!

Sylvia's

328 Lenox Avenue

New York, NY 10027

(212) 996-0606

www.sylviasrestaurant.com

email: info@sylviasrestaurant.com

La Curva: Pupusotas to make you Triste o Atarantada

Yesterday I found myself with my mom in a Pupuseria near Flushing Meadow Park. I didn't really want to go to the park, but she bribed me. If I hung out with her she said she would buy me pupusas. The offer was irresistible; I've had pupusas on the mind since the other day at Whole Foods and I don't get to eat them very often either. 

Unfortunately, my mom wanted to stop there before going to the park and I was not so hungry. She said, let's just have two each and then if we're hungry later we'll pick some up on the way back. That was an appealing proposition because then I'd have the opportunity to sample the greatest variety. 

When we sat down they were not on the menu and we had to ask, in Spanish, what kinds they had that day. They had: cheese, beans and cheese, revueltas (pork and cheese), and cheese and loroco (the exotic national flower of El Salvador). My mom and I, without discussing it first, ordered exactly the same. For a newbie, I think you would want to order just cheese, but the best are revueltas and de loroco, the flower has a unique taste that is difficult to compare. We also ordered orchata, a drink made of rice water and morro (roll the 'r' when you pronounce it. My mom yelled at me for saying 'moro'). 

After ordering, I had plenty of time to reflect on our surroundings. It took some time for them to bring us our food, although the drinks came quickly. The place was warm, but we skipped on water because they only sell bottled water, which I think is sort of lame. Outside of the restaurant were some older Chinese men hanging out. They were from the car repair shop next door. Yet, inside there were only men, all hispanic, probably all Salvadorean. I wanted to stare at them and look for some sort of family resemblance, but that seemed rude, so I refrained. They were all hanging out in groups or alone drinking Heinekens and Negro Modelo. I bet pupusas are good with beer, but I prefer orchata. If you're going all the way to a pupuseria you might as well get what you can only get there.

The decor was really basic and it had been decorated for Halloween. My mom was a big fan of the gaudy Salvadorean themed clock on the wall. They had two televisions hooked up showing an American movie dubbed in Spanish, which I almost thought my mom found more interesting than my witty banter. 

They ended up giving us cutlery, which is as undesirable for me as getting it in a Chinese restaurant. An authentic meal of pupusas requires clean hands only. The waitress also put down two bottles that looked like ketchup and mustard. I knew that the red bottle, however, was the mild, yet tasty tomato sauce served with pupusas and made out of stewed tomatoes. I was, though, wary of the yellow stuff in the other bottle. I'd never been served that before. I asked my mom what it was and she said it was mustard. I was like, 'really?' Given my reaction she investigated by opening it up and smelling it. It turned out that it was a chilli puree that ended up being so awesome on the pupusas. It had a vinegar flavor to it and a medium level of heat and was well rounded in flavor. When the pupusas came the waitress also brought the curtido, a cabbage relish somewhat similar to sauerkraut. It serves the same purpose as sauerkraut, but ought to be firmer and crisper in texture than the other cabbage relish. It is made of cabbage, onion, carrot, chillies, oregano, salt and pepper cured in white wine vinegar. Please note: put this on your pupusa. Not only is it essential for flavor but there's a gastronomic purpose. The relish aides in digestion. In a pupusa meal you're face to face with a good amount of cheese and spices, be mindful of how this will affect you later.

The pupusas that we ate were, oh, oh, oh, so good. The loroco and the pork came through in the overall flavor of the pupusas. There was the magical burnt cheese that had oozed out from the sides and the sauces and curtido were the perfect match. If you have never eaten a pupusa before, you should know that when you get it, you open it up to reveal both sides. A well made pupusa will have filling come apart on both sides. A poorly made one will have all the filling stick to one side. You then dress the fuller bottom part and start eating the top part that cools faster. Remember these are right off the grill and pipping hot, so be careful. The accompaniments help to cool the pupusa more quickly so you don't burn the roof of your mouth. 

My only complaint about them really is that the pupusas were too big. By the time that I was done with the first one I had no room for the second, but kept eating anyway. When I finished my mom asked, "Estas atarantada?," are you stupid-full? I was like, "yeah, how'd you know?" and she said "because I am too." Apparently that's more full than being triste, literally 'sad with fullness.' It took me the better part of the day to get over the bloating that decision cost me. I'm not just complaining for that reason though; I think that if they were smaller you could try more variations--and I love variety.

I did, however, like the bill: $12.00 for everything; that's nothing to sneeze at in our tough financial times. Anywho, I do recommend this place and I think that the perfect way to work off the heavy meal is to go to the park and play mini golf ($7 for adults). 

La Curva Restaurant

On College Point Boulevard between Stanford Avenue and Maple Avenue

The Little Pupusa that Could

Earlier this week I went to the Union Square Whole Foods, which is one of my go-to-places when I have evening city plans and heading back to Brooklyn is simply not worth it. I love the dinner potential of this location. I also love sitting upstairs and anonymously watching the hubbub inside and out of Whole Foods. 

I tend to like to each sushi, but I am also a huge fan of their salad bar and the warm food too. I even like the soup and really can't think of anything I haven't liked there. On this particular day I was craving protein and greens because I had carbed out all day. 

I walked from work to my happily anticipated meal of veggies and grilled meats. I am usually a denouncer of the let's-serve-everything-and-get-it-all-wrong mentality upon which most salad bar/sandwich establishments operate in Midtown. At Whole Foods, however, at least the Union Square location, the salad is always fresh, crisp and interesting.

I pilled spinach and grilled beats into my green bowl. I also added artichoke hearts and fresh peas and much more. When I had nearly more than I thought I could eat I navigated the busy space until I made my way toward the drinks. Having a bottle of water in hand I then went to the line formed to get on to the express line. This put me right around the prepared foods that are not in the food bars, to the right of the soups. 

I looked down blankly at a burrito and my eyes kept moving. I saw a disk-like thing and I remember thinking, "Oh those look like..." and then I looked again. I had to edge closer. In a small package I saw two corn disks with a small container of a red sauce on top of it. I read the label, "Pupusas!" They were pork. I was shocked. I looked at my salad and debated abandoning it. I decided against it, since it would undo the purpose of being eco-friendly by using a reusable bowl. I examined the permitter around the pupusas. They were surrounded by burritos on the right and quesadillas on the left. I supposed they had been categorized correctly. They are, after all, often made with cheese. 

At this precise moment I felt profound pride. I know you may think that this is a silly way to react to some corn packed with pork, but for me it was so much more than that. Salvadoreans refer to themselves as, 'la pulga'--the flea--of the Americas. I've heard family make jokes about how if the surrounding countries don't continue to take our borders, the Pacific will do it for them. 

My whole life I have only heard of El Salvador on the international stage for two reasons, both negative. The first is the horrific civil war of the late 70s and 80s. Today the international community knows El Salvador for the extreme measures and organization of rouge gangs. These are hardly reasons for me to be proud of my mother's mother country, but I am. We are an agricultural people, small but strong, industrious and proud.

When my mother came back from her vacation in El Salvador her aunt gave her beans she had grown on her land. I had the luck of visiting my parents recently and ended up staying for dinner. My mom heated some beans which I took without much interest. Yet, when I put them in my mouth I felt the difference. They were clearly Tia Sarah's beans. In El Salvador we call the variety that she grows, frigoles de seda--literally, silk beans. They are called that because they don't take as long to cook as lower quality beans and when they are done the texture is extremely refined, like silk, without any grittiness at all.

Seeing one of our more popular meals among the sushi and thai salad, biryani, lasagna, and dumplings of the international foods that are so readily available and visible in New York was a feat! Of course there are pupuserias in New York, especially on Long Island and to some degree in Queens and Brooklyn, but they are mainly patronized by Salvadoreans, largely escaping the consciousness of non-latinos who enjoy international cuisine.

Inspired by my finding at Whole Foods I ate my food and shuffled over to Barnes and Noble. I went to the international cook books. I saw many options, ones that even surprised me. Yet, there was no cook book on El Salvador; there wasn't even one on Central America. I did, however, find a cook book on Latin cooking and when I flipped to the back and looked up 'El Salvador' I found a recipe for  Salvadorean stuffed tortillas. This is the equivalent of calling burritos Mexican stuffed tortillas: wrong and barely informative. I was annoyed that the cook book failed to correctly name the dish, but at least there was a flea's size tidbit of knowledge on Salvadorean cooking. 

Hopefully, these small steps for Salvadorean cuisine will take on momentum. In that spirit, I highly encourage you to check out Whole Foods' pupusas. I will follow up in a few weeks with more authentic places for you to visit. I have to trek out to Jamaica to get exact addresses.

Whole Foods Market Union Square

40 E 14th Street btwn Broadway and University Place

212.673.5388

Recession by the Slice

When I went to high school what kids would do after school was get greasy food because we were hungry and greasy food is cheap. There was a pizza parlor that had a special that basically allowed you to share a large pie and a two liter soda for ten bucks. My friends, those days are over.

If you are hungry and you get two slices and a soda you are at least going to spend seven dollars and if you get toppings, don't expect any change back from the ten dollar bill you gave the pizza dude. Heck, you probably still owe him fifteen cents.

Ah pizza, the proletarian meal is no longer a standard, but a luxury. I am mournful of this happening, more so than the rising price of my groceries. For me, the sad state of the economy has mainly been an abstraction since I never had any assets to lose in the first place. The rise in the price of the slice, however, well that hurts--bad.

In these trying times it is best to concentrate consumption to those venues that produce a quality slice.  There are many arguments about where the best slice is in the city. I've been to Franny's, with the upscale personal pizzas with the blistered crust, good indeed. I've also been to Grimaldi's and waited for forty minutes to try the pizza. I believe it was good, but I'm not sure it justified the line and they don't even sell it by the slice. Joe's on 7th in the Slope isn't bad; it's also much closer to what I think of when I think of NYC pizza. X-tra Cheese off of Northern boulevard in Flushing is pretty sweet, although if you do find yourself in the neighborhood, skip the pizza and get the chicken roll.

People often  say Ray's is really where it's at for a quintessential NY slice and I think I have to agree. Of course even if people agree on that, there is the completely different question about which Ray's you are alluding to. Personally my heart belongs to the Ray's on Houston. You just need one slice post drinks, or two if you have a friend not getting a slice with you, soda is optional. May I suggest you violently dust it with garlic powder, followed by a sweep or two of pepper flakes. Enjoy it while you can. Soon we'll all be pouring spaghetti sauce on Lender's bagels and zapping them in the microwave with store brand shredded cheese and calling it a night with some Netflix dvds, which isn't the worst fate that can befall one...if you think about it.

Famous Original Ray's Pizza

195 E. Houston, btwn Ludlow & Orchard Street

212.358.7980

Franny's

295 Flatbush Avenue, btwn Prospect Place & St Marks Avenue

718.230.0221

Grimaldi's Pizzeria

19 Old Fulton Street, under Brooklyn Bridge

718.859.4300

Joe's Pizza

137 7th Avenue, btwn Carroll Street & Garfield Place

718.398.9198

X-tra Cheese

147-20 Northern Boulevard, at 147th Street

718.961.3122

When Dinning Out, Watch Your Toes

Recently I took a quiz that was posted by The New York Times' Well blog written by Tara Parker Pope. It was about seeing how well your personality can be summed up and Pope was taken by how accurate it had been; I was too. Nevertheless, I didn't appreciate the quiz until this morning. You can take the quiz here:

  http://www.youjustgetme.com/. 

The veracity of the quiz was proven last night when I went out to dinner with friends. I ordered cow tongue tacos and they were amazing; the meat was just as tender as my aunt Tina's. this leads me to believe that tongue must be one of those delicacies where Latin American cuisine really shines, but I digress. This lovely meal was haunted by a dark shadow and that was: the pushy waiter.

In the course of the meal this pushy waiter demonstrated what the psychology quiz had assessed a few weeks ago, I'm nice, really nice and agreeable; yet, like a swirl of chocolate syrup in vanilla ice cream, I have a streak of aggression that keeps me from being saccharine, or what one might call a pushover. Indeed, when picking out a place to eat I let my friend take the lead. However, when we saw Mole I was intrigued and though we should see if they had a table. Since they did we sat down and hoped for some great food.

When the waiter came to take our drink order two people in the party ordered margaritas another said she would not be drinking and I said I would, but I did not know what I wanted. With a desire to be frugal, I knew that I would not have more than one drink. I decided to go with the cheapest margarita since it was only a dollar more expensive than the beer list and there are no Mexican beers that I am crazy about.

The drink took a while to arrive, but that was understandable given the fact that the place was very busy, always a good sign. While having taken the drink order, the pushy waiter had recited the specials. Two sounded good to me; I was curious about the scallop tacos and also about the cow tongue, which is a food that always peaks my interest. He had mentioned it was very tender so I definitely thought about ordering it. Nonetheless, I knew that my drink was going to raise my overall meal cost and he had not mentioned the price of the meal. While I was debating with myself my friend who had not ordered a drink asked about the size of the appetizer, which was slow cooked ribs. The waiter vigorously suggested that an appetizer would probably not be substantial enough but if she ordered a side, it might be okay. She ended up ordering her appetizer. The next person ordered an appetizer for himself of octopus ceviche and one of the dinner specials, which I believe was baked flounder. The following person ordered the first thing that had perked my ears, the fish tacos, but she chose battered fish rather than the scallops. 

Right before the person placed her order for the fish tacos, it was my turn. My friend had just said she only wanted the one appetizer. I was reviewing the menu and saw that they had sopes. I love sopes because they are so much like Salvadorean food. A sope is a thick tortilla that has been lightly fried. Then they place fried beans over it with a stewed meat and dress it with avocado, tomato lettuce and sour cream. I don't care for the sour cream because it pushes a heavy dish over the top. When I ordered this the waiter said, "now that's not going to be enough" and then he turned to the next person who ordered the fish tacos. I knew that he wanted to raise the amount we were spending because of his tip and I knew we were in a small restaurant on a busy night and I was apprehensive that the two sopes would actually be quite small, so I changed my order to the tongue tacos. I felt I was being considerate of the space we were occupying and I gave him the benefit of the doubt on his advice and prodding during our ordering.

Five minutes later the first person's appetizer came out. It was large, if oddly plated. They had put the ceviche in a parfait glass and served it with large tortilla chips that could not be dipped into the glass. My friend seemed overwhelmed, "How am I supposed to eat this?" he asked. We suggested he dig his spoon into the glass and then transfer it onto the chips. While we were discussing how he might overcome the strange presentation I also commented that his appetizer was quite large.

After a good while our pushy waiter came back and asked if we wanted our meal. It was nice that he gave us time to enjoy the space before brining the entrees out. In the meantime two people in the party ordered a second drink. He asked me twice if not three times if I wanted a second drink and I consistently declined.

When the meals came out the plates were really large, but the food was very good and we all merrily ate our food and my non-drinking friend finally ordered a margarita. After the meal we were asked if we wanted dessert and we declined and eventually asked for the bill. As we reviewed it became clear that the waiter had added an extra drink. At this point I had put down $30.00 which covered the tacos at $15.00 and my drink at $7.00 plus tax and tip. I put the numbers down to show that the pushy waiter wasn't getting stiffed on tip.

He thanked me by immediately making me regret having left a generous tip. We waved him over to ask him to correct the bill. We told him he erroneously added a drink. My friend who ordered the drink explained and then the man pointed to me while talking to her and said, "Oh no, she ordered two. I remember bringing it." I replied that I hadn't and after a huff or two he conceded. When he came back he apologized for his error. My friend saw my stony face and asked why I had refused to acknowledge his apology.

The reason why, my dear reader, I did not accept his apology is because in the dance that dinner and waiter perform during the course of a meal a waiter should never step on the dinner's toes and this waiter did even as I had attempted to be a gracious dancer as I could be, to extend the metaphor a bit farther. It is impolite to disagree with a patron's order by talking about them to another patron. He made the mistake, but instead of asking me if I was sure that I had only ordered one drink, he told me what I had done, as if I was trying to stiff him. This was very annoying given that I had heeded his advice and changed my order when the appetizers were clearly not small and I had even left a decent tip.

Despite this experience, however, I would still recommend Mole. The food is delicious and reasonably priced and the space is intimate and warm. It is definitely worth checking out, but be firm with your order and tip according to the service you get.

Mole Mexican Bar & Grill

205 Allen Street

New York, NY 10002

212.777.3200

Bag it or Beware

In an attempt to save money, I avoid buying lunch when I am at work. To be perfectly honest, however, there are other more important reasons that I do not buy lunch at that time. One very important reason is that I am in Midtown, the land of salad bar mediocracy. 

There is one place that I like, but it is expensive: Pret. For a while I used to get their coffee every morning, but since the machine coffee at my work is free, I can't justify great coffee to myself in the morning. 

Being a snack-eater in an office by myself all day, I come to work with a load. The other day in one day I ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on my walk to the train right before eight. Then I got to work and ate a few nuts with my coffee. They were salty and roasted. Then at eleven I had chicken with blue potatoes. That was good. I also ate raw zucchini and cucumber with that. Then at about two I had pea soup and I know at some point I ate about two handfuls of blueberries. None of these things is terribly filling, but it's good because it breaks up the day and the food comes from a place I respect and trust, the Park Slope Coop.

Today, however, I was in a tough spot. I didn't bring enough food with me. I forgot to pack the soup. I did have two envelopes of oatmeal and sauteed spinach at work, but they were unappealing around the three o'clock slump. I thought of holding out until dinner, but all I had waiting for me was two weeks old kale and a block of tofu. I didn't even have rice or pasta to go with it. 

I did what I do when my blood sugar is low and my thinking impaired: I took the elevator down to the expensive salad-sandwich joint at the bottom of my building. I've eaten lunch from them at least one day a week for one if not two weeks. It's dangerously close to becoming a habit and what really kills me about this is that I don't love eating their food. I hate spending money on crappy food, especially too much money!

As I let the elevator bring me closer to a regrettable decision, I thought of the good this would allow me to do. I had to run a bunch of errands after work. By eating this now I could post pone dinner. I wouldn't over shop at the coop because I would be full while I was there. By including grocery shopping in the errands I would avoid having to come back here later in the week. I knew I wasn't going to eat kale and tofu for dinner, so I had to go grocery shopping, hence this had to be a good thing to do...right?

I ended up getting a mexican inspired chicken wrap that was purportedly 'healthy,' at least it had avocado. I saw them put it in a big box that vaguely reminded me of a Chinese takeout box, without the wire though and then in a bag. Then, viciously, they told me I owed them $6.86. "I think I made a mistake" skipped in between my ears. 

I trudged back to the elevator and wearily pressed number thirteen. I was up on my floor opening my door. Then I was at my desk unpacking my disappointment. Then I was biting into something. Something blah, predictable, wait. I felt something glide along the left side of my face the space that joins the inside of your mouth and your outer lip. I tugged on a black hair that had escorted its way into my mouth with the sandwich. The perfect ending to an absolutely unenjoyable experience. If you don't enjoy long black hairs in your sandwiches, then stay away from Food Merchants Cafe.

Food Merchants Cafe & Market

26 E 40th Street

New York, NY 10016

212.687.0005

Comfort Food a Girl Can Feel Good About

Last week I partook in the ritual of New York Restaurant Week. I ate at Spice Market and went home with the sort of bloated belly that allows small girls to pretend they're pregnant, and probably feels just as uncomfortable as actual pregnancy. Although the pull of Restaurant Week is the $35.00 tasting menu, if you drink liberally, you will have quite the bill--and oh I did!

Waking up full and frugal next morning I had to take friends from out of town to dinner. Since I love to be the helpful host I did research on many lovely, healthy, relatively cheap places in Manhattan and Brooklyn. I threw Souen in the mix and left it up to my guests. I am in their debt for having chosen it.

It was not until I arrived at the Soho location that I felt the familiar relief of dining in my spot. In NY there are so many great places that I always feel a pressure to try new things and keep up with all of the amazing options we have. Nonetheless, I never let too much time pass before I return to this gem.

The first time I went to Souen I had sushi, which while good, is not where they shine. I went through a series of visits where I ordered many of the exotic offerings on their menu. Eventually, however, I settled on the macro plate as my favorite dish.

The macro plate is the perfect landscape on a plate, accompanied by the magical carrot dressing. Having a palate that leans towards salty food, I always ask for the gomashio, a combination of salt and sesame seeds. These three elements bring me a gastronomic comfort that would rival any Southerner's affection for fried chicken and collard greens.

At the restaurant's website, www.souen.net, you will find a description of the macrobiotic movement and how it influences their concept and purpose. You'll also find galleries of their delicious food. Both through the food images and their explanation you will see why macrobiotics means to live "comfortably in harmony with nature." It is also supposed to capture the meaning: living a long and large life. Souen, however, does not sacrifice flavor or substance in the process of bringing macrobiotic philosophy to the table. Of course the idea is that by eating balanced meals of unrefined, local, seasonal grains and vegetables we maintain balance with nature, but they also taste amazing here. The macro plate symbolizes this lovely simple fact.

Where to begin in describing my love? A plate comes to the table and it is always a bit different from the last time that you went because the bean changes on a daily rotation. You are, at first, taken by the beauty of all the contrasting colors. White circles bright green kale that underlies a chunk of squash, a pale orange laced with green. You will also see a jewel-shaped hunk of carrot upon the plate. This is by far my favorite domain--vegetables steamed to perfection. Drizzle carrot sauce liberally over these. For me the other portions of the plate play very strong supporting roles.

I like to sprinkle the gomashio over the rice, perhaps a light dash over the vegetables. The beans and the seaweed really don't need it. The rice is brown. It is hearty and filling and I try to eat it sparingly to keep room for all the veggies. The beans are always tender, well seasoned and comforting. Perhaps this is my comfort food because it brings two worlds together for me. The beans and rice of my mother's kitchen with the celebration of vegetables in their simplest state, which I learned to love trough Deborah Madison and her superlative cookbook, Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone.

I was introduced to Souen by a friend. Over the past year I have brought at least six friends there and I've returned with the original friend at least three more times. It is an establishment that jives with something deep within me. The two locations even capture two strong but different strains within my own personality.

The Soho location appeals to my lazy, lounging meditative persona. The restaurant is never busy and the staff leaves you be while you enjoy the food and the people you are with. The atmosphere is simple and clean. I love a weekend lunch there that will very easily take you into the evening. The light softly fades into twilight through the little glass space that makes up this location.

The Union Square location is usually a twenty to thirty minute wait. When you are seated, you'll notice that there are as many plants as there are patrons. A split-level design affords a raised view of the lovely vine garden that reminds one that one is attuned with nature while eating there. The staff are efficient and friendly, without being chatty. I like the bustling loud atmosphere, which reflects the neighborhood. The hearth-like, less polished feel of this space makes you feel welcome. Although busy, I've never felt rushed out.

If I have perked your interest, I would encourage you to be adventurous with the menu. The prices are quite reasonable, especially if you're not ordering beverages. Their portions are excellent. If you do order sushi though, be aware that you'll get roles that have a good amount of rice--more than my preference. Also, dessert can have a disappointing 'granola' quality. It is not that they are not tasty. However, if you want decadence, Souen is not the place to satisfy this desire, and really what's the point of dessert if it's not decadent?

Souen

Soho

210 Sixth Ave at Prince St

212.807.7421

Union Square

28 East 13th St between University Pl and 5th Ave

212.626.7150

www.souen.net

Tongue, I'm on the Fence

My interactions with tongue have been sparse, even though I have been known as a big advocate. My flirtation with this muscle began in my early teens. My aunt Tina opened my eyes to the possibility of honoring this part of the cow as a tantalizing portion of a hearty and rustic meal. I was introduced at an evening meal and I was unsuspecting of the set up. There was vaguely perverse glee dancing on my aunt's face as she ladled meat and cabbage and potatoes into my plate. She sat down, after all were served, and said, "We're eating cow tongue, enjoy!"

I was apprehensive, but there were factors that weighed in the tongue's favor. First of all, being a nurse, aunt Tina always had a superior air about the health of food, in particular vegetables. She sounded like an authority and she was the mother of my favorite cousin, so I had to look up to her; it was inevitable, even when I really didn't like what was in front of me.

I remember that the tongue had a purple hue from the cabbage, along with the potatoes and I want to recall that there was broth, but I'm less sure of that. I do, however, remember that it was so incredibly tender. It tasted like what I imagined veal ought to taste like. That night I decided that I liked tongue. It was magic and I was going to learn the nifty trick: making it delicious. 

This incited one of the greatest misadventures in cooking I've ever lived through. I remember approaching tongue in the meat aisle and facing it in all its raw, taste bud-speckled truth. My aunt had mentioned something about boiling to remove that outer layer. I felt I was up to the culinary challenge, so I braced myself and put the sucker in the shopping cart.

Aside from the clear feeling that it was a huge failure, I've blocked out most of the cooking and eating experience. I do, however, recollect the instance of taking the "meat" out of a boiling pot of water and trying to rip the outer layer from its promised inner glory. I think I was working with large metallic kitchen thongs and I was losing the battle.

A few years back I made breakfast for my brother, which I really like to do because it is one of the rare times that Matt will give me props. I like to extend these accolades, draping them out like a long silk scarf that I coil into, to be sheathed from the harsher side of life. This particular morning, though, the coffee I made did not agree with Matt. I protested. He insulted. I protested, louder. He did not desist. I felt the blood rushing to my head, the higher road was dissipating. Before I knew what happened I was right in the middle of sibling rivalry, a realm I seldom ended getting out of without a few bruises, but I didn't want to believe it. I really, really wanted that damn scarf! I was yelling for my scarf when Matt beat me to the punch. I kept harping on his ingratitude when he busted out, "Well, whatever, I haven't forgotten about that tongue." Damn it! He won. 

Since that culinary blunder I have had tongue twice more. Once it was at a restaurant in the Upper East Side. It was a German place where the delicacy was so much like a nondescript cold cut that I was not offended or amazed, just a little satisfied that I'd ventured into the dark side once again. 

This Friday a menu brought me face to face with the formidable tongue yet again. It was at Momofuku Ssam. The menu captured me in the same way that the first tongue dish did as a prepubescent. I was at a place I really wanted to like with a menu that, even with my eccentric tastes, challenged me. I flirted with the snails and the beef tendon, but I ordered the lamb's tongue because it was coupled with fava beans, which are an exotic legume for me. In the end, I loved the other dish I tried, the charred squid salad. It was the perfect texture eluding the slightest hint of rubber and the dressing, while multi-dimensional, still let the squid's flavor come through. Plus, it didn't leave that je ne sais quoi smudge on the palate that reminded me at every bite of the tongue that it was sort of like meat, but--as the menu puts it--offal.

Momofuku ssam bar

207 2nd Ave
NY, NY 10003
212-254-3500

momofuku.com