$10 for $20 dollars at Whole Foods

I hate to get all commercial on you, but I figured that this was something worth sharing. Living Social (which I visited for the first time this morning) is offering a deal where you can get a $20 worth of whatever you want from their store for only $10. 50% off at Whole Foods? I’m there! No, seriously, I’m there every day. What? Don’t judge me. They have good cheese samples.

Anyway, if you feel so inclined, you can check out the deal here.  The deal is only good until 11am tomorrow EST, so don’t dilly dally   I’m not being sponsored in any way, though in the interest of full disclosure I will admit that if enough people follow the above link and purchase the deal, I will get the deal for free – and so can you, if you do the same thing!

10 Years Later

Ten years ago today, at about 10 in the morning, I was sitting in physics class.  Tuesday, September 11 marked the completion of my entire first week of high school, which felt like a major milestone at the time.  I was 14 and still trying to process the idea of being a “big kid,” of adjusting to a new school with new people and new expectations.

When the school dean walked into my classroom, I didn’t think anything odd was happening.  I figured that she probably needed to give a message to the teacher.  Instead, she turned to the class.  “Two planes have flown into the World Trade Center in New York City.”  Thinking back, I wonder if I’m forgetting the part where she privately told the physics teacher first.  It’s hard to believe that she’d just drop a bombshell like that in front of a teacher and her students without giving the teacher time to compose herself.

I entirely failed to grasp the enormity of the situation initially.  Possibly I was numb, in denial, or both.  Oh, an accident, I thought.  It will be ok.  I’m sure they’ll rescue everyone. 

The Dean went on to explain that the planes had taken off from Logan Airport, less than 5 miles away from our school.  “Rumors have been going around that more planes are going to attack local schools.  I am here to tell you that this not true.  You have nothing to worry about.”  Actually, we hadn’t heard those rumors, but thanks for planting the suggestion in our heads.  At that point, I started to worry.

My next class was English.  The teacher herded us into the history classroom next door (which would have been our next class anyway, thanks to block scheduling), and sat us in front of the tv.  We spent the next two hours watching footage of the towers falling down, over and over and over.  It was like a horrific version of Groundhog Day.  The planes flew into the towers and billowing flames erupted forth from clouds of smoke.  The towers crumbled and fell.  People screamed in terror in the streets, fleeing from the unthinkable carnage.  After every commercial break, the towers stood whole and unscathed again, awaiting their pre-ordained doom.

I have no doubt that the teachers were trying to make the best of a bad situation.  What adult could tear themselves away from the coverage?  Nobody knew what was going on, everyone was terrified.  The news was the only way of keeping track of the unfolding horrors.  But to subject the children in class to hours and hours of these monstrous images?  It was certainly a cruelty.  I came from that classroom completely traumatized and in a state of utter panic.

I can never thank my Italian teacher enough for doing the right thing.  As jittery and upset as she must have been, she stayed calm.  Instead of making our class even more wrought up with yet another hour of news coverage, she plowed ahead with her lesson.  Perhaps Italian verbs weren’t the most important thing happening on that day, but to us they indicated that yes, life would go on, and yes, there would be a future.  A future with weekly pop quizzes.

They said that there weren’t supposed to be any planes in the sky.  None at all.  Which is why a distant buzzing outside my classroom caught my attention.  My Italian classroom was on the 5th floor, the highest one in my school.  As the buzzing sound grew nearer, I realized that it was a plane.  A low-flying one, at that.  When it flew directly over the top of my classroom, so close that the roar of the engines was deafening, kids started screaming, shaking, and crying.  Some hid under their desks.  I later found out that it was probably a fighter jet patrolling the skies, but at the time I genuinely thought we were going to be utterly wiped out.

The school changed drastically over the next few months.  Suddenly, the Pledge of Allegiance (never before used in our school) became mandatory.  A flag brigade came around and made sure that there was a flag in each classroom (mostly, there weren’t).  A girl suddenly found herself to be an unwilling celebrity of sorts after she lost both her father and her uncle in the planes.  Gradually, things went back to normal, but it was a new and uneasy version of the status quo.

A little over a year later, there began to be talk of war in Iraq.  The one in Afghanistan had already been going on for quite some time.  Upset at the idea of yet more violence in the world, I helped organize a walk out from my high school, an act that was so successful that an estimated 500-1,000 students participated.  Suspensions were threatened, but when faced with having to nearly shut down the high school due to the number that would have to be doled out, the administration caved and nobody was punished.  I marched through the streets and into the Harvard Yard rally, screaming “Dick, Cheney, and Rumsfeld can fight this war alone!  We support the troops – that’s why we want them home!” filled with the righteousness, rebelliousness, and passion of youth.

The extreme racism and bigotry towards Middle Eastern countries and the Muslim faith in the post 9/11 world was and is shocking and horrible.  As any Muslim person will tell you, Islam means “peace.”  To judge an entire religion by the actions of a very small, extremist group is inaccurate and wrong, yet so many people justify the current wars in Iraq and Afghanistan because of these erroneous assumptions.

Two years after September 11 happened, members of my acting class were recruited to help in a terrorism-readiness exercise.  Children were painted with fake, gory wounds and given symptom cards.  EMT’s and ambulances converged on our location, the staged site of a pretend biological warfare attack.  We stumbled out of the building, were corralled by men wearing large, white hazmat suits.  Some of us were forced to run through decontamination showers, though we were allowed to skip it if we asked because we were young and it was cold.

I was strapped into a gurney and fitted with an oxygen mask.  The paramedic chatted with me in the back of the ambulance about school, then noted my pretend symptoms.  There were so many ambulances called to the scene that they had to distribute them across 5 hospitals in several cities.  Nevertheless, when 6 ambulances came to a screeching halt outside of one local ER, a woman outside fell to her knees and started crying.  She knew nothing about the staged exercise, but instantly assumed that terrorists had struck again.  That’s when I knew how much our world had changed.  We now assume that terrorism lurks around every corner, knowing that it can happen.  That it has happened.

And so, 10 years later, I write.  This morning, I paused to remember  the thousands whose lives were unfairly, tragically, and horrifically cut short by hate.  And then I held another moment of silence for the thousands more whose lives were unnecessarily cut short in Iraq and Afghanistan, the soldiers and civilians who were victims of an angry, unending war.  A war which sprung from America’s own hate.  As Mahatma Gandhi so wisely stated “an eye for an eye will make the whole world blind.”  When will it stop?  Will it ever?

I wonder how my life would have been different had September 11th never happened.  I try hard to picture a more carefree world, one in which I didn’t spend my teen years coming to terms with an incredibly devastating terrorist attack or protesting multiple fruitless wars or helping with anti-terrorism training activities.  One in which an unattended package on the bus meant that Mr. Jones had forgotten to pick up his Amazon box when he got off at Main Street.  One in which thousands of families were whole and complete, instead of being forever separated by the ultimate tragedy.  A world marked, not by hatred, but by love.  Perhaps it is naive of me, but I think that it is possible to someday have this kind of world again.  The option is ours, but only if we choose to pursue it.

I salute you.

There is nothing I can give you which you have not,
but there is much that while I cannot give,
you can take.

No heaven can come to us unless our hearts find rest in it today.
Take heaven.

No peace lies in the future which is not hidden in this present instant.
Take peace.

The gloom of the world is but a shadow. Behind it, yet within our reach, is joy.
Take joy.

And so at this [time],
I greet you, with the prayer that for you,
now and forever,
the day breaks and the shadows flee away.

~Fra Giovanni, 1513

It is important to remember and honor the victims of the 9/11 attacks, but it is also crucial to avoid being consumed by hatred as a result of that fateful day.  Until we learn to love again, we cannot begin to truly rebuild a more peaceful, loving world.

Take love.

Salmon and Haricot Vert Salad

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recipe

Every summer, there comes a point when certain foods in the fridge become off-limits.  Should my hand stray near the green beans (or the tomatoes, or the potatoes) during dinner prep, my mother (with uncanny omniscience) senses this.  She could be three rooms away, door closed and watching How I Met Your Mother while checking her email, and she’ll still somehow magically be able to hear the sound of me trying to quietly use a few haricots verts without her noticing.  With an almighty yell, she bounds nimbly out to the kitchen and always manages to catch me in the act.

The sudden ban on certain ingredients is not due to any picky food preferences, but rather out of hoarding instinct.  The moment the temperature shoots above 78 degrees on the thermometer, my mother develops a sudden, fanatical taste for Salade Niçoise.  It’s all she wants for dinner for a good two months or so.  Hence, the constant need for tomatoes, potatoes, green beans, and tuna at any given moment.

Arguably, she could always make a grocery run on the way home from work if we run out of those ingredients – we do live practically next door to both Whole Foods and Trader Joe’s – but that system simply doesn’t work for her.  Due to a decades-long bout of insomnia, my mother predictably finds herself awake between the hours of 3-5am.  Since there are only so many emails that she can answer at 4am, it’s become increasingly common for the rest of us to wake up to a freshly-cooked container of Salade Niçoise lurking in the fridge.  Unless you live in NYC, it’s really hard to buy potatoes in the wee hours, so we need to keep a reliable stock around for my mom’s pre-dawn culinary ventures.  Otherwise, she’d be forced to do something really crazy, like, oh, I don’t know, SLEEPING.

At a certain point, the rest of us tire of having Salade Niçoise for dinner several times a week.  Don’t get me wrong, my mom makes an excellent Salade Niçoise, but there are only so many times I can eat the same thing in a row.  Given that sometimes it really is too hot to cook, I’m stuck finding a salad that I’m not tired of but is still quick, easy, and healthy.

This salad was inspired by a trip to the farmer’s market last week. Fresh, colorful, and vibrant, it is easy to make on those hot summer nights where the idea of going into the kitchen seems nearly unbearable. It was only after I created it that I’d realized I’d unintentionally reinvented the wheel and made an alternate version of Salade Niçoise.  Typical. Just typical…

Salmon and Haricot Vert Salad

• 12oz haricots verts
• 1 cup cherry tomatoes
• 1/2 cup kalamata olives
• 1 medium potato
• 1 6oz can wild salmon
• 1/4 cup plain Greek yogurt
• 1oz chevre
• 3 tablespoons minced fresh dill
• 1 tablespoon olive oil
• Juice from one lemon
• Salt and pepper to taste

Peel the potatoes, then cut them into thin wedges about 3/8″ thick. Steam or boil them until they are cooked through (alternately, you can steam a handful of baby potatoes, then slice them after they are done cooking). Meanwhile, cut the haricots verts into bite size (1 1/2 inch) pieces and steam until they are just barely crisp-tender. (Don’t wait for them to cool – you’ll need this salad to be tossed while still warm).

Slice the cherry tomatoes in half, then do the same for the olives.

In a large bowl, add the olives, tomatoes, potatoes, and haricots verts, then toss with the yogurt, chevre, olive oil, lemon juice and dill. If you do this while the haricots verts and potatoes are still warm, the chevre will melt into the yogurt, making a creamy dressing. Season with salt and pepper to taste.

If dressing is too thick, it may be necessary to thin it – you can use a little extra olive oil or some milk for this purpose.

Crumble the salmon so that it flakes, then toss it gently with the salad. You may serve it immediately, while still warm, or the next day as a chilled salad. If you want to make this a complete meal, cook some quinoa to serve alongside of it.  Enjoy!

Myers + Chang

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Restaurant review

A few years ago, my friend Leah told me about a fusion restaurant called Myers + Chang.  Intrigued, I went to their Myspace page to check them out (this was back when people still used Myspace, of course – now they have a proper website).  The food all looked mouthwateringly delicious and I swore that I’d go as soon as I possibly could.  What with one thing (school) and another (work), several years passed and I never got around to it.

On a bitterly cold night last December, I found that the weather was too cold to even consider the possibility of making the 1.5 mile walk home from work.  Serendipitously, just as 5pm rolled around, my mom called and said she happened to be in the area.  I asked if I could hitch a ride with her and she replied “Yes, though I just have to quickly drop in to two parties on the way home.”

For those of you who don’t know my mother, you might fail at first to see why this had the potential to be a major problem.  My mom loves networking.  L-O-V-E-S it.  That, or she’s very good at it.  Or both.  Drop her into a room full of people and she won’t stop until she’s talked to every last one.  As a result, it’s extraordinarily hard to drag her away from work-related social events.  To be fair, her job depends on the connections she makes with the people around her, but it’s still hard to deal with when it’s midnight and you Just. Want.  To. Leave. The. Damn. Party. Already.

Anyway, I was in the process of saying no, having mentally figured out that 2 bus transfers (45 minutes to an hour) was a lot quicker than a ride home (10 minutes) with two quick party stops (4 hours), when my mom uttered the magic words “There’ll be food…”  Although  I’m relatively incapable of turning down free food, I’ve suffered through enough art openings serving only sweaty, cheap cheese and Ritz crackers to develop a more discerning palate.  “Oh, yeah?  What kind of food are we talking about?”  The first party, as it turned out, was a holiday potluck at the Cambridge Skating Club.  The food was supposed to be delicious, but let’s be real, I probably would have gone even if the food had been bad just so I could finally explore the inside of their headquarters:

Photo Credit: Elizabeth Thomsen via Flickr

The second party, however, was where I hit the culinary jackpot.  With a casual, oh-you-probably-wouldn’t-be-interested tone, my mother mentioned that it was a private book signing and author’s talk by Joanne Chang and Gish Jen.  And that it was being catered by Flour Bakery.  And that it was very likely that a bunch of Boston chefs were going to be in attendance.  Attempting to match my mom’s nonchalance (but fooling precisely nobody), I mentioned that I could probably manage to find room in my busy social calendar to attend.

To say that this party lived up to my wildest expectations would be an absolute understatement.  As soon as I arrived, I followed the sound of voices to the spacious, modern kitchen where I was delighted to find Patricia Yeo, a local chef, charring little flour wrappers to accompany a meat dish.  Noting the edamame potstickers, little takeout boxes of lo mein, and the fresh rolls stuffed with raw tuna, I dove right into the fray.  Up until that night, I’d been completely vegetarian for an entire year and had even been telling someone earlier that evening how committed I was to remaining that way. However, the moment I saw those tuna fresh rolls, I cast aside my vegetarianism faster than you can say “hypocrite.”  It was a good call – they were hands-down, the tastiest preparation of raw tuna that I have ever had the privilege of eating.

While I was *ahem* stuffing my face full of food, I seized the opportunity to talk to the chef.  I couldn’t figure out why she looked so familiar to me until halfway through the conversation, when I suddenly realized that she was exactly what you’d get if my friends Caroline and Helena procreated, sent said child off to English boarding school, then the child subsequently grew up and became a chef.

As I made my way towards the dessert table (which, OMG, was filled with desserts made by local chefs, as well as the talented baking team at Flour), I ran into both Joanne Chang and Christopher Myers.  You know, of Myers + Chang.  See, this story does have a point!  They were really neat and interesting to talk to – we swapped stories about croissants – and I even got to geek out and get a picture with Joanne.  I also snapped a couple of pictures of the dessert table.  It was really important to document the sugar explosion, ok guys?

Finally, to cap off a perfectly wonderful evening of talking to my idols (you know how some people obsess over celebrities?  It’s like that for me, only with chefs), I bumped into Jody Adams (the head chef at Rialto) and we had a chat about book conservation.  A month or two later when I ran into her again (this time at an art opening that was being held at Rialto for some mysterious reason), she totally remembered me, and our conversation.  Turns out she’s really into that kind of thing.

Anyway, enough digressions.  As I left the party that night, stuffed to the gills with food and more than a little starstruck, I vowed to finally get over to Myers + Chang.  And, if you interpret “finally” to mean “8 months later,” then I guess you could say that I did accomplish that goal.  Finally.

A couple of weeks ago, I met my friend Leah at Myers + Chang on a Monday night.  (The Monday part of this is important, so keep reading.)  As with every restaurant that I have ever visited in the entire history of ever, I’d spent a solid week looking at the menu, drooling and planning out what I was going to order.  It is quite possible that this behavior is not, in fact, entirely normal.  Whatever.  I find it a perfectly delightful way of spending a Saturday afternoon.

However, when the waitress seated me at the table, she whipped out a list of 5 prix fixe menu specials.  Apparently, Mondays and Tuesdays are “Cheap Date Nights” at Myers + Chang.  For 40 dollars, you get about 5 courses to split between you and your dining partner.  It’s an insanely good deal, particularly since all of the courses are regular sized and you could easily feed 3-4 women or two frat boys on all of the food that arrives at the table.  Even after Leah and I stuffed ourselves silly, there were still plenty of leftovers, enough for two extra meals, in fact.  You also get a discount on dessert, which you should absolutely order because Joanne Chang is, after all, famous for her baking skills.

Ah yes, but was the food any good?  To merely answer yes to this is like saying maple candy is sweet.  It is true, but it is also a vast understatement.  The market greens (asparagus and zucchini) with fermented tofu were crisp, piquant bites laden with umami.  The brown rice was nutty and perfectly done.  Shrimp and lemon dumplings, paired with what appeared to be a kimchee dipping sauce, featured tender, sweet shrimp.

Better still was the pan-seared tofu steak over soba noodles.  Ordinarily, I tend to ignore tofu.  Often, it’s bland or the texture can be funky.  That’s not to say that I don’t like it, but given the choice between a bowl of tofu and, for example, pretty much any carbohydrate on the planet earth, I probably won’t be choosing the tofu.  Sorry, I’m a bad vegetarian.  This tofu, however, was different.  Simply a piece of extra soft tofu that had been pan seared until the outside was crispy and golden, it was like biting into a soft, silky cloud.  A soft, silky, crunchy cloud, that is.  Although it hadn’t really been seasoned, it worked well with the dish, contrasting nicely with the salty tang of the dressing on the soba noodles.

Last (but certainly not least) was the Thai ginger chicken salad with lemongrass and vermicelli.  Usually, I steer clear of chicken in restaurants, but I decided to take a bite just so that I could say that I tried it.  As soon as I chopsticked (is that a word, like spooned?) some into my mouth, I experienced a huge burst of flavor that left me craving more. And so I took another bite.  And another.  When I discovered that there was rice vermicelli chilling in the bottom of the bowl, soaking up all of the delicious sauce, my love for this dish grew even stronger.  Eventually, I just gave up and spooned a large portion on my plate.  It was just that good.

Although we were pretty full, we decided that we absolutely couldn’t miss dessert.  After the typical polite back-and-forth exchange (“what would you like?”  “I dunno, what would YOU like?”)  I admitted that I rather fancied the chocolate and cocoa nib terrine with whipped cream and Vietnamese coffee sauce.  Eyes twinkling, Leah confessed that she really liked the look of that too.  I’m so glad we ordered it because it was one of the best chocolate-based desserts I have ever eaten.  It was totally worth it, even if it did keep me up all night.

I loved eating at Myers + Chang.  The food was great, the décor was hip and funky without being overly precious or pretentious, and the service was good.  Despite the fact that it was Monday, the place was hopping.  I wouldn’t have been surprised if the waiters had tried to pry us out of our chairs at the end of the meal, considering that we had a good table and we were there at prime turnover time.  However, the bill came and went and we were allowed to sit and chat for close to half an hour without the waiters asking us to leave so that they could free up another table.  When we eventually did leave, it was on our own timing.  That’s the way it should be, of course, but you wouldn’t believe how many restaurants seemed to have missed the memo.

At the end of our long, very satisfying meal, I turned to Leah and commented that I was looking forward to trying the other Cheap Date Night menus (there are 5 or so, all told) in the future.  “Yeah,” she replied, “Won’t it be awkward when we both show up here next Monday with different dates?”

Zucchini and Summer Squash Salad

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recipe

Last week at the farmer’s market, a crate of jewel-toned baby zucchini and summer squash caught my eye.  Only about 4 inches long, they were slender and petite.  My mouth started watering as I pictured how sweet and tender they’d be.  Even though I didn’t have a set idea in mind for them, I scooped up a bunch anyway.

On the way home, I started thinking about the best way to prepare them.  After much thought, I realized that there was no way I could possibly cook them – their delicate, sweet flavor would be muted and the whole point of buying young, fresh summer squash would be defeated.  I then came up with the idea for a raw zucchini salad which used only a handful of simple ingredients that I already had on hand.

This salad is fresh, summery, and fantastic for those days when you can’t bear to turn on the oven.  If you can’t find baby zucchini, it’s ok to use the large kind, but the zucchini and squash ribbons will be larger and less bite sized.

Summer Squash and Zucchini Salad (serves 4)

• 1 ½ pounds zucchini and summer squash (I like to have a mix of the two because it makes a prettier salad)
• 1 ½ oz coarsely grated Parmigiano Reggiano cheese
• 2-3 tablespoons olive oil
• 1 ½ tablespoons lemon juice (you can use more or less, depending on preference)
• 2 teaspoons freshly grated lemon zest
• 15-20 large basil leaves
• Salt and pepper to taste

Wash and dry the summer squash (from now on, when I say squash, assume that I mean both zucchini and summer squash), then cut the bottoms off.  Leave the stems on for now – if you’re not using a mandoline, then they’ll come in handy during the slicing process.  If you are using the mandoline, cut the stems off, then slice the squash thinly into ribbons.  Otherwise, hold the squash by the stems and slice thin strips off of them using a hand-held vegetable peeler (safety tip: always slice AWAY from your hands).

Toss the squash strips with a generous quantity of salt, then let them sit in a bowl for about half an hour.  This step helps draw the excess water out and leaves them more tender.  After half an hour, pat the squash dry with a kitchen (or paper) towel and place them in a dry bowl.

Whisk together the olive oil, lemon juice, and lemon zest.  Add to the squash and toss until the strips are well coated.  Slice the basil leaves into thin ribbons (also known as a chiffonade), then sprinkle over the squash along with the cheese.  Toss until all of the ingredients are fully incorporated, then serve.

The Curse of the Chocolate Gateau

Has anyone else experienced the curse of the chocolate gateau?  It sounds like the title of a Nancy Drew novel, but I assure you, it’s no joke.

Perhaps it’s just me.  I am extraordinarily susceptible to caffeine.  A cup of tea less than 12 hours before bedtime will have me lying awake all night, contemplating the ceiling.  Two or more cups of tea in a single day will leave me sweating, with my heart racing and my body shaking.  I usually start bouncing off the walls (literally) and become an overly loquacious nuisance to those around me.  I’ve never actually tried coffee, for fear of what it will do to me.  Caffeine addicts praise the ability of coffee and tea to rouse even the groggiest of sleepers, but it’s never actually made me feel awake…just exhausted and jittery.

And so, we come to chocolate cake.  If the cake is pretty light and fluffy, with a simple chocolate butter cream frosting, then I’ll be fine – there’s barely enough cocoa in it to make a difference.  However, a dark chocolate ganache or a flourless chocolate cake is a whole other story.  1 oz of dark chocolate has about 20mg of caffeine in it – around half as much as a cup of tea.  A nice, dense slice of flourless dark chocolate cake could have 3-4 times that amount, making it as unwise to consume directly before bedtime as a cup of coffee.

Somehow, I always manage to forget this.  Every time I see chocolate on the dessert menu at a restaurant, I make a beeline towards it.  I don’t remember why that’s a bad idea until 3am when I’m twiddling my thumbs and staring at the ceiling, contemplating the 200 other times I’ve made the exact same mistake.

Last night, I did it again.  To be fair, I’m pretty sure that it wouldn’t have been humanly possible to resist ordering the chocolate and cocoa nib terrine with Vietnamese coffee sauce.  I mean, can you honestly look at those words and not find yourself irresistibly drawn towards them?  The terrine more than lived up to my expectations.  Luscious, velvety, and chocolate-y to the extreme, it was exactly what I wanted.  After I awoke at 3am, I used those extra hours when I should have been sleeping to daydream about every single glorious aspect of that meal.

When I stumbled into work the next morning, bleary-eyed and incoherent with exhaustion, my coworker asked what was wrong.  “Chocolate. Insomnia. No sleep,” I replied.  “Well, was it worth it?”

Yes.  Yes it was.

New York Trip

A couple of weeks ago, I made a weekend trip to New York City in order to visit my friend Robert.

More or less since the moment I met Robert (and subsequently discovered that he lived in Manhattan), I’ve been talking his ear off telling him about this new flea market in Brooklyn called Smorgasburg.  Smorgasburg is different from other flea markets; instead of selling vintage clothing, antique furniture, and other odd bits and bobs, it only sells food.  In other words, it’s right up my alley.

Needless to say, it’s been on my list of places to visit since I became aware of its existence.  When I recently discovered an unused, about-to-expire Groupon for a bus ticket to NYC, it was all the excuse I needed.  I instantly emailed Robert and was like “Dude, Smorgasburg!” and he was all “Dude!  YES!”*  He’s just as much of a foodie as I am, so he was equally delighted about the prospect of us eating our way through Manhattan like two very hungry caterpillars.*The actual conversation was much longer and involved significantly less “Dude” usage.  Just FYI.

Anyway, I booked the bus ticket faster than you can say “street food!” and proceeded to get really excited about my upcoming trip.  I hadn’t seen Robert in, like, TWO WHOLE WEEKS! and was looking forward to seeing him again.

Here's Robert, by the way - he's looking at the bubble on his shoulder. It didn't pop for a good 15 minutes.

We started off for Brooklyn bright and early on Saturday morning.  Well, it was certainly bright (the sun was out in full force), but I suppose it could only be called early if you were, for example, two twenty-somethings who consider 11am to be quite early enough thankyouverymuch.

As we entered the Smorgasburg grounds, it became quite clear that this was, in fact, the most wonderful place on the entire planet. Close to 100 food vendors were spread out across the gravel lot in Williamsburg.  It wasn’t just any food, either.  This was food, Brooklyn style.  Yes, Brian Williams, I am quite aware of your opinions on Brooklyn.  You’re right, it can be ridiculous.  But as long as somebody is serving me fried anchovies, fresh off the boat, I’m willing to overlook the fact that my food is coming with a large dose of hipster.

We decided to wander through the market first before we bought anything in order to guarantee that we’d have a good idea of what was there.  It wouldn’t do to stuff ourselves silly at the first five stalls when the 99^th might contain the best food of all.  Besides, there were all those free samples that we needed to get through.  Some of it was delicious (homemade orzo! fresh pickles!) and some of it was tasty, but came with a helping of Brooklyn ‘tude.  In particular, the maple syrup tasting comes to mind – I worked in a sugar bush during one maple syrup season, harvesting sap and boiling it down over a wood fire.  The hipster lecturing us about the terroir of their maple trees and giving vintner-like tasting notes (It tastes like gingerbread and roasted chestnuts?  REALLY?) was totally full of it.  Yes, it is a beautiful, wonderful, unique thing, but it’s also just maple syrup.  Not gingerbread.  Or chestnuts.  The Vermont farmer in me thinks you’re a total dillweed, Mr. Hipster Dude.

By the time we worked our way around to every stall, we were hot and thirsty.  We made a beeline for the City ‘Lasses stand to get some switzel to quench our thirst.  Switzel, in case you didn’t know, is a drink made with ginger, honey, and molasses (among other things) and was brought to America in the early 17^th century from the West Indies.  It was popular among early American farmers because it was full of electrolytes and satisfied thirst better than water.  If you ever read the Little House on the Prairie books, they end up making a batch and bringing it out to the fields at some point in the narrative.  I guess I’ve always been food obsessed, because I definitely remembered that little tidbit of information from the last time I read that book – a good 15 years ago.

Next up?  Fish tacos.  We ordered both the salmon and the mahi-mahi.  They were delicious and utterly gorgeous:

We then proceeded to divide and conquer.  Robert went for Shorty Tang’s noodles, which were hand-tossed with sauce in a large wooden barrel:

I, on the other hand, went for my beloved anchovies.  Briny and tasting just like the sea, they more than lived up to my expectations:

I finished with what had to have been the best grilled cheese sandwich that I have ever eaten: cheddar, gruyere, and blue cheese with caramelized apples in rosemary bread.  Oh Milk Truck, how I worship thee!

We stopped to snap a photo by the adorably themed frozen yogurt stand, then booked it back to Manhattan to lie down and wrap ice packs around our bodies. Fortunately, our efforts to avoid heat exhaustion were aided by the insanely delicious Cafe Au Lait doughnuts we’d brought back from Dough bakery.  The first time I ate one of those heavenly little fried confections, my friend Simone and I swore a solemn oath to never, ever eat another mass-produced doughnut because they could never live up to these delightful doughnuts.

Later in the afternoon, after wandering through the Museum of Natural History while doing immature things like pretending to be a manatee (me) and a mosquito (Robert), we moseyed on over to Little Italy to have dinner.  We were lucky enough to get a table outside, and got to witness a horde of people dancing by singing “Hare Krishna” as we dug into the bread basket.  They came back for round 2 just as we were finishing our yummy gnocchi and eggplant dishes.

The next day, we actually did wake up semi-early in order to pay a visit to Russ & Daughters.  Also known as the purveyors of the most wonderful smoked fish you will ever sink your teeth into.  They slice your fish to order (which is apparently quite an art form, if done right) and sell a wide variety of smoked salmon and other fishes, as well as a number of gourmet food items.  If (nay, WHEN) you go there, don’t be alarmed at the cost of a bagel with nova and cream cheese.  It is worth it.  The smoked salmon is hands-down the tenderest that I have ever eaten and the delicate flavor is neither too fishy nor too smoky.  It will make a convert of even the most avowed salmon hater.

Besides, there’s caviar cream cheese.  Meaning that there is actually CAVIAR WHIPPED INTO THE CREAM CHEESE!  Please tell me that you’re as excited about this as I am.

Please, please promise me that you’ll pay Russ & Daughters a visit if you’re in NYC.  It is worth every bite.

I rounded off the trip with a fast-paced pilgrimage of sorts to every major food shop that I’d missed during the rest of the weekend.  In the space of a few short hours, I visited Dean & Deluca, Eataly, and the food stores at Grand Central Terminal.

Just as I was leaving Grand Central, already running 20 minutes late to catch my bus (which, in my neurotic form of time-keeping, meant that I was only going to be 5 minutes early), my credit card stopped working.  I’d just spent the last of my cash on some broccoli rabe.   In order to make my bus, I needed to take the metro, but with absolutely no money that just wasn’t in the cards.  After wasting 10 minutes dithering around and trying to make it work, I ended up running (with 2 heavy bags, mind you) across 12 city blocks and 4 avenues.  In the blinding heat.  With no water.  I reached the bus 1 minute after the scheduled departure time and was fortunately allowed to board.  The bus driver, noticing the condition I was in, offered me 2 bottles of water.  It more or less took me the entire 5 hour bus ride to recover.

I spent the following days daydreaming of the wonderful food I’d eaten on the trip and googling things like “Hand-sliced smoked salmon in Boston.”  Yes, I am food obsessed.  But, if you’re reading this, you’ve probably already figured that out by now…

Fig, Goat Cheese, and Prosciutto Salad

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Even though I’m (mostly) vegetarian, I still manage to eat more than my share of prosciutto.  What can I say?  The salty, elusive flavor is so utterly addictive that I can’t seem to stop.  When I walk past the deli counter at Whole Foods, my legs propel me towards the prosciutto of their own accord and I find myself ordering it, even if it’s not on my shopping list.  Pairing the salty flavors of goat cheese and prosciutto with the velvety sweetness of fresh figs, this salad is one of my favorites.

You’ll notice that the quantities of most of the ingredients are pretty loosey-goosey.  This is mostly due to the fact that sometimes I eat this salad as a main course and at other times it is merely an appetizer – simply adjust as is necessary for your own dining needs.

Fig, Prosciutto, and Goat Cheese Salad
8-12 fresh figs, washed and dried.
3-4 oz. goat cheese
3-4 ounces Prosciutto di Parma
6 cups salad greens (I prefer a mesclun mix)
Balsamic vinaigrette of your choice (I usually make my own, but mostly wing it with the proportions – combine olive oil, balsamic vinegar, minced garlic, salt, and pepper in a small bowl and whisk together, adjusting the oil and vinegar until the flavor is to your liking)

Toss the salad greens with dressing to taste, then distribute evenly between 4 plates. Cut each fig in half lengthwise and arrange them over the top of the salad, cut side upwards. Divide the goat cheese evenly between the figs, placing a little on top of each fig half.  Drape the prosciutto over the top of the goat cheese.  If desired, grind some black pepper over the top before serving.  Enjoy!

Cook’s note: you can also cut the figs into quarters, then crumble the goat cheese haphazardly over the plate instead of neatly composing little hors d’oeuvres-like fig bundles.  Same taste, different look.

Chocoholic

My father has a particular weakness for chocolate.  In fact, despite the wide range of sugary treats available to him and his sweet tooth, he tends to favor it above all other confections.  Aside from bananas, it’s the only thing he insists on consuming on a daily basis.  This obsession isn’t recent: as a child, my father once traded his retainer for a chocolate bar (he swears it’s because the other kid needed it more) and when his mother found out she made him live with the consequences by refusing to buy him a new one.  He has never (to my knowledge) regretted this decision.

Given that it’s a daily staple in his diet, running out of chocolate in my house can spell trouble.  Woe betide the person who eats the last square of his chocolate bar – grumpiness is sure to follow.  While generally a jovial person, my father does not respond well to chocolate deprivation.  I’m a chip off the old block in that respect – finish off the last of my super-secret, extra special (read: expensive) cheese stash without my knowledge and you’ll find yourself running for the hills in last-ditch attempt at self-preservation.  Trust me, it ain’t pretty.

It took me an embarrassingly long time to figure out that the opposite was true: if my father gets into a bad mood due to a lack of chocolate, then providing him with unexpected rations of chocolate can put him in an excellent mood.  The first time I discovered this handy-dandy little trick was in an airport.  For some reason, I’d packed an extra chocolate bar for the long flight over to England (actually, I always pack delicious food for long plane trips…it helps make things a little more bearable) and was planning to consume it sometime in the wee hours as a general pick-me-up.  As it turned out, it was put into use considerably sooner than that.  After facing down a long line in airport security, my dad wasn’t exactly cheerful.  To be honest, neither was I.  Both of us start hyperventilating at the slightest suggestion of tardiness, and with a mere hour and a half to go before the plane took off we were both panicking about the idea of not being insanely early.  I broke out my emergency chocolate stash and within seconds my dad was all smiles again.

The chocolate trick can work wonders in almost any situation.  In fact, it’s a pretty effective bargaining tool.  Without chocolate, a request to borrow the car looks a little something like this:

Scenario 1
Me:  Hey dad, can I borrow the car this weekend?
Dad: No.
Me: Why not?
Dad: Because it’s my car.

See?  No dice.  Let’s try that again, shall we?

Scenario 2
Me: Hey, Dad!  Would you like a piece of this artisanal, fair trade, organic        chocolate bar?
Dad: Om nom nom.
Me: Om nom nom.
(Sounds of chocolate consumption follow)
Me: So, can I borrow the car this weekend?
Dad: OKAY!
Me: Aw c’mon, I only need to use it for an hour, I promise I’ll be caref-….wait, what?
Dad: Go ahead, the car’s all yours.
Me: Err, really?…I mean, WOOOHOO!

Much, much better.

The point of this is not to extol the virtues of culinary bribery (although it certainly seems to be quite effective), but rather to drive home the point that food is important to people in ways that extend beyond a basic level of nourishment.  Joyous celebrations are almost always marked with a feast and favorite foods can evoke happiness even in grumpy individuals.  We may eat because we need to, but somewhere along the line we learned to love it.

Radish Sandwiches

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Lately, I’ve been hearing a lot about radish sandwiches.  I’ve never been a radish person; I never liked them as a child and never bothered to try them as an adult, so at first I disregarded it.  The more I heard, however, the more intrigued I became.  It sounded quite strange as a concept, yet everyone gave it glowing reviews.  I think the bizarreness is what reeled me in, honestly.  I’m a sucker for any odd-seeming recipe with only a few ingredients, mostly because these always seem to turn out the most satisfying dishes.

This morning at the farmer’s market, I seized my opportunity and bought some particularly gorgeous radishes:

As soon as I got home, I started to experiment with radish sandwiches, never mind the fact that it wasn’t even 11am.  I found that they worked best in open-faced format to showcase the bright, cheerful red of the radishes.  The sharp, peppery bite of the radishes was tempered by the creamy butter and the salt allowed the flavors to really shine.  I’ll definitely be eating them again for lunch.

This sandwich is beyond simple and involves only 4 ingredients (well, 5 if you count the pepper) – radishes, bread, butter and salt.  I hesitate to even write a recipe out because it’s so easy (and I in no way measured any of the ingredients), but I will give you a basic set of instructions.  Because this recipe has so few ingredients, it is absolutely crucial that you use the best of everything.  Be sure to get extra peppery radishes (mine were a little mild and I think the sandwich would work better if they had had more kick), the nicest bread you can find, high-quality unsalted butter, and sea salt.  Enjoy!

Open-faced Radish Sandwiches

• Radishes (2-3 per sandwich)
• Butter (preferably unsalted)
• Bread (1 slice per sandwich because it’s open-faced)
• Sea salt
• Freshly ground black pepper (optional)

Wash the radishes and pat them dry with a kitchen towel.  Thinly slice them with a knife, or shave them with a mandoline.  Spread butter on the bread, using a fairly liberal amount.  Layer the radish slices over the bread and sprinkle on some sea salt to taste.  If desired, you can grind some black pepper over the top to add an extra kick.

If you want to make this for a picnic, you can make the radishes, butter, and salt into a spread in order to more easily transport it.  Simply add butter, salt, and whole radishes to a food processor and blend until the radishes are finely chopped and well mixed with the butter.  Spread it on the bread, or use as a dip.