August 2005 Archives

I've just gotten into downloading podcasts and discovered Evan Kleiman's Good Food on KCRW.  Do we have a New York equivalent?  And if not, why don't we have a New York equivalent?  A weekly farmer's market report, a restaurant rundown, writers like Russ Parson and Jonathan Gold, stories about Chinese Islamic food and what to look for in a good bourbon, and the pleasant and knowledgable host Evan Kleiman -- I can't get enough.  It's also the perfect thing for me to listen to at work.  Highly recommended, even though it's not about NYC.

Somebody ought to host a similar show here.  If anyone out there wants to teach me the technology, maybe I'll cobble something together weekly here.

Hey, did you ever make it out to Sunset Park to try Pollo Campero?  Because it's too late now.  I'm glad we got a bucket for one Super Bowl party.  Hasta la vista, Pollo Campero, we're sorry to see you go so soon.

The AP reports that Laura Bush has hired Cristeta Comerford to be the first female White House head chef ever.  Best quote:

"As many as 2,000 guests per month are fed there, and Mrs. Bush has signaled her intent to do more entertaining than in the first term, when the Sept. 11, 2001, terrorist attacks curtailed festivities."

Osama Bin Laden declares Jihad on the west, kills thousands of people in the World Trade Center and the Pentagon, and gets in the way of Laura Bush's entertaining.  Remember, if Laura doesn't get to don her Valentino and serve up Freedom Fries and apple pie to the dignitaries, then the terrorists have won, people.

Interesting article on Cryovac technology in restaurant kitchens in the Times today.  Looks like Amanda Hesser is taking Jeffrey Steingarten's advice to "write less often and writes [sic] longer pieces involving lots of research."  Her articles since the Spice Market debacle have been cleaner and deeper, lacking that preciousness people love to hate her for (myself included). 

Back to the Cryovac -- I hate to sound like a luddite, but it all seems very unromantic, doesn't it?  I mean, you can call it sous vide, but in the end, it seems to be all about boil-in-a-bag and quality control.  I think it's great that chefs can find a way to use the technology to create new textures and flavors in cuisine.  But I think it will proliferate to the masses not as a new trickle-down tool in the kitchen, but more likely in the form of convenient complete prepared meals -- yet another way for people to distance themselves from cooking and think of food sources only in the abstract.

That said, I did have the low-temperature cooked egg in parmesan broth at wd-50, and it was indeed marshmallowy and unlike any egg I'd ever had before.  I'm not sure it's an improvement on, say, a good fried egg or a perfect hard-boiled egg or custard-soft scrambled eggs.  But it's different.

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Remember those vacuum pack machine infomercials?  I always wanted to pack my winter sweaters away into tiny shrink-wrapped bundles with those things.

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Read Regina Schrambling's take on the Cryovac hype.

Dibs (dibz)  Bite-sized ice cream bon-bons in a canister.  Edy's ice cream with a thin, cheap chocolate-hinted coating in plain, Crunch, or Drumstick.  Kind of disgusting, kind of delicious.  Available at the gas station by my house.  Totally designed for fat-asses who want to eat their ice cream while driving.  Can't wait to try the choco-covered mint. 

Some people dream of being the prime minister, or becoming a world famous composer, or ending world hunger.  Me, I aspire to be one of those ladies who lunches.  I don't necessarily have to not work -- I can see myself being a full time freelancer, hunched over my iBook late into the night.  But I'd like to wake up on the later side of the morning, take a 10:00 a.m. yoga class, maybe have a piece of fruit, and go meet a friend at the MOMA for the afternoon.  We'd make fun of the tourists and the art we don't get, enjoy the sculpture garden, and stroll around leisurely without having to deal with the germy masses that accompany the non 9-5 hours.  Then, after exhausting ourselves, we'd head down to the museum cafe for a little nosh and dirt-dishing.

Since I work in publishing, I've got half day Fridays for the summer.  Yesterday, my friend Winnie and I went to the MOMA just before free admission time to check out the Lee Friedlander exhibit.  It was lunchtime, so we decided to try the cafe on the 2nd floor and live out my fantasy of being ladies who lunch.  MOMA's 2nd floor Cafe serves the kind of light fare I'd love to eat midday everyday -- from clever sandwiches like tuna with olives and lemon pepper mayo to cured meat and cheese plates.

It's a bit like an old school deli  -- patrons wait on line, perusing the menu on the wall for a few minutes, and are then directed to the cashiers, flanked on every side by tempting display cases.  You place your order, get a number, and then a runner brings your order to the table.  It's even supposed to be timed so you get your dessert after your meal (though we got everything at the same time, which was just fine by me).  A friendly placard at all of the tables says that if you forget to order something, or if you're still hungry for more, a designated cashier by the tempting dessert case will place your order so you don't have to wait in line a second time.

We found ourselves seats at the long, communal tables and put our number stand between us so the waiters could deliver our food.  I stepped over to the self-service water station, where I filled up two pint glasses with ice and water.  I always appreciate a restaurant that provides a proper glass for water instead of a dinky shot glass that you have to refill 85 times before your thirst is quenched.

We ordered the bruschetta three ways.  The prosciutto with figs were a classic and perfect combination, the fig sweet and ripe and the prosciutto melty and sliced super thin.  The sheep's milk ricotta was wonderfully mild, a nice creamy counterpoint to the marinated roasted red pepper.  The tomato basil bruschetta was lovely, the tomatoes ripe and velvety with just the right amount of seasoning and little slivers of red onion for sweetness.

It's hard for me to pass up an opportunity to eat anchovies, so I also ordered this $5 plate of roasted red pepper with citrus cured anchovies and fresh oregano.  It was simple and perfect, the slightly soapy oregano cleansing the palate after velvety bites of marinated roasted red pepper and the tender, lemony anchovies.

Broccoli rabe was prepared without overembellishment -- steamed, tender and sweet, topped with one of the ubiquitous red peppers.

Dessert was a tough call, with so many yummy things to choose from, including a fruit-heavy pear tart that looked heavenly and creamy tiramisus in globular glasses.

In the end, we decided on a blueberry tart.  Perfectly thin and crisp pastry encased a golden marzipan filling.  Piled on top like some berry afro were a mess of the fattest fresh blueberries we'd seen this year, held together by a thin, glossy gel.  It was fresh, light, and had the right amount of sweetness.  YUM.

Everything was served, of course, on the interesting tableware you can purchase at the MOMA design store.  With all the sexy display cases, provocative plates, and tempting food colors, it makes sense that a cafe at the MOMA would understand the art of visual stimulation.  That the food is excellent too is icing on the cake.  At $15 each for our light lunch, I plan on making a pit stop every time I visit the museum to fuel up for the hard work of art appreciation.

Total: $15 per person
Will I go back?  Definitely.  But not on the free Friday afternoons -- there are way too many germy people there to make it a happy, healthy experience.

MOMA Cafe 2
2nd floor
The Museum of Modern Art

11 West 53 Street btwn 5th Ave. and 6th Ave.

New York, NY 10019
(212) 708-9400

E V to 53rd/5th Ave., B D F to 47-50 Rockefeller Center

In this week's Counter Culture, Robert Sietsema raves about World Tong dim sum in Bensonhurst, Brooklyn.  Now before all you dim sum enthusiasts make a mess in your pants over this exciting, new, uncharted territory, I'd like to point out that this World Tong restaurant is the exact same place reviewed on December 22, 2004 by the NYTimes' Kim Severson -- only in the Times review, it's called Ocean Port Seafood Restaurant.

My previous thoughts on Ocean Port/World Tong confoundment here.

photo from Curbed

Does anyone really think the new Starbucks on Delancey is the frappuccino-slinging angel of death that will finally bring the rich, straight, white, capitalist yuppies to the Lower East Side?  I thought it was the $2000 rent to split a spit & duct-taped cardboard studio-size apartment between three people (been there).  I thought it was Clinton St.'s restaurant row, where I once spent $300 on dinner for two.  I thought it was the super fancy clothing boutiques on Ludlow, where you can't get a top for less than $75.  I thought it was oh-so-ironic pub quiz night at the Slipper Room. 

Hello, they let Keith McNally set up camp in their precious artist and brown people haven and they're complaining about Starbucks?  Bet no one cried when they kicked out those eight Chinese immigrant renters illegally sharing a one-room apartment so some sensitive art and brown people-loving trustafarian could pay $1700 to bask in the neighborhood's "history". 

Hey, I'm sure someone is grumbling now about the yuppies moving into Sunset Park.  But I'm not going to pretend I'm not part of the problem.  Besides, I'm sure I'll be priced out of this neighborhood in a couple of years -- by the end of the decade, my tag line could read "eating and complaining in Bayonne".  But it ain't going to be Starbucks' fault.

From Pulp's "Common People":

I took her to a supermarket
I don't know why, but I had to start it somewhere
So it started there.
I said, "Pretend you've got no money."
And she just laughed and said, "You're so funny."
I said, "Yeah?  Well I can't see anyone else smiling in here."

NB -- Mr. McNally, feel free to set up camp anywhere you'd like in Sunset Park.  I welcome you to our gas station and fast food restaurant heavy neighborhood.  We need some place to breakfast other than the Dunkin' Donuts on 26th St., which seems to be the resale joint for all of Manhattan's day-old donuts.

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Sweet baby Jesus's ghost, I've been gawked!  (Thank you Adam and Lindsay for my new favorite universally appropriate exclamation.)

Dear Crabby,

I don't have a microwave.  What's the best way to reheat my leftover refrigerated rice?

Sincerely,
Rice Lover

Dear Rice Lover:

It's funny that you should be asking me this question right now, because I don't have a microwave either, and I have just come up with the most GENIUS way to reheat rice.  Take your cold rice, dump it into the rice cooker with a couple of tablespoons of water.  Put the lid on and press the Rice Cook button.  It should be ready in about 5-10 minutes, depending on how much rice you have.  In fact, my rice cooker automatically turns itself to Keep Warm when the rice is ready because it is a BABY GENIUS PSYCHIC MACHINE.  Stir it before serving.  This super sexy reheating method is fast enough, and it's almost as delicious as fresh rice.  And you can continue to protect the babies from radiation damage.

Eat me,

Crabby

P.S.  If you're about to sass me and ask, "Why don't you just put it on keep warm?", it's because I tried that and it would have taken 30 minutes to warm up the rice; then you might as well be making fresh rice. --C

P.P.S.  What, you don't have a rice cooker?  What kind of hater are you, Rice Lover?  Rice cookers RULE.  Set it and fuhggedit! --C

Okay, I've complained about outdoor dining before.  But I must reiterate the hate with yet another reason.  Last night, I went to the Gowanus Yacht Club in Carroll Gardens for the first time for my friend Ami's going away party.  They should call that place the Gowanus Swamp -- I wasn't there but half an hour before I got bitten by mosquitoes on my leg, arm, and shoulder.  And this despite the fact that I sprayed on plenty of hippie bug spray right before leaving the house.  I don't care how cheap those burgers and PBRs are.  I love you, friends, but let's not have dinner at a place where my blood is the house special.  Excuse me while I break out the trusty steroid cream for my three itchy new boobs.