tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3682826850765071732024-03-13T17:18:13.770-04:00fooditudeBITE INTO IT...Jeffrey Stockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06812010115631087689noreply@blogger.comBlogger67125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-368282685076507173.post-62119898219417243152016-06-30T15:51:00.002-04:002016-06-30T15:51:49.290-04:00Yamini Joshi<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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As made famous on <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ELJ0Ht7hKFU" target="_blank">Colbert's </a>show, Yamini Joshi is a force of nature. She participates in the <a href="https://www.leagueofkitchens.com/" target="_blank"><span id="goog_1680753083"></span>League of Kitchens</a>, an immersive culinary program that connects curious foodies with immigrant cooks living in New York. (Above: potato fritters and green chilies).<span id="goog_1680753084"></span><br />
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I traveled to Yamini's home in Kew Gardens, Queens, where I met 5 other New Yorkers to learn more about the joys of South Indian vegetarian cooking. (above, the "snack" we were greeted with before the class even began).<br />
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I had previously taken a wonderful cooking class in Kochi in the south Indian state of Kerala. That was also in the home of a gifted woman hosting a handful of hungry and curious students in her home kitchen. Although Yamini is originally from Mumbai, her southern style was evident from the start (Above: some of the key ingredients of south Indian cooking: coconut, ginger, tamarind and chili). <br />
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Yamini had fun pointing out that this long okra-like "drumstick" vegetable is used to give "man power" to any men in need of more power. <br />
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The main dish on the menu was masala dosa, a thin rice-and-bean-flour pancake served a red-hot spice mixture and vegetable soup.<br />
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There is no mise-en-place like Indian mise-en-place.<br />
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Yamini pierced this gourd's skin with her fingernail to show how it "bleeds" red liquid. Therefore it is believed that it is good for the blood.<br />
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Mango lassi was the perfect antidote to the many super-spicy dishes.<br />
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This is the key to the dish: the masala spice mixture being fresh-roasted.<br />
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Yamini with the coarsely ground masala spice powder.<br />
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Potatoes cooked in ghee with mustard seeds and topped with fresh cilantro round out the meal.<br />
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Yamini teaches us to make dosas on her special pan, brushed with oil. I found it interesting that we don't brush the pan with oil, but rather the top of the pancake.<br />
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Two kinds of chutney make everything even spicier and more delightful.<br />
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Even the pots and dishes and table cloths are beautiful.<br />
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Yamini shows us how to use her special tool for shredding coconut meat right out of the coconut.<br />
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I was especially touched by Yamini's prayers and chanting. Before we could anything sweet, such as the seviya (vermicelli) kheer pudding, we must offer it first to "the deity." The gods never had it so good.Jeffrey Stockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06812010115631087689noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-368282685076507173.post-33137281361472706082014-05-28T13:35:00.001-04:002014-05-28T17:02:03.626-04:00DAMON BAEHREL, 4th CourseClearly, this meal made such an impression on me that it is taking me literally years to describe (see earlier posts). And I'm not even halfway through.<br />
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For the fourth course, Chef Baehrel continued with the theme of using exclusively local ingredients, mostly what he harvests on his own property. We were served a playful "faux" sunny side up egg with a side of "bacon," in the manner of Wylie Dufresne's famous trompe l'oeil dishes. Baehrel called this "phony egg" dish "the essence of the native harvest."<br />
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The egg whites were made from cattail cones taken from the stem of typha plants that grow wild in wetland environments. This was emulsified with rutabaga and potato starch. This was flavored with the sour taste of clover juice (wild wood sorrel, and infused with grapeseed oil.<br />
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The yolk is half a sungold tomato poached for 2 hours in parsnip water. The "bacon" is actually made from jerusalem artichoke that is oven-dried and jelled, baked into a cake and cut into little slabs.<br />
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Finally, the dish is sprinkled with "pepper" made from shagbark hickory bark that is soaked, oven dried and scraped.Jeffrey Stockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06812010115631087689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-368282685076507173.post-23600084842225900402012-09-28T14:41:00.000-04:002012-09-28T14:48:09.651-04:00DAMON BAEHREL, 3rd Course<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Now where was I? Oh yes, genius and mad scientist chef/harvester Damon Baehrel was preparing us a meal at his home/restaurant in the Catskills. The third course of this elaborate affair was a baked wild daylily. In the wild, a daylily looks something like this.<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JBz72U9JdTk/UGXtqHza0II/AAAAAAAABLU/KMWSKS8IhyM/s1600/wild_daylily.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JBz72U9JdTk/UGXtqHza0II/AAAAAAAABLU/KMWSKS8IhyM/s1600/wild_daylily.jpg" /></a></div>
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Chef Damon battered the daylily in a golden fava bean flour, mixed with seltzer he made from well water. Even though the final result was amazingly crispy and light, there was no frying involved. Instead, the flower was baked on a mere film of grapeseed oil at a very hot temperature of 600 degrees.<br />
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The sauce was a purée of wild turnip, enriched not with cream or butter, but with rutabaga stock. The plate was dusted with fresh spring fennel. Divine.Jeffrey Stockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06812010115631087689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-368282685076507173.post-47181890061224861412012-09-03T00:48:00.002-04:002012-09-03T01:48:41.561-04:00Kale ChipsEvery time I make kale chips, people drool over them and ask for my recipe. These are the crispy, crinkly, curly kale chips you see for sale in health food stores. Often they are labeled as "raw," which means they were heated at temperatures below 118 Fahrenheit, or thereabouts. They usually cost about 8 bucks for a few meager, crumbly leaves. I have to admit, they can be a little labor intensive to make yourself, but they are so inexpensive and totally worth the time and effort.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-h6iCccwMWdo/UEQ1H4U4AuI/AAAAAAAABK4/pATknBmW-iM/s1600/kale+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-h6iCccwMWdo/UEQ1H4U4AuI/AAAAAAAABK4/pATknBmW-iM/s320/kale+1.jpg" width="320" /></a>The most BASIC recipe can be summed up like this: Take a big bunch of curly kale (preferably two bunches, since it does shrink down a lot). Wash it well and dry it, and remove all the spines. Add just enough olive oil to very lightly coat all the leaves, and massage the oil into every nook and fold of the leaves. Then add salt and pepper to taste. Be careful with the quantities of oil and seasonings, because they will all intensify as the kale heats up and shrinks down. Use just enough to relax the rigidness of the leaves. You don't want it to come out unpleasantly oily, salty or spicy.<br />
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It's rather important to use the curly kind, since the little curls crisp up so well, but you could any kind of kale, and in fact you could you use chard, spinach, or any other leafy green -- but in my experience, kale is by FAR the best, and curly kale is best of all.<br />
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Then, you cook it. This can be done in an oven at its lowest setting (about 200 degrees). It should take an hour or two at the very most, probably less. Just lay the leaves on trays in one layer. When they are wilted and starting to dry out, turn all the leaves over and put them back in the oven till they're totally dry and crispy. Keep an eye on them -- if you burn them, it's all over.<br />
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An oven is fine, but I MUCH prefer to use a dehydrator instead of an oven. This keeps the kale bright green, and also keeps it as a "raw" food with more vitamins and enzymes intact if you keep the heat under 118 degrees. It should be ready in about 3 or 4 hours, (including one turning). In my experiments, though, I found that the chips come out a bit tough if you don't heat it for at least an hour at a slightly higher temperature. So I usually go with 145 degrees for an hour then turn, then finish for another couple of hours at 115 degress. It's a compromise and yields the best results.<br />
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Now, for my REAL recipe: I soak about 3/4 cup of raw cashews in water for 2 to 4 hours. Then drain and put the cashews in a mini-blender. I add half a peeled red bell pepper, roughly cut, a clove or two of garlic, a tablespoon of nama shoyu or soy sauce, a tablespoon of olive oil, three heaping tablespoons of nutritional yeast, a touch of cayenne or smoked paprika (optional), and a bit of salt and pepper. I blend all that into a creamy and smooth marinade, then massage THAT into the two bunches of kale leaves, in batches. It's amazing.<br />
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<br />Jeffrey Stockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06812010115631087689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-368282685076507173.post-13972614902812192532012-08-05T16:47:00.000-04:002012-08-05T16:55:01.280-04:00DAMON BAEHREL, 2nd course.<div class="MsoNormal">
As I was saying! The next course from chef Damon Baehrel was really many mini-dishes in one, arrayed
in a beautiful oval on a gorgeous plate (Baehrel joked that his accountant told
him he could have either a sports car, or his exquisite set of dishes). </div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span">Clockwise from top center, is a radish with a sauce of flax seed oil, red
pepper and sorrel vinegar, poised atop a nasturtium leaf.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The ball of cheese is a three-week-old ch</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">è</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span">vre with a dollop of red sugarbush sauce, topped with a pea flower. To the
right of that is a blue cheese aged four months, topped with a wild chive
flower, accompanied by pickled mulberry purée and baked fig leaf ash. In the 3
o’clock position is a five and half month old camembert-style cheese made with
80% cow milk, 20% sheep milk, dusted with dried cantaloupe seeds and paired
with pickled peach purée and a bee-balm leaf. Below that is a tiny wild
micro-strawberry. The triangular cheese is a cow cheese aged 7 months curdled
with fermented apple and grape juices and rennet, paired with a carrot top.</span></div>
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The pink rectangular meat is cured Tamworth hog with fennel
leaf. Still going clockwise, the next round meat is a lamb spicy salami
flavored with pine needle powder. The next is a duck salami aged one and a half
months, with bell pepper powder, garnished with sawtooth lavender. Then we have
goose pepperoni with sea salt and tomato powder decorated with celery root
flower. The last round one is guinea hen sopressata with sea salt, spiced with
arugula powder in place of black pepper, and garnished with Russian sage. The
bright red rectangular meat is venison leg, aged 14 months. This dish was the perfect way to warm up the salivary glands for what lay ahead.</div>Jeffrey Stockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06812010115631087689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-368282685076507173.post-25437807585316694692012-08-01T14:29:00.000-04:002012-08-01T15:17:04.474-04:00DAMON BAEHREL, 1st course.<br />
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I recently had a meal that can only be described as epic. It
was a 5-hour, 14-course experience that I will attempt to document in stages, one dish at a time,
since nobody can truly process it all in one sitting. I know I couldn’t. </div>
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After almost two years on a waiting list, our number finally
came up. We booked a room in a bed-and-breakfast in upstate New York and made
the three-hour pilgrimmage.</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-90-OMClBriY/UBlqAEsj0UI/AAAAAAAABJI/bYQja3f3B7s/s1600/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-90-OMClBriY/UBlqAEsj0UI/AAAAAAAABJI/bYQja3f3B7s/s320/3.jpg" width="320" /></a>Damon Baehrel is a one-man show. On his 12-acre home in Earlton, New York, nestled in the Catskills, he has, for over 20 years, run a small restaurant out of his basement. Until recently, it was simply called The Basement Bistro, but now the restaurant bears only his own name.</div>
Baehrel grows his own vegetables, forages for wild herbs, flowers and roots, taps his own trees, presses his own oil, grinds his own flour, makes his own cheese, and cures his own meat. On top of that, he creates his own radically inventive dishes, and – oh yes, he alone functions as the entire waitstaff. Call him eccentric or call him obsessed; either way, the man has a calling.<br />
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Everything we ate came from his property, except some meat
and dairy products from a farm down the road, some seafood shipped live from
Halifax, wine from Europe and sea salt from New England. That means that
certain staples one has come to expect at every fine meal, like olive oil,
black pepper, cane sugar, and other exotic tastes we have come to regard as our
own, were inventively replaced by local substitutes.<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-H8AdxqWrJPI/UBlqOyacHhI/AAAAAAAABJw/n4_Dq9JajMk/s1600/7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-H8AdxqWrJPI/UBlqOyacHhI/AAAAAAAABJw/n4_Dq9JajMk/s320/7.jpg" width="308" /></a>Most ingredients are highly seasonal (some available merely several days a year), but some are preserved, pickled, dried or otherwise stored from seasons past.<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-j2GEPzqgIBo/UBlqND1IPzI/AAAAAAAABJo/nVbfLVCnLGo/s1600/6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="228" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-j2GEPzqgIBo/UBlqND1IPzI/AAAAAAAABJo/nVbfLVCnLGo/s320/6.jpg" width="320" /></a>The restaurant had just finished a large lunch seating of almost 2 dozen people, and had a another dozen coming for a 10PM seating. Yet as chance would have it, we arrived at 5 PM to discover that the restaurant would be ours alone for the duration. We felt like royalty, being pampered with such individual attention by the harvester/chef/waiter.<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NDJ_ubzvt5w/UBlqLWAPmJI/AAAAAAAABJg/M96Mv2_0aZo/s1600/5a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="248" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NDJ_ubzvt5w/UBlqLWAPmJI/AAAAAAAABJg/M96Mv2_0aZo/s320/5a.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
The chef started us off not with a pitcher of water, but of
iced sap from his birch and maple trees, flavored with crisp cucumbers. The sap
was very watery and light, and had only a hint of a sweet, mineral taste. We
began with a lovely Languedoc sparkling wine, Sainte-Hilaire 2010.<br />
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Two types of bread: focaccia brushed with grapeseed oil and
specked with sea salt, ramp powder and garlic scapes, and also a round loaf
made with homegrown wheat and white bean flour. Served with two kinds of local,
sweet spring butter, including an incredible sheep butter with lavender. Oh,
and by the way, the grapeseed oil is flavored with spruce shoots, cedar berries
and wild tarragon.</div>
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Finally, it begins! The first of 14 courses to arrive was a beautifully
presented wild violet ice, flavored intensely with grape powder and grape leaf
powder, and sweetened with stevia leaf extract. The garnish was rhubarb powder.<br />
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Thirteen courses to go. Stay tuned!</div>Jeffrey Stockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06812010115631087689noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-368282685076507173.post-88244307810581370382010-09-26T13:24:00.003-04:002010-09-26T13:38:55.396-04:00Faux Philip at ESCAI live near Esca, a high-end restaurant specializing in southern Italian seafood. For years I've passed by, figuring I'd go in there one day when the occasion arose. Well, finally it did: my dad's birthday.<br />
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The food was pretty nice, but the service was surprisingly bad. The menus took forever to arrive, as did the drinks. And we were feeling a little rushed since we were on our way to the theater. My dad asked the bus boy for the waiter's name, but he didn't know; apparently this was the waiter's first day. Uh-oh.<br />
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At least this gave us plenty of time to catch up. Just as my mother was recounting the plot of the latest movie she'd seen, directed by Philip Seymour Hoffman, another waiter walked into my field of vision who looked A LOT like Mr. Hoffman himself.<br />
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Was the actor preparing for a role as a waiter? Could it really be him? Judge for yourself:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/TJ-AhxXoP_I/AAAAAAAABH4/JnwhE6KqMoI/s1600/Unknown.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/TJ-AhxXoP_I/AAAAAAAABH4/JnwhE6KqMoI/s1600/Unknown.jpeg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/TJ-Am8-XktI/AAAAAAAABH8/eGixNvqIWNM/s1600/PSH.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/TJ-Am8-XktI/AAAAAAAABH8/eGixNvqIWNM/s320/PSH.jpg" width="214" /></a></div>You can only tell the two apart because one of them is busy peeling back fish skin. I was quite disappointed when faux Philip took FOREVER to fillet my mom's pink snapper, because when everyone else's dishes arrived, they were all cold. They had been sitting there on the fillet table the whole time. Shouldn't a place of this caliber have a better system? We had to send the other dishes back to be reheated. And after all that, there were still plenty of bones in the snapper. Had faux Philip ever even filleted a fish before? Odd, since Hoffman's new movie is called <i>Jack Goes Boating</i>.<br />
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I'm not sure I'd go back to Esca, despite the fact that the food, once it arrived, wasn't bad. Because, despite the celebrity sighting, we certainly did not get celebrity service.Jeffrey Stockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06812010115631087689noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-368282685076507173.post-60957678169903995652010-09-23T18:36:00.000-04:002010-09-23T18:36:10.770-04:00Mozaic Restaurant: Ubud, Bali<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5520224707330614866" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/TJvHH7jGplI/AAAAAAAABF4/f9h_Gh7AOgs/s400/mozaic.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 181px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 388px;" /><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>There's not much argument that Mozaic is the best restaurant in the Ubud area of Bali. It's got a world class chef in Chris Salans and is so much more than just a fancy-schmancy resort restaurant, which are so numerous in Bali.<br />
<div><div><br />
</div><div>There are four prix fixe menus available:</div><div><ol><li>The Discover Menu, featuring Asian and fusion influences</li>
<li>Vegetarian Tasting Menu</li>
<li>Chef's Tasting Menu, focusing on Western tastes</li>
<li>Chef's Surprize Menu, including premium ingredients like truffles, caviar and fois gras.</li>
</ol></div><div>We shared the Discovery Menu and the Vegetarian Tasting Menu and we were not disappointed. Here were some of the highlights.</div><div><br />
</div><div>This <i>amuse-bouche</i> had a sweet-savory tension, culminating in a unique tomato sorbet.</div><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5520224888948810450" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/TJvHSgIQYtI/AAAAAAAABGA/96QOaI-EtxY/s400/M+1.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 298px;" /><br />
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</div><div>Sorbet appeared again, this time laksa leaf sorbet over yellow fin tartare. Laksa leaf is also</div><div>known as Vietnamese coriander and has a refreshing minty taste.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/TJvUpQV2QNI/AAAAAAAABHA/7YYGp5IKS8Y/s1600/M4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/TJvUpQV2QNI/AAAAAAAABHA/7YYGp5IKS8Y/s320/M4.jpg" /></a></div>The next course was a selection of seafood with soft shelled crab as the centerpiece. It came with burnt cauliflower florets, curry leaf meuniere and curry emulsion. I'm not a huge fan of the foam craze in haute cuisine, but it really worked well here.</div><div><br />
</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/TJvU0MIdhzI/AAAAAAAABHI/nq1gFVXMtEw/s1600/M5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/TJvU0MIdhzI/AAAAAAAABHI/nq1gFVXMtEw/s320/M5.jpg" /></a></div>Then came a hearty Australian beef tenderloin with ripe Balinese jackfruit, in a reductino of vermouth, balsamic and cardamom, with eggplant caviar and Dukkah spices. Dukkah is an Egyptian spice mixture, often used with nuts. </div><div><br />
</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/TJvVJkPmfWI/AAAAAAAABHQ/dTMpyHXe7TA/s1600/M8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/TJvVJkPmfWI/AAAAAAAABHQ/dTMpyHXe7TA/s320/M8.jpg" /></a></div>The highlight of the entire meal was a simple sounding dish that really took us by surprise: parmesan-crusted potato gnocchi over a pumpkin sauce with an herb emulsion. These gnocchi were delicate and soft, but had a perfectly caramelized crispy exterior.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/TJvVUvZ-T1I/AAAAAAAABHY/vNUA88z4110/s1600/M6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/TJvVUvZ-T1I/AAAAAAAABHY/vNUA88z4110/s320/M6.jpg" /></a></div>The real star of this show, however, was the spice you see in the lower left-hand corner of the photo: candied long pepper. Regular readers of this blog will know my enthusiasm for long pepper, the superior cousin to the more common and sharp-flavored peppercorn. <a href="http://fooditudeblog.blogspot.com/2007/11/original-pepper.html">Here</a> is my previous post on the subject. Combining this warm and pungent flavor with a crust of sugar was sheer brilliance.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/TJvWMk9p-dI/AAAAAAAABHg/1l74txhCVUI/s1600/M10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/TJvWMk9p-dI/AAAAAAAABHg/1l74txhCVUI/s320/M10.jpg" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">I've made no secret that my favorite fruit is the mangosteen, and it was a joy to try mangosteen sorbet as dessert. Subtle, fragrant and tart, it was the perfect closer. It was served with mint geleé and black rice tuile.</div></div></div></div>Jeffrey Stockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06812010115631087689noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-368282685076507173.post-85978378514858263392010-09-21T12:32:00.005-04:002010-09-23T08:59:58.138-04:00Savory Donuts<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/TJjfxhmSuXI/AAAAAAAABFw/DWC2KkGI8j4/s1600/savory+donuts.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/TJjfxhmSuXI/AAAAAAAABFw/DWC2KkGI8j4/s400/savory+donuts.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519407385268107634" /></a><br />I've been busy traveling and haven't had much time to post, but after trips to India, China, Indonesia, and beyond, I have many new tastes to talk about.<div><br /></div><div>I was just in Jakarta and was looking for fresh flavors in Blok M Plaza. They have lots of fast food borrowed from the West, but sometimes with a twist. </div><div><br /></div><div>"Savory Donuts" is something I hadn't seen before, nor did it sound too appealing. I gave it a shot, and I wasn't disappointed. Salty, sugary, oily. It was just as gross as I had imagined.</div>Jeffrey Stockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06812010115631087689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-368282685076507173.post-19670269059816370212009-03-12T15:34:00.015-04:002009-03-12T16:40:58.033-04:00Alta<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/Sblu_mbzffI/AAAAAAAABDs/pH5AGek70UE/s1600-h/sangria.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 86px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/Sblu_mbzffI/AAAAAAAABDs/pH5AGek70UE/s200/sangria.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312399274388192754" border="0" /></a><br />Wrap something in bacon and there's a good chance it'll be pretty darn tasty. But this is also the reason I try not to eat tapas too often. The Spanish really know how to use rich ingredients to create bursts of flavor. That's great, as long as I don't start bursting at the seams as well.<br /><br />Tonight I plan to visit my fave tapas place in New York, <a href="http://www.altarestaurant.com/">Alta</a>, on West 10th Street. To prepare myself, I thought it would be nice to remember the last time I was there last July. I dined with Rob Sheffield, rock critic and local genius. What a feast we had! White sangria put us in a festive mood (it's nice and strong!) <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SblqoFzYE1I/AAAAAAAABDk/uu2PBFDv4Dg/s1600-h/view.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 284px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SblqoFzYE1I/AAAAAAAABDk/uu2PBFDv4Dg/s400/view.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312394472445186898" border="0" /></a>We sat upstairs at the edge of a balustrade looking down on the ground floor. The list of tasty morsels is long and colorful, so we just started choosing at random. Pretty much everything we ordered was excellent. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/Sblve_XdCJI/AAAAAAAABD8/isGQwv2hI7s/s1600-h/eggplant.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 182px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/Sblve_XdCJI/AAAAAAAABD8/isGQwv2hI7s/s400/eggplant.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312399813656774802" border="0" /></a>We started with the grilled Japanese eggplant scallion gratinee, aleppo pepper & toasted sesame seeds.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/Sblvpda2oFI/AAAAAAAABEE/MYFYZHLYk-Y/s1600-h/prawns.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 160px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/Sblvpda2oFI/AAAAAAAABEE/MYFYZHLYk-Y/s400/prawns.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312399993522790482" border="0" /></a>Then we tried grilled chorizo-wrapped gulf shrimp with whipped avocado lime mousse. Don't let that word chorizo fool you. Basically, <span style="font-style: italic;">it's bacon!</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SblvyG4QjyI/AAAAAAAABEM/cBOQcVs_nzc/s1600-h/meatballs.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 136px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SblvyG4QjyI/AAAAAAAABEM/cBOQcVs_nzc/s400/meatballs.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312400142090932002" border="0" /></a>Next up were the lamb meatballs with spiced butternut squash foam and lebne. Delish. Lebne, by the way, is kind of like Greek yogurt.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SblwA6vihFI/AAAAAAAABEU/BYATEiWcj_c/s1600-h/blintz.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 247px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SblwA6vihFI/AAAAAAAABEU/BYATEiWcj_c/s400/blintz.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312400396531172434" border="0" /></a>Following closely behind in this <span style="font-size:100%;">parade</span> of calories and saturated fats, we had crabmeat canneloni with crème <span style="font-size:100%;">fraîche</span>-verju foam, almonds and halved grapes. Oy.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SblwKcn0muI/AAAAAAAABEc/-HpIzU6eNQE/s1600-h/duck+confit.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 195px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SblwKcn0muI/AAAAAAAABEc/-HpIzU6eNQE/s400/duck+confit.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312400560244431586" border="0" /></a>Think that's rich? How about crispy duck confit. Unh.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SblwZ63ohxI/AAAAAAAABEk/SoZS4-PLVTM/s1600-h/ribs.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 205px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SblwZ63ohxI/AAAAAAAABEk/SoZS4-PLVTM/s400/ribs.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312400826061850386" border="0" /></a>Believe it or not, we were still hungry! We tried the Danish pork ribs with <span style="font-style: italic;">kecap manis</span> and coriander. I couldn't resist something that included <span style="font-style: italic;">kecap manis</span>, the sweet Indonesian soy sauce I grew to love while living in Bali.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/Sblwk5UAB7I/AAAAAAAABEs/pa4BoII5GFE/s1600-h/brussel+sprouts.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 260px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/Sblwk5UAB7I/AAAAAAAABEs/pa4BoII5GFE/s400/brussel+sprouts.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312401014622521266" border="0" /></a>"Oh sure, that's pretty fattening," I can hear you say, "but isn't there some dish made with about a stick of butter per serving?" Not to worry: the specialty of the house is the crispy, carmelized Brussel sprouts with Fuji apples, crème <span style="font-size:100%;">fraîche</span> and pistachio nuts. In-sane. Scrumptious to the point of being unfair.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SblwxNAZMBI/AAAAAAAABE0/3-Nr-T9QsyQ/s1600-h/chocolate.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 257px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SblwxNAZMBI/AAAAAAAABE0/3-Nr-T9QsyQ/s400/chocolate.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312401226067423250" border="0" /></a>After such a repast, what dessert could possibly add enough calories to fill the corners of our appetites? No problem. First we tried the warm chocolate fondue with almond-scented grappa, with a side of Marcona-almond-and-orange biscuits. Actually, this was the one item I found hard to take. The alcohol of the grappa was so intense and stinging that it seriously detracted from the total pleasure of the dish.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SblxEBQrM_I/AAAAAAAABE8/4cOJxtvSJvA/s1600-h/flan.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 205px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SblxEBQrM_I/AAAAAAAABE8/4cOJxtvSJvA/s400/flan.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312401549332001778" border="0" /></a>Such concerns were short-lived, however. To put us over the edge, we ate Crema Catalana, which the Spanish claim is the predecessor to the French crème brûlée.<br /><br />As I get myself ready for this meal, which is now just a few hours away, I know it will be a delight for my tongue and an assault on my arteries. So I keep telling myself, Hey, I haven't been to Alta since last July. That's a long time ago!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SblzLERa5QI/AAAAAAAABFE/BBN6E5wasJ8/s1600-h/dog.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 217px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SblzLERa5QI/AAAAAAAABFE/BBN6E5wasJ8/s400/dog.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312403869422773506" border="0" /></a>Jeffrey Stockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06812010115631087689noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-368282685076507173.post-86765127592444099032009-03-01T22:02:00.003-05:002009-03-01T22:08:20.396-05:00Holy Cow<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SatMx0oclTI/AAAAAAAABDc/TqOZoFh3iCM/s1600-h/McD.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SatMx0oclTI/AAAAAAAABDc/TqOZoFh3iCM/s400/McD.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308421004611851570" border="0" /></a>On my recent trip to Bombay, I noticed this McDonald's menu was a little different than I'm used to seeing. It includes the McVeggie, the McChicken, the Chicken Maharaja Mac and the even the Paneer Salsa Wrap. But the one thing missing completely: beef.Jeffrey Stockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06812010115631087689noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-368282685076507173.post-48975895941200710872009-02-24T15:10:00.010-05:002009-02-24T15:36:06.235-05:00A Way With WordsLast November in China, I found myself standing in front of a fast food restaurant near the Beijing Silk Market. The various items on the menu were displayed in big lacquered posters mounted in the window. Everything glistened and looked pretty savory. But somehow the descriptions did not inspire me to walk in and order something. I assume something was lost in translation.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SaRWhGnYSWI/AAAAAAAABBk/8s8aFF06fmg/s1600-h/blood+cakes.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 298px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SaRWhGnYSWI/AAAAAAAABBk/8s8aFF06fmg/s320/blood+cakes.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306461387660740962" border="0" /></a>Well, a duck blood cake is a duck blood cake. No way around that, really. But I never thought of pork hock as "tonic & beautifying." I think it would be hard to market that in high-end toiletries.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SaRWnu85q8I/AAAAAAAABBs/ZeGVqOkpd7Y/s1600-h/Chicken+Gristle.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 258px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SaRWnu85q8I/AAAAAAAABBs/ZeGVqOkpd7Y/s320/Chicken+Gristle.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306461501567642562" border="0" /></a>"Hey, Ma! Can we have chicken gristle tonight?" No, I don't see it.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SaRWuGhgjUI/AAAAAAAABB0/FPBSPLR-0fI/s1600-h/coarse+grains.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 305px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SaRWuGhgjUI/AAAAAAAABB0/FPBSPLR-0fI/s320/coarse+grains.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306461610974416194" border="0" /></a>I'm sure a "yellow croaker" is a lovely fish, but croaking just doesn't sound appetizing. And "coarse grains" probably means something healthful, but couldn't they have found a nicer way to phrase it?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SaRW4PxRQCI/AAAAAAAABB8/pu9vB2Ael58/s1600-h/pig%27s+intestines.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 258px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SaRW4PxRQCI/AAAAAAAABB8/pu9vB2Ael58/s320/pig%27s+intestines.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306461785255133218" border="0" /></a>"Boiled pig's large intestines": it is what it is. And there's just no good way to phrase it.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SaRXD6TpTOI/AAAAAAAABCE/9SITp6FaXws/s1600-h/Rough+Fish.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 296px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SaRXD6TpTOI/AAAAAAAABCE/9SITp6FaXws/s320/Rough+Fish.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306461985652165858" border="0" /></a>"Rough fish"? What's that?<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SaRXMKD8WsI/AAAAAAAABCM/nvL7Op8Ao5o/s1600-h/squirrel+fish.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 266px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SaRXMKD8WsI/AAAAAAAABCM/nvL7Op8Ao5o/s320/squirrel+fish.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306462127320226498" border="0" /></a>I tried a "squirrel fish" once. It was okay, actually. But please don't make me eat something called a squirrel.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SaRXXmBu1xI/AAAAAAAABCU/X3BLniY41SA/s1600-h/Pretty+Pepper.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 228px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SaRXXmBu1xI/AAAAAAAABCU/X3BLniY41SA/s320/Pretty+Pepper.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306462323805706002" border="0" /></a>At last, a dish with a charming name: "Pretty pepper fall in love with cockerel." Aww! Whatever it is, I'll have it!Jeffrey Stockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06812010115631087689noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-368282685076507173.post-57639929968765303402009-02-19T15:47:00.019-05:002009-03-01T21:55:29.652-05:00Grapefruit Rosemary SorbetI am the fortunate recipient of a hand-me-down Cuisinart ice cream/sorbet machine that friends of mine didn't want and had almost never used. So I decided to invite those friends to dinner and serve them the first sorbet ever made in the machine.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SatJiu-34EI/AAAAAAAABDM/KggW3RNYXfM/s1600-h/cuisinart.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 255px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SatJiu-34EI/AAAAAAAABDM/KggW3RNYXfM/s400/cuisinart.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308417446862381122" border="0" /></a>The flavor I settled on is grapefruit & rosemary. This may sound strange at first, but it really works: original, fresh, palate-cleansing, intensely aromatic, bitter-sweet, herbaceous, and just plain taste-bud-exploding.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SatJMiKuHHI/AAAAAAAABDE/uHyGgJ8OmnM/s1600-h/grapefruits.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 325px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SatJMiKuHHI/AAAAAAAABDE/uHyGgJ8OmnM/s400/grapefruits.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308417065465289842" border="0" /></a>I've been told that grapefruit & rosemary sounds like a bar of soap, and it well may be the case that this newest obsession was subliminally inspired by such a soap spotted while waiting on line at WholeFoods, near the impulse purchase displays. But when I woke up on a recent morning trying to come up with a good flavor combination for a sorbet recipe, I already had grapefruit in mind, and then rosemary just popped into my head.<br /><br />Here's how I did it:<br /><blockquote>Ingredients:<br />•1 1/2 cups sugar<br />•2 cups water<br />•1 1/2 cups freshly squeezed pink grapefruit juice, strained (yellow is okay, too)<br />•juice of half a lime, strained<br />•zest of one grapefruit<br />•pinch of salt<br />•3 large sprigs fresh rosemary</blockquote>As per the Cuisinart instructions, I put the freezer bowl in the freezer overnight. Then I boiled the sugar, salt and water in a small saucepan with the rosemary for about 5 minutes, until sugar and salt is dissolved. Let cool to room temperature. Make sure the rosemary is fresh and gorgeous. For best results, try bruising it first to release the flavors. The amount is really to taste; be warned, the flavor may be intense. Don't be afraid!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SatJ1YbnZ3I/AAAAAAAABDU/nYOvjrt4yLM/s1600-h/rosemary.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 274px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SatJ1YbnZ3I/AAAAAAAABDU/nYOvjrt4yLM/s400/rosemary.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308417767226435442" border="0" /></a>Meanwhile, grate the zest of one grapefruit with a very fine grater, being careful not to get any pith. When the syrup is cool, strain it well and combine it with the grapefruit and lime juices and grapefruit zest. Pour mixture into the machine's freezer bowl and switch the machine on.<br /><br />Let it run about half an hour, or until good and slushy and starting to be firm. Then transfer the firm slush into a closed plastic container and store in the freezer overnight. The next day, you will know what I'm talking about!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SaSRcO9YGdI/AAAAAAAABCc/-SoWvCCyI0g/s1600-h/IMG_2198.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SaSRcO9YGdI/AAAAAAAABCc/-SoWvCCyI0g/s320/IMG_2198.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306526175187179986" border="0" /></a>Best served in small scoops, either by itself or accompanied by a little shortbread cookie or anything salty and buttery like that.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SaSR2_7uMVI/AAAAAAAABCk/MZmaffAmFYE/s1600-h/IMG_2197.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SaSR2_7uMVI/AAAAAAAABCk/MZmaffAmFYE/s320/IMG_2197.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306526635010175314" border="0" /></a> Actually, my friends have yet to try it. They come to dinner tomorrow. In a sort of Iron Chef way, I'm book-ending it with an appetizer of jicama-cilantro-pecan-grapefruit salad. I hope they like it!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SaSSZAv0eLI/AAAAAAAABCs/RqtiribgvtY/s1600-h/IMG_2201.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SaSSZAv0eLI/AAAAAAAABCs/RqtiribgvtY/s320/IMG_2201.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306527219344242866" border="0" /></a>Jeffrey Stockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06812010115631087689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-368282685076507173.post-19650890499824664042009-02-15T20:26:00.006-05:002009-02-17T19:46:49.820-05:00Vada PavAn <a href="http://travel.nytimes.com/2009/02/08/travel/08globe.html?8dpc">article</a> in last week's New York Times brought to mind my recent two-month trip through India. On a train in Rajasthan, I was getting very hungry. The train was several hours late and there was still a long way to go from Jaipur to Jodhpur. A vendor working the train came down the aisle selling snacks, which I had been warned against eating. I didn't want to get "Delhi belly," but I figured a sandwich he called "vegetable cutlet" didn't sound so bad. Turned out it was quite bad. Just a cold, soggy lozenge of fried potato between two pieces of white bread. The risk/reward ratio was not in my favor.<br /><br />But later, on the streets of Mumbai, I eventually shed my fear of getting sick from street food and learned what a "vegetable cutlet" was truly intended to be: <span style="font-style: italic;">vada pav</span>. As the Times article mentions, chef Anthony Bourdain singled out this humble snack as his favorite food in India. As described in the article by Kavitha Rao:<br /><blockquote>The <span style="font-style: italic;">vada pav</span> is a glorious carb-on-carb overload — a spicy potato patty encased in a gram-flour coating, then sandwiched in a buttered bun and bathed in tangy garlic chutney.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SZj-MDkVlyI/AAAAAAAABAg/G7j6_UTOEFs/s1600-h/Vada+Pav.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 360px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SZj-MDkVlyI/AAAAAAAABAg/G7j6_UTOEFs/s400/Vada+Pav.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5303268044298360610" border="0" /></a></blockquote><p>The specimen in this photo was hot, crisp, well-spiced and delicious. In fact, I went back to the vendor for seconds. I wish I could find a street stall like this in New York!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SZj-Y68tuiI/AAAAAAAABAo/40nLsicPg_U/s1600-h/Fried+Fun.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 329px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SZj-Y68tuiI/AAAAAAAABAo/40nLsicPg_U/s400/Fried+Fun.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5303268265322986018" border="0" /></a></p>Jeffrey Stockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06812010115631087689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-368282685076507173.post-71442346105523708142008-07-30T22:28:00.016-04:002008-12-09T10:16:50.957-05:00The Grateful DeadWhat could be creepier than a living creature, a sentient being, that <span style="font-style: italic;">wants</span> to be eaten by you? It laughs at its own death. It welcomes you to stick the knife in. It even <span style="font-style: italic;">serves</span> itself up! My neighborhood, Times Square, is full of such imagery.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SJElLpHIcdI/AAAAAAAAAus/6DD4VsEXhzk/s1600-h/espsitos1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SJElLpHIcdI/AAAAAAAAAus/6DD4VsEXhzk/s400/espsitos1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229001524298412498" border="0" /></a>I am lucky to live near Esposito's, one of the few remaining old school butcher shops in New York. It's still a family business that emphasizes house-made sausages and fine technique. But I can't say that I have ever found its storefront image particularly appetizing. I think it's the way the pig is drooling with anticipation to the point where the saliva is flying off its tongue. Why is he so happy to be eating his brethren? Or perhaps his own self?<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SJEmNlzFXzI/AAAAAAAAAu0/Zd6_8w17tKY/s1600-h/211449757_b37e420ca7.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SJEmNlzFXzI/AAAAAAAAAu0/Zd6_8w17tKY/s400/211449757_b37e420ca7.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229002657280384818" border="0" /></a>The longstanding classic Rudy's Bar & Grill has a sculpture out front that appears to be a happy pig dressed as some kind of maitre d'. I suppose this is a tad less disturbing because he seems gainfully employed and therefore safe from slaughter for the time being. But he must know there's a hot dog in his future (or his future in a hot dog).<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SJErZ_nOiuI/AAAAAAAAAvM/H3GkNgUNE0s/s1600-h/SpankysLgo.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SJErZ_nOiuI/AAAAAAAAAvM/H3GkNgUNE0s/s400/SpankysLgo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229008367926545122" border="0" /></a>Spanky's Barbecue, just a few yards from my apartment, has a logo in which a self-satisfied hog goes the extra mile and brings you a beautiful bone-in smoked ham on a platter with one hoof, and a sausage on a grill fork with the other. It makes me wonder: is there something he knows that I don't know? Is he bringing me a Trojan ham full of esophagus-blocking gristle? Will he be wearing the same grin as he watches me choke on it? <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SJEsLmVIL9I/AAAAAAAAAvU/803QEREnzLg/s1600-h/Pig+Head+Eating+Tail.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SJEsLmVIL9I/AAAAAAAAAvU/803QEREnzLg/s400/Pig+Head+Eating+Tail.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229009220133203922" border="0" /></a>When marketing death, a sense of humor is always useful. Here's a shot of a butcher shop not in the Times Square area in which a pig chomps its own tail. It shows that a little whimsy goes a long way when the ax comes down.Jeffrey Stockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06812010115631087689noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-368282685076507173.post-60827507197902204522008-07-29T11:45:00.019-04:002008-12-09T10:16:53.128-05:00X2OSome great New York restaurants slip under the radar because they are just outside the city limits. They don't appear in the Zagat guide or in Time Out New York's listings. Most Manhattanites won't even schlep to Brooklyn to try something new, so mention the word "Yonkers" and watch their faces melt.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SI8-k7ven5I/AAAAAAAAAtE/CW8dbkuctI8/s1600-h/Early+View.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SI8-k7ven5I/AAAAAAAAAtE/CW8dbkuctI8/s400/Early+View.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5228466496633479058" border="0" /></a>I recently adventured to <a href="http://www.xaviars.com/yonkers/index.html">X2O</a> (Xaviar's on the Hudson), which is, in fact, in Yonkers and very much worth the trip. Chef Peter X. Kelly has created a beautiful oasis of calm situated <span style="font-style: italic;">directly over the Hudson River</span> and featuring delightfully creative cuisine. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SI8-w6pcYjI/AAAAAAAAAtM/DlPbfM6I1p0/s1600-h/Kobe+Dogs.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SI8-w6pcYjI/AAAAAAAAAtM/DlPbfM6I1p0/s400/Kobe+Dogs.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5228466702498161202" border="0" /></a>On the way in, past the attractive bar, I noticed someone had ordered some unusual bar food: a Kobe beef hot dog. I don't know which requires more chutzpah: putting that on a menu or ordering it. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SI9BJQrxsRI/AAAAAAAAAtU/-_uESSOlJVU/s1600-h/Amuse.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SI9BJQrxsRI/AAAAAAAAAtU/-_uESSOlJVU/s400/Amuse.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5228469319753642258" border="0" /></a>Once we sat down, we were fawned over by the staff and brought an <span style="font-style: italic;">amuse bouche</span> that truly amused. First I tasted a sweet and creamy little cup of cold soup made with peaches and yogurt. And a slender slice of maguro tuna aligned over a slice of watermelon was a revelation. Just pairing the two almost-identical colors was a visual coup, but the combination of taste and texture was the very definition of amusing.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SI9CFAIfPJI/AAAAAAAAAtc/CUGqDsHXEg0/s1600-h/Sushi.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SI9CFAIfPJI/AAAAAAAAAtc/CUGqDsHXEg0/s400/Sushi.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5228470346102815890" border="0" /></a>Next we were served one of the most festive plates of sushi/sashimi I have ever seen. The fish was not only fresh and tender but molded into heart-shaped maki rolls stuffed with mango and other surprises. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SI9CyKgKZqI/AAAAAAAAAtk/uGfEerf8yYA/s1600-h/Quail.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SI9CyKgKZqI/AAAAAAAAAtk/uGfEerf8yYA/s400/Quail.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5228471121980581538" border="0" /></a>For appetizers, we chose the little quail legs served with a square of fried polenta topped micro-greens. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SI9YLB438nI/AAAAAAAAAuk/aR4RZ0uCSU8/s1600-h/Salad.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SI9YLB438nI/AAAAAAAAAuk/aR4RZ0uCSU8/s400/Salad.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5228494638909223538" border="0" /></a>Next came the shaved fennel and arugula salad with Shropshire cheese. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SI9D5rL9IEI/AAAAAAAAAts/N5GnmxC-peQ/s1600-h/Ravioli.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SI9D5rL9IEI/AAAAAAAAAts/N5GnmxC-peQ/s400/Ravioli.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5228472350524907586" border="0" /></a>But nothing could compare with the ravioli stuffed with short ribs and foie gras in truffle butter with grated amoretti and broccoli rabe. Short ribs, foie gras and truffles are pretty much my three favorite foods but if I order them all in the same meal, I usually have to lie on the floor and groan for an hour. So having all these tastes in the same appetizer is something of a miracle. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SI9JOd2RTxI/AAAAAAAAAt0/GRpTOHFXQ9k/s1600-h/Duck.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SI9JOd2RTxI/AAAAAAAAAt0/GRpTOHFXQ9k/s400/Duck.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5228478205279686418" border="0" /></a>The main courses were no less satisfying. The crispy duck schnitzel was perfectly cooked to juicy pinkness. A nice touch was the side of simple and starchy spatzle that complemented the rich and sweet flavors elsewhere on the plate. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SI9MztLWjEI/AAAAAAAAAt8/-abUWbGYbX4/s1600-h/Pork.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SI9MztLWjEI/AAAAAAAAAt8/-abUWbGYbX4/s400/Pork.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5228482143584685122" border="0" /></a>The most dramatic dish of the evening was the mignon of Berkshire black hog and grilled bacon. I doff my cap not only to the chef, but to the brave pig who gave so generously. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SI9Npv_3IdI/AAAAAAAAAuE/sXeOuoACFpg/s1600-h/Squab.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SI9Npv_3IdI/AAAAAAAAAuE/sXeOuoACFpg/s400/Squab.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5228483072054731218" border="0" /></a>My favorite entrée, if I must choose, was the grilled breast of squab with sweet eggplant and tamarind glaze. The crisp panisses criss-crossing the wilted spinach was a nice touch, but the key to my heart was the bed of white corn and cheddar grits. I'm a sucker for well-turned fancy cookin' mixed with a touch of comfort food. The dots of sweet and tangy sauce really finished the dish nicely. I'm usually a no-dot-and-no-foam kind of guy, but in this case I made an exception. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SI9OSSbdNuI/AAAAAAAAAuM/tGjCIwD5ur4/s1600-h/View.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SI9OSSbdNuI/AAAAAAAAAuM/tGjCIwD5ur4/s400/View.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5228483768492046050" border="0" /></a>It was around this time in the meal that I realized I was staring out the window at the flowing Hudson and, in the distance, the George Washington Bridge. Nice! <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SI9VZMWuKTI/AAAAAAAAAuU/lkzh1GvA2_o/s1600-h/Merengue.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SI9VZMWuKTI/AAAAAAAAAuU/lkzh1GvA2_o/s400/Merengue.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5228491583702051122" border="0" /></a>For dessert, we ordered the lemon Napoleon with curd and mousse. It arrived looking something like a poodle with a bad haircut. The menu description boasted of soft meringue and crisp phyllo, and it had all these things, but it didn't do much to add to the over all experience. Or maybe it was because by the time dessert arrived I was simply too full to appreciate anything. I've been known to make that mistake on occasion. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SI9XGsZaE-I/AAAAAAAAAuc/8PVycY7916s/s1600-h/After.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SI9XGsZaE-I/AAAAAAAAAuc/8PVycY7916s/s400/After.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5228493464908993506" border="0" /></a>As we left, we had the best <span style="font-style: italic;">digestif</span> of all: a view of the restaurant glowing in the dark as the river burbled below.<strong></strong>Jeffrey Stockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06812010115631087689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-368282685076507173.post-28271528710708030382008-07-21T14:12:00.010-04:002008-12-09T10:16:54.336-05:00Spice Cones<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SITTVq7naUI/AAAAAAAAAsU/KVNqbxaoejQ/s1600-h/Spices+2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SITTVq7naUI/AAAAAAAAAsU/KVNqbxaoejQ/s400/Spices+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225533836911667522" border="0" /></a>In my recent post, "<a href="http://fooditudeblog.blogspot.com/2008/06/butchering-old-school.html">Butchering, Old School</a>," I included a photo taken in a Moroccan spice shop. The spices in this photo are piled up into tall, perfectly cone-shaped mounds. Fooditude fan Riley posted a comment asking, <blockquote>"Are those colorful cones really spices piled up, feet high? If so, how do they do anything with them without causing a spice avalanche?"</blockquote>Good question, Riley. It's one I was asking myself. In fact, I even asked one of my guides in the market how this effect is created, but his answer was vague and evasive. Here is a photo, taken in a different Moroccan shop, of a somewhat less picturesque but more sensible spice scenario. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SITUmg8vY7I/AAAAAAAAAsk/_yBmbHtO8Ko/s1600-h/Spices+6.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SITUmg8vY7I/AAAAAAAAAsk/_yBmbHtO8Ko/s400/Spices+6.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225535225801434034" border="0" /></a>As you can see, the spices are neat, but at feasible heights, with scoopers inserted and ready to scoop. Here is another example from another shop. Again, it's less flashy and eye-catching, but it's certainly more practical.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SITVCssiodI/AAAAAAAAAss/_2YXN0UFs6U/s1600-h/Spices+4.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SITVCssiodI/AAAAAAAAAss/_2YXN0UFs6U/s400/Spices+4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225535709991051730" border="0" /></a>I do remember one day spotting a vendor "repairing" one of his mile-high cones. From the looks of it, there was actually a cone-shaped plaster mold underneath, with the spices kind of caked on around it in a thin crust. When the vendor noticed me staring, he turned his back to block my view. Clearly, this is a big trade secret.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SITUR11EpDI/AAAAAAAAAsc/OYi19EZ9kvk/s1600-h/Spices+3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SITUR11EpDI/AAAAAAAAAsc/OYi19EZ9kvk/s400/Spices+3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225534870629164082" border="0" /></a>Funny thing: when I turned the corner, I noticed some strange looking people - obviously shop assistants - shooting me a cagey glance. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SITW-ydkCzI/AAAAAAAAAs0/cgcRFVeaaUc/s1600-h/Coneheads.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SITW-ydkCzI/AAAAAAAAAs0/cgcRFVeaaUc/s400/Coneheads.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225537841842621234" border="0" /></a>I never went back to that shop.Jeffrey Stockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06812010115631087689noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-368282685076507173.post-90526678886491359552008-07-18T17:01:00.010-04:002008-12-09T10:16:54.705-05:00Greek To Me, Revisited<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SIEGmmQRguI/AAAAAAAAArs/z33qU_AA270/s1600-h/honey1%2Bsmall.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SIEGmmQRguI/AAAAAAAAArs/z33qU_AA270/s320/honey1%2Bsmall.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224464302900085474" border="0" /></a><br />Dear Readers,<br /><br />Back in the halcyon days of November, 2007, I sent out a plea to you - dear readers. It was a post entitled "<a href="http://fooditudeblog.blogspot.com/2007/11/greek-to-me.html">Greek to Me</a>." I had in my hand then a jar of delicious honey from the Greek isles, with a label written in the language of said isles. I asked for someone to come forward and please enlighten us as to what this label actually said. And now some particularly dear reader has done just that. I present to you, in full, what monica_22015 has been kind enough to share:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SIEHhLmEnmI/AAAAAAAAAsE/4U78y2y1Gsk/s1600-h/honey2%2Bsmall.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SIEHhLmEnmI/AAAAAAAAAsE/4U78y2y1Gsk/s320/honey2%2Bsmall.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224465309356039778" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SIEGwjs5GwI/AAAAAAAAAr0/qshhLKgEbcw/s1600-h/honey2%2Bsmall.jpg"><br /></a><blockquote>Hi,<br /><br />I love your column! I enjoy experimenting with various epicurean, gastronomic delights- you are such an inspiration to me!<br />Back to 'MELI" -the greek honey jar from Taigetos (a mountain range in Southern Peloponnesus-its highest peek-Mt. Profitis Ilias-elevation 7,900. ft.)The area is commonly known as Mani with its capital city, Sparti in the prefecture of Laconia.<br /><br />Your jar's label describes its contents as the epitome of honeys comprised of various fauna and herbs from which the bees have gathered the pollen.<br />The description states that it is a delicate, rare and delightful blend of crystallized honey and bee pollen. Enjoy it! [(I wish I had a jar of it also! ;)]</blockquote>Jeffrey Stockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06812010115631087689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-368282685076507173.post-63893230259709247142008-07-14T13:08:00.008-04:002008-12-09T10:16:55.378-05:00Grasshopper Tacos<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SHuJ1JOBV-I/AAAAAAAAAq8/-x0AZUEgebg/s1600-h/Grasshopper+1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SHuJ1JOBV-I/AAAAAAAAAq8/-x0AZUEgebg/s400/Grasshopper+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222919738967021538" border="0" /></a>You heard me right. There's an excellent Mexican restaurant called <a href="http://toloachenyc.com/media/toloache.html">Toloache</a> on 50th Street, near 8th Avenue. It's not your average taco joint. I made a special trip to try their grasshopper tacos, which is apparently a delicacy in parts of Mexico. Who could resist? I was trying to keep it real, but things got a little too real.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SHuJ4ummKpI/AAAAAAAAArE/B_WA-nyyaLg/s1600-h/Grasshopper+2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SHuJ4ummKpI/AAAAAAAAArE/B_WA-nyyaLg/s400/Grasshopper+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222919800541817490" border="0" /></a>The grasshoppers arrived on my plate, as promised, sprinkled generously over corn taco shells and a dollop of lovely salsa verde. There's a head, a couple of legs, and oh - there's a THORAX! What was I thinking?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SHuKU6SyZrI/AAAAAAAAArM/XZXcRngxtVU/s1600-h/Grasshopper+3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SHuKU6SyZrI/AAAAAAAAArM/XZXcRngxtVU/s400/Grasshopper+3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222920284716295858" border="0" /></a>What did they taste like, you may be wondering? Slightly bitter, fairly chewy with a little crunch, a little oily. In a word, they tasted just like fried grasshoppers. Don't get me wrong. I'm glad I ate it. I'll try anything once. And in this case, once was enough.Jeffrey Stockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06812010115631087689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-368282685076507173.post-87610897720761028372008-06-28T19:45:00.027-04:002008-12-09T10:16:59.077-05:00Butchering, Old School<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SHY7d2fw5jI/AAAAAAAAAoc/nqKZ234K69k/s1600-h/Meat+2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SHY7d2fw5jI/AAAAAAAAAoc/nqKZ234K69k/s400/Meat+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221426202013656626" border="0" /></a>Meat. The word used to be synonymous with food itself. In America, as we all know, we have lost touch with what meat is and where it comes from. But not in Morocco. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SHZHJoCHQiI/AAAAAAAAAqU/O6EO5roB41M/s1600-h/Donkey+Passing.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SHZHJoCHQiI/AAAAAAAAAqU/O6EO5roB41M/s400/Donkey+Passing.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221439048673346082" border="0" /></a>The medieval medina, or walled cities, of Marrakech and Fes, are warrens of narrow pathways, crowded with passing donkeys, with sunlight leaking through the slatted roofing. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SHZGzDMNQII/AAAAAAAAAqM/5DSfOeB_rvc/s1600-h/Spices.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SHZGzDMNQII/AAAAAAAAAqM/5DSfOeB_rvc/s400/Spices.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221438660826448002" border="0" /></a>Spices and herbs are for sale everywhere. And oh, the colors! And oh, the smells! Coriander and orange blossoms and blood and urine and of course, meat grilling over charcoal. Now I know what the middle ages smelled like. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SHY8Xy5s2iI/AAAAAAAAAo8/xoRgaNW8DLI/s1600-h/Butcher+1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SHY8Xy5s2iI/AAAAAAAAAo8/xoRgaNW8DLI/s400/Butcher+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221427197481114146" border="0" /></a>Goat and mutton carcasses hang from their feet, testicles intact. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SHY8ejrDW9I/AAAAAAAAApE/dEDCmd_mPiY/s1600-h/Goatheads.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SHY8ejrDW9I/AAAAAAAAApE/dEDCmd_mPiY/s400/Goatheads.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221427313652227026" border="0" /></a>Heads and hooves fill the counter tops of the butcher stalls. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SHY9JK5SDfI/AAAAAAAAApU/K86X2gPV-Gw/s1600-h/Butcher+2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SHY9JK5SDfI/AAAAAAAAApU/K86X2gPV-Gw/s400/Butcher+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221428045735398898" border="0" /></a>Merguez and poultry sausage are sold in long links. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SHZHoLXVyHI/AAAAAAAAAqc/vbUAeIARX-Q/s1600-h/Cats+watching.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SHZHoLXVyHI/AAAAAAAAAqc/vbUAeIARX-Q/s400/Cats+watching.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221439573553694834" border="0" /></a>Stray cats look on, not daring to blink for fear of missing out on a morsel of raw flesh that might accidentally drop to the floor.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SHY9sxyA2fI/AAAAAAAAApc/sF8e1BEyjQk/s1600-h/Blow+Fish.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SHY9sxyA2fI/AAAAAAAAApc/sF8e1BEyjQk/s400/Blow+Fish.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221428657469315570" border="0" /></a>Blowfish are available both puffed up and unpuffed. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SHY91hHd3sI/AAAAAAAAApk/oCtzxVS4Lj4/s1600-h/Turkeys.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SHY91hHd3sI/AAAAAAAAApk/oCtzxVS4Lj4/s400/Turkeys.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221428807614717634" border="0" /></a>Turkeys peck around the alleys, waiting for slaughter. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SHZIiC4tNPI/AAAAAAAAAqk/04b_AC_ydUo/s1600-h/Meat+Variety.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SHZIiC4tNPI/AAAAAAAAAqk/04b_AC_ydUo/s400/Meat+Variety.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221440567710135538" border="0" /></a>Various meat mixtures, sausages and organ meats are available ready-made for sandwiches. But when I ordered a sandwich one afternoon in the Fes medina, I put it together from scratch, step by step. The old-fashioned way. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SHZDUMAgQHI/AAAAAAAAAp8/GLnqCqzKCYs/s1600-h/Sandwich+Meat.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SHZDUMAgQHI/AAAAAAAAAp8/GLnqCqzKCYs/s400/Sandwich+Meat.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221434832082452594" border="0" /></a>First I went to a butcher, where slabs of beef were displayed with bouquets of fresh parsley and quartered onions. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SHZD3ASKL_I/AAAAAAAAAqE/DquwWYFFlD4/s1600-h/Grinder.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SHZD3ASKL_I/AAAAAAAAAqE/DquwWYFFlD4/s400/Grinder.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221435430230700018" border="0" /></a>The butcher mixed these with generous heaps of cumin and passed it all through a grinder. Then I took it to the grill man who cooked the meat on a skewer. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SHZCfo0XAoI/AAAAAAAAAps/OXlyLZVePKo/s1600-h/Bread.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SHZCfo0XAoI/AAAAAAAAAps/OXlyLZVePKo/s400/Bread.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221433929283076738" border="0" /></a>Then I went to the bread man who sliced a loaf for me so I could make a sandwich.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SHznMSh7RkI/AAAAAAAAArk/e2gpDmy-t_4/s1600-h/Sandwich.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SHznMSh7RkI/AAAAAAAAArk/e2gpDmy-t_4/s400/Sandwich.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223303866161514050" border="0" /></a>And here is the result. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SHZI4YN1rWI/AAAAAAAAAqs/QErf3aDMreI/s1600-h/Olives+2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SHZI4YN1rWI/AAAAAAAAAqs/QErf3aDMreI/s400/Olives+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221440951393037666" border="0" /></a>Then I bought a small bag of olives, which proved to be a delightfully simple accompaniment to my sandwich, and the perfect substitute for a shaker of salt. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SHZC01ya6dI/AAAAAAAAAp0/Xn_Lx7KVCxE/s1600-h/Sandwich+Shop+Man.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SHZC01ya6dI/AAAAAAAAAp0/Xn_Lx7KVCxE/s400/Sandwich+Shop+Man.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221434293541857746" border="0" /></a>Finally I went upstairs to a little cafe, ordered a pot of sweet mint tea, and ate the sandwich, sitting across from this remarkable looking man. This wasn't just a sandwich, but a way of life...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SHZJi4YJafI/AAAAAAAAAq0/y6G68MjIM8Y/s1600-h/Hooves.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SHZJi4YJafI/AAAAAAAAAq0/y6G68MjIM8Y/s400/Hooves.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221441681580714482" border="0" /></a>The sandwich was delicious. But the odd fact is that within 24 hours of eating it, I found myself in a hospital outside the Ville Nouvelle, stricken with an intestinal infection. Here's a photo I took in the waiting room. I like the notion of a "reanimation" ward. Very Frankenstein.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SITOZoNI3BI/AAAAAAAAAsM/cCAT9HNjjNg/s1600-h/Hospital.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SITOZoNI3BI/AAAAAAAAAsM/cCAT9HNjjNg/s400/Hospital.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225528407341194258" border="0" /></a> I hasten to add that I'm not sure the sandwich was what caused my illness. The evidence is not incontrovertible. But I'm awfully suspicious.Jeffrey Stockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06812010115631087689noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-368282685076507173.post-18357827778015468862008-06-27T12:42:00.014-04:002008-12-09T10:17:00.089-05:00Back in the Saddle<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SGaAgfk4kuI/AAAAAAAAAnw/BsrCSrsgffE/s1600-h/Dried+Fruit+2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SGaAgfk4kuI/AAAAAAAAAnw/BsrCSrsgffE/s400/Dried+Fruit+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216998514075669218" border="0" /></a>Dear Fooditude Faithful,<br /><div>You have been patiently waiting for new postings and I am finally able to deliver once again. Please forgive the long absence. I have been traveling in search of new and greater fooditudinous adventures, and I am back at the helm with much to tell. In fact, I have just returned from Morocco, where, it turns out, they know something about good eating.<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SGZ__HeljUI/AAAAAAAAAno/HOFmaTtN_7Q/s1600-h/Dried+Apricots.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SGZ__HeljUI/AAAAAAAAAno/HOFmaTtN_7Q/s320/Dried+Apricots.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216997940671122754" border="0" /></a>I have eaten quality dried fruit before, or so I thought. But in Marrakech, the central square was full of rolling carts groaning under the weight of sun-dried apricots, golden raisins, and dates of every description. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SGaCjjMASQI/AAAAAAAAAn4/ZWgsUSTUE4w/s1600-h/Dried+Dates.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SGaCjjMASQI/AAAAAAAAAn4/ZWgsUSTUE4w/s320/Dried+Dates.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217000765607921922" border="0" /></a>As if these beautiful fruits don't look enough like jewels, the dried figs are strung into long strands like pearls on a necklace.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SGZ9hEEXajI/AAAAAAAAAng/8wdFYhSqQz4/s1600-h/Dried+Figs.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SGZ9hEEXajI/AAAAAAAAAng/8wdFYhSqQz4/s320/Dried+Figs.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216995225336506930" border="0" /></a></div>If it hadn't been for the prevalence of flies, I would have been tempted to walk around town wearing them around my neck.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SGZ8awDJeyI/AAAAAAAAAnQ/NZuHGNbTQTg/s1600-h/Dried+Fruit.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/SGZ8awDJeyI/AAAAAAAAAnQ/NZuHGNbTQTg/s400/Dried+Fruit.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216994017371847458" border="0" /></a>Jeffrey Stockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06812010115631087689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-368282685076507173.post-89696837783767397122008-03-07T22:09:00.006-05:002008-12-09T10:17:00.611-05:00Taralli<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/R9IJNU4aHTI/AAAAAAAAAmI/-GLU4yXa-CI/s1600-h/taralli.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/R9IJNU4aHTI/AAAAAAAAAmI/-GLU4yXa-CI/s400/taralli.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5175209046350372146" border="0" /></a>Eat dinner with an Italian-American and you just might learn something. I was recently served a wonderful dinner at a friend's house that included an item I had never heard of: taralli. Some call them Italian pretzels. I call them yummy.<br /><br />They are a great alternative to ordinary bread on the table, and are delightfully crunchy. They served as a perfect accompaniment to the antipasti.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/R9IMsk4aHVI/AAAAAAAAAmY/NrUHKUsfIZM/s1600-h/antipasti.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/R9IMsk4aHVI/AAAAAAAAAmY/NrUHKUsfIZM/s320/antipasti.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5175212881756167506" border="0" /></a>They also contrasted nicely with the tender pasta, in this case a steaming bowl of strozzapreti ("priest-stranglers") with sausage. Mangia!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/R9IM6U4aHWI/AAAAAAAAAmg/TD9EOgXlDp0/s1600-h/pasta.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/R9IM6U4aHWI/AAAAAAAAAmg/TD9EOgXlDp0/s320/pasta.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5175213117979368802" border="0" /></a>Jeffrey Stockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06812010115631087689noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-368282685076507173.post-15136923946983418942008-02-21T02:08:00.006-05:002008-12-09T10:17:00.822-05:00Bumbu<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/R70mCOkonXI/AAAAAAAAAlw/v_w4U1BG2D8/s1600-h/bumbu.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/R70mCOkonXI/AAAAAAAAAlw/v_w4U1BG2D8/s320/bumbu.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5169329767004544370" border="0" /></a>As the weather in New York City grows colder, my mind wanders back to Bali. This past summer, I lived in a house with my friend Glenn, who has a wonderful cook everyone calls Madé Geg (Madé means second-born and Geg, short for <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">jegeg</span>, meaning "pretty," signifies an unmarried woman). The soul of Madé's cooking is her spice paste, called <span style="font-style: italic;">bumbu</span>. And like most Balinese cooks, the most imporant part of her pantry is a basket containing the ingredients to make <span style="font-style: italic;">bumbu</span>, including an array of spices and aromatic rhizomes.<br /><br />Most spice pastes start with red shallots, garlic, chili, candlenuts, fresh turmeric, ginger, fermented shrimp paste, and a redolent white root called <span style="font-style: italic;">kencur</span> in Indonesian or <span style="font-style: italic;">cekuh</span> in Balinese (“c” is always pronounced “ch”). <span style="font-style: italic;">Cekuh</span> seems to be similar to lesser galangal, although I’ve also heard it referred to poetically as the "root of the resurrection lily." Occasionally, a <span style="font-style: italic;">bumbu</span> will also include lemongrass, coriander, cumin, <span style="font-style: italic;">salam</span> leaves, cloves and black pepper, as well as several things for which I have found no English equivalent. To crush the spices, Madé uses a large mortar and pestle, roughly hewn from black volcanic rock.<br /><br />Here is a dish Madé made for me, called <span style="font-style: italic;">sayur urab</span>, which is a stir fry featuring spinach and long beans mixed with shredded coconut and lots of <span style="font-style: italic;">bumbu</span>. <span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br />Jaen pesan, Geg! </span>("Very tasty, Miss!")<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/R70n1ukonZI/AAAAAAAAAmA/M6TKqYAMjE8/s1600-h/sayur+urab.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/R70n1ukonZI/AAAAAAAAAmA/M6TKqYAMjE8/s400/sayur+urab.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5169331751279435154" border="0" /></a>Jeffrey Stockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06812010115631087689noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-368282685076507173.post-42903118377474897292008-02-03T00:17:00.001-05:002008-12-09T10:17:01.170-05:00Il Laboratorio del Gelato<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/R6VS3kC9O6I/AAAAAAAAAk8/fNK6CKHmDnQ/s1600-h/banner.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/R6VS3kC9O6I/AAAAAAAAAk8/fNK6CKHmDnQ/s400/banner.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5162623662372502434" border="0" /></a>Did you ever notice that grabbing dessert at a local gelateria on the streets of Rome somehow tastes better than even the best gelato back home? Is it just the exotic locale? Something in the water? The different processing of dairy products? It's just not the same over here. The good news: it's still pretty darn good.<br /><br />After having my mind blown by dessert at Market Table, as I mentioned in a <a href="http://fooditudeblog.blogspot.com/2007/12/market-table.html">previous blog</a>, I inquired as to the provenance of the dense and intense gelato on my plate. Turns out the restaurant purchased it from <a href="http://laboratoriodelgelato.com/">Il Laboratorio del Gelato</a> on Orchard Street. So today, 95 Orchard Street (between Broome and Delancey) was on my itinerary. I was not disappointed.<br /><br />The Laboratorio in question is a tiny sliver of a space, serving up huge flavors. As the friendly scooper on duty informed me, the vast majority of the company's business is devoted to supplying product for restaurants and high-end grocery stores. Still, the walk-in experience was quite pleasant.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/R6VTvkC9O8I/AAAAAAAAAlM/i2CxxqiNH-I/s1600-h/gelato+2.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/R6VTvkC9O8I/AAAAAAAAAlM/i2CxxqiNH-I/s400/gelato+2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5162624624445176770" border="0" /></a>The usual vanilla and chocolate flavors were on hand, as were cinnamon and the classic hazelnut gelato. A bit more unusual were the espresso (combined by hand with oreo crumbs) mascarpone (luxuriously creamy) and buttermilk (refreshingly tangy). For something truly unique, I tried the rose petal, as well as the utterly arresting lavender and honey flavor.<br /><br />My favorite taste of the day was without doubt the pistachio. It was so rich and intensely nutty that I must acknowledge it to be the best pistachio gelato I have ever tasted. And that alone was worth the trip.<br /><br />Everybody knows that when in Rome, it's best to do as the Romans do. But even when I'm back home, I still try to stick with the Romans.Jeffrey Stockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06812010115631087689noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-368282685076507173.post-32509270615148249322008-01-26T10:57:00.000-05:002008-12-09T10:17:01.507-05:00Are those chopsticks in your pocket, or...?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/R5tduEC9O3I/AAAAAAAAAkk/8wuM0pv2HAU/s1600-h/pippetchop.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GvTYxs5iUw8/R5tduEC9O3I/AAAAAAAAAkk/8wuM0pv2HAU/s320/pippetchop.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159820844024544114" border="0" /></a>Do you ever drop your sushi in the soy sauce dish and make a mess of it all? Well, here's some good news.<br /><br />In the what-will-they-think-of-next category, this little <a href="http://ohgizmo.com/2005/12/27/sauce-dispensing-chopsticks">gizmo</a> functions as chopsticks but also dispenses soy sauce, one drop at a time. These plastic pipettes sell for about $20 a pair and are guaranteed to shift the topic of dinner conversation away from the mercury content of tuna. In fact, each pipette can dispense a different liquid, so one can be designated for soba sauce or hoisin sauce, or even wasabi paste.<br /><br />Just be careful if using them in a bowl of hot noodles. Above 90 degrees, they start to melt.Jeffrey Stockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06812010115631087689noreply@blogger.com0