good shmeats

Here's to what's next

2007-01-07T19:59:00.000-05:00

As of July 1, I will be going part time (eep! yay! eep!) at Hazon to pursue a part time career in writing. Until then, Goodshmeats is going on hiatus once again.

However, you can still catch my food musings (and the musings of other fine food-fanatics) on Hazon's amazing new blog, The Jew and the Carrot - Jcarrot.org.

The Perfect Bowl

2006-11-11T18:39:00.001-05:00

I have a favorite bowl. It's deep, and blue, and solid. I usually grab whatever bowl or plate is closest - sitting at the front of the cupboard or resting at a precarious angle in the drying rack. But this bowl, I feel, deserves better. A random scoop of ice cream eaten while watching TV is simply not good enough for its hefty ceramic curves.

But a few nights ago, I made a meal worthy of my lovely bowl - also solid and crafted with care.

First layer: Winter vegetables rubbed with olive oil, sea salt and thyme and roasted: butternut and delicata squash, parsnips, carrots, beets, and potatoes. (This delightful melange could also be known as leftovers from dinner two nights ago.)

Second layer: A sprightly handful Tokyo Bekana, sauteed until just wilted with soy sauce, minced garlic and olive oil. I added about a quarter cup of crumbled Gimme Lean brand "ground beef" just before the greens were cooked.

The kicker: One egg, fresh from my CSA, fried over-easy until the whites puckered slightly, encasing the deep pumpkin-orange yolk like ravioli.

The winter vegetables provided a sturdy base. The greens and Gimme Lean added both additional substance and flair. The egg (oh the egg!), definitely the star of the show, perched buoyantly on top. I dusted the crest with more sea salt and fresh black pepper.

Just before eating, I speared the pocket of yolk with my fork, allowing the molton treasure to soak into the greens and find its way into the negative spaces between the vegetables.

The yolk mixed with the beets, streaking my beautiful blue bowl with an equally beautiful red memory.

Being busy, Buddha, and what's for dinner?

2006-10-10T21:02:00.000-04:00

It's been a good, long while since I posted anything on this blog...and even longer since a post was purposefully and independently written for Goodshmeats. I suppose I'm fortunate (though also burdened) by the fact that life in New York City and working for two small, passionate non-profits like Hazon , Zeek, keep a girl completely occupied.

But I just finished a phenomenal book called If the Buddha Came to Dinner: How to Nourish Your Body and Awaken Your Spirit, by Hale Sofia Schatz, and felt compelled to put aside my other projects to write. My boss gave a copy to Hazon's entire staff the day before leaving for a two-week "nourishment cleanse" in Turkey (led by Hale). I'm generally skeptical of anything that falls in the pop-psych, self-help genre, and expected to skim the first few pages and throw it on my ever-growing pile of half-read books. Instead, I finished the book in 2 days and experimented with one of the many recipes she includes in the back.

Hale's overarching thesis is that the physical body and the spiritual body are intertwined, and that damage or imbalance to one brings about damage and imbalance to the other. This is hardly a new idea. The Christian physiologists of the early 20th century (Sylvester Graham, Kellogg etc.), as well as many Eastern philosophies say a similar thing. But Hale's writing touched on something that resonates deeply for me, and that I had forgotten about in my overly hectic life. She writes about the importance of cooking as part of one's daily rhythm. She calls it the importance of spending time at the "hearth."

It is too easy to fall into the trap of rushing meals, grabbing quick and pre-packaged foods, and eating at one's desk or in the car rather than preparing a meal and sharing it with friends or family. As a result, many people end up (I know I do) - more often than they would like - eating unhealthy food that is damaging to their bodies in the long-term, that is often overly packaged, overly-processed, and ultimately, unsatisfying to anything other than the most rudimentary pangs of hunger.

I realized while reading If the Buddha Came to Dinner, that I hadn't done a substantive "food shop" in over a month. This is partly due to having a CSA share that provides a weekly influx of vegetables and fruit. But, more than that, it is because I somehow have found a way to fill my stomach during the workday by purchasing food in east Midtown (the most culinarily-uninspiring part of Manhattan), and at the myriad of restaurants I go to in the evenings. Occasionally I would run to a corner stores to buy staples like milk or a loaf of bread, but I hadn't really shopped, or cooked food for myself.

My lack of cooking was taking a toll on my available spending money, and also on my overall self-satisfaction. My body felt sluggish. I ached to chop vegetables (really!), and have the smells of garlic and browning onions filling my house.

After reading Hale's book, I felt reinspired to return hearth time into my daily routine. Cooking can be a pain to squeeze in between work, social engagement, and all of life's other commitments. And there is no way that I can completely give up the realities nasty Midtown lunch (though I shudder to think about them). But Hale reminded me that my overall happiness and productivity is actually linked to the time I spend making a pot of soup, cooking up some greens, baking challah on Shabbat, or even doctoring up a box of Annie's Macaroni and cheese with sauteed tomatoes. For those of you who remember the book testimonials on the 1980s kids' program Reading Rainbow (and equally for those who don't) "I highly recommend you go out and buy If the Buddha Came to Dinner.

From Latkes to Lattes

2006-09-14T10:57:00.000-04:00

What I'm working on these days...

From Latkes to Lattes: Hazon's Conference on Jews, Food, and Contemporary Life
December 14-17, 2006
Isabella Freedman Jewish Retreat Center, Falls Village, CT

Jewish food traditions are rich and ancient. And today, growing numbers of people are also beginning to think about contemporary food issues. Hazon is at the forefront of this emerging national movement at the intersection of Jewish life and contemporary food issues. From Latkes to Lattes: Hazon’s Conference on Jews, Food, and Contemporary Life will examine questions such as:

*How do we add a distinctly Jewish flavor to today’s healthier food?
*How do we eat sustainably while maintaining Jewish food traditions?
*What would it take to bring shleimut (wholeness) into eating, both at home and at Jewish institutions?
*How can we gain a more direct connection to where our food comes from?

This is going to be an awesome conference...or at least that's the plan. For more info or to register click here

Local is the New Organic - What on Earth am I Supposed to Eat?

2006-08-21T11:34:00.000-04:00

This article is an excerpt from a longer article written for Hazon's New York Jewish Environmental Bike Ride’s Participant Pack.

Imagine you are standing in the aisle of a supermarket in New York City. Two adjacent bins of peaches are displayed in front of you. The sign over one bin reads “organically grown, Mexico.” Over the other, the sign reads, “low spray, upstate New York.” Which of the peaches, if either, do you put in your cart?

Over the last several decades, “organic food” has morphed from a virtually unknown idea, to a buzz phrase favored by granola-eating idealists and, more recently, into a billion dollar business. Once confined to natural food co-ops, organic foods – those grown or raised without synthetic pesticides, growth hormones or antibiotics - are now common fare at supermarkets and restaurants. The USDA certified organic logo graces the labels of mainstream products like macaroni and cheese, mayonnaise, and even decorative cake sprinkles.

As organic foods have grown more popular with consumers (they now represent the fastest-growing sector of specialty foods in America), large corporations have begun to offer organic versions of their conventional products (organic Heinz ketchup recently hit the shelves), and have started buying smaller organic companies (Stonyfield is owned by Dannon, Seeds of Change is owned by M&M/Mars). These large companies have joined the organic movement - some because they are genuinely interested in using their corporate leverage to make difference in the world, but many others simply recognize that the joining organic food sector could increase their own profit margins.

Whether or not the attention from big business will ultimately equal a victory for the organic movement is still unclear. The emergence of “big organic” does mean that organic foods are now being purchased and eaten by more families in America than ever before. But whereas organic certification standards (like the USDA organic label) were originally created to assure customers of more sustainable growing standards, their connection to big industry renders them a potential source of consumer confusion. A USDA organic label on a peach is one thing, but organically certified Oreos or Tostitos? The organic movement was pioneered by small food producers that wanted to move away from conventionally produced foods. Should food items filled with saturated fat and processed sugar grown 1,000 miles from the factory be considered organic simply because the wheat in them was grown without synthetic pesticides? A number of smaller organic certifications (e.g. NOFA, Oregon Tilth, Pennsylvania Certified Organic), which are arguably more thorough in their certification standards than the USDA, might be reluctant to certify Oreos. But according to the USDA, which is currently the most widely-recognized organic label, organic Oreos are just fine (and will hit the shelves in the near future).

A peach that tastes like a peach

More recently, the concept of eating locally – which roughly translates to eating foods grown and harvested within about a half-day’s drive from one’s table – has begun to percolate into the American food conscious. (Though, people who remember eating before World War II, which marked a major turning point in American consumerism, would rightly point out that locally grown food is not a new phenomenon.)

According to Michael Pollan, author of the current best seller, Omnivore’s Dilemma, (highly recommended by the Hazon staff!) local foods appeal to the consumer’s desire for authenticity – the idealized notion that food is more pure if it was grown by a real, hardworking farmer or caught fresh from the wild. In theory, eating local foods also connects a consumer more directly with the place the food was grown (“Poughkeepsie! We vacation right near there!), and with the people – typically small family farmers - who grow it.

Local food also attracts consumers with the promise of freshness and quality. In today’s supermarket, uniform but flavorless produce is the norm. A peach can be grown by unjustly paid migrant workers, picked before it is ripe, and shipped thousands of miles before it gets to the store, and still be labeled organic. Of course, not all conventional produce is tasteless, and not all local produce is outstanding. But in comparison to the big box options, eating a peach picked at peak freshness that very morning can be incredibly tempting. Some consumers are even willing to overlook the spraying of a few pesticides on their fruit if it was grown locally. Farmers markets and, more recently, CSA (community-supported agriculture) projects have sprouted in communities to fill the growing consumer demand for local produce grown on small family farms. Hazon’s own CSA project, Tuv Ha’Aretz follows in this tradition by enabling Jewish families to put their purchasing power behind organic family farms, and connect their purchases with Jewish values and Jewish community. (For more info go to www.hazon.org/CSA)

Local is the new Organic?

In addition to farmers markets and CSAs, local foods are starting to make their way into larger food chains. HMO Kaiser Permamente, recently started sourcing part of the produce served in their hospitals from local farms. Universities across the country have also begun to serve local foods in their cafeterias (Yale, Brown, and Middlebury have received significant press for their efforts, but many other schools are part of this trend.) Some food companies like Ronnybrook Farm and Red Jacket Orchard in the Hudson Valley now sell their products at local and regional supermarkets, as well as farmers markets.

For years, Whole Foods has been considered a pioneer of the organics movement. More recently, it has emerged as one of its most robust business partners. In Omnivore’s Dilemma, Pollan criticizes Whole Foods for not carrying more local products and produce. After a lengthy email exchange between Pollan and Whole Foods CEO, John Mackey, Whole Foods released a statement which outlined the ways in which they plan to support local farms in the future. In addition to committing to purchase from more small farms, the statement said that “stand alone” Whole Foods stores (i.e. Whole Foods that are not connected to shopping centers) would allow a portion of their parking lot space to be used for weekly farmer’s markets.

Big Local

The upward arc in popularity of local foods seems to inversely mirror the growing skepticism towards organic food. One might even assert that, in the eye of many consumers, local is the new organic. On a recent trip to a Whole Foods in New York City, I noticed that each check out kiosk had a newly-installed screen which rotated photos of local farmers from whom Whole Foods purchased produce. The pictures were startlingly similar – white, middle aged, bearded men, some standing with their families, and all placed directly in front of their field with the farm location flashing underneath the picture. They were also mesmerizing – the woman ringing up my groceries had to snap me back to attention in order to get me to pay.

Leaving the store, I felt like I had done something noble by purchasing New York State yellow plums instead of blueberries from Vancouver. I felt this way partly because I have come to value the concept of local eating, and partly, I realized later, because Whole Foods spends a lot of money to make customers feel good about their purchases. But despite the register kiosks, I didn’t actually know my plum farmer. For some people, that hardly makes a difference, but I personally get a thrill out of cooking Farmer Ted’s kale or making an omelet with eggs from one of the Garden of Eve’s chickens. But more importantly, unlike Tuv Ha’Aretz or any other CSA or farmers market, I had no guarantee that my purchase was making a difference in the life of one of the farmers I saw on the kiosk. I also had no real guarantee that he was using sustainable growing methods– because unlike a CSA or farmers market, I couldn’t ask him.

I don’t write this to start any further Whole Foods controversy (I quite like Whole Foods). I only intend to raise the question of what would it mean if local foods went the way of organic foods? Is it possible that, if they continue to rise in popularity and demand, that local foods could be affected by same big-business pitfalls as the organic movement? It is certainly possible that the USDA could create a Local Foods certification. A national certification could turn the very intimate practice of local eating – which is currently typified by small-scale, farmer-to-consumer transactions at farmers markets and CSAs – into a government-regulated affair. It is also possible (though far less likely) that big food companies like Dannon or McDonalds could start purchasing their milk, eggs, potatoes, or fruit on a local scale, which would potentially lead to a redefinition of what was considered “local,” “seasonal” or “small-scale.”

So what about that organic peach from Mexico and the low spray peach grown in upstate New York? The answer is not multiple choice (hey, maybe you don’t even like peaches). The real question is: what do you want to be buying? What do you want to be eating and serving your family? Understanding the issues involved is the first step to making one’s own consumer decisions. Hazon’s hope for this Shabbaton is that, in addition to having a wonderful time, you have the opportunity to learn about and be inspired by your food – through conversations with the Adamah fellows, by visiting Adamah’s sadeh (field), through learning about Tuv Ha’Aretz and community-supported agriculture, or through sampling the amazing, locally grown organic produce you’ll eat in Freedman’s dining hall. We have our own conclusions about what should be considered “fit eating” (and our own challenges living up to them), and we would love to hear yours.

Kush Cafe - Clinton Hill

2006-07-12T08:36:00.000-04:00

Kush Cafe
17 Putnam Avenue (at Fulton)

The recently opened Kush Café offers diners a touch of the exotic with the familiar charm of a neighborhood café. Named after the African civilization that flourished between the years of 1700-1500 BC, Kush’s cuisine features a Pan-African menu with French accents. But despite the ancient namesake, the welcoming staff at Kush is focused on the local community of Clinton Hill and the culinary satisfaction of their customers.

Kush displays locally produced artwork on its exposed-brick walls, interspersed with swaths of bright cloth. (I was fortunate enough to dine with the currently featured artist, Fort Greene’s Rebecca Potts, on my most recent brunch trip to Kush.) Shielded from noise and visual distraction by a 5-foot brick wall, Kush’s backyard provides a lush bit of respite in the middle of concrete Brooklyn. The copious green plants along the wall’s edges attract butterflies and other “wildlife” to the airy space. During brunch, an orange kitten appeared, darting skittishly amongst the tables before launching itself over the brick fence and out of sight.

(Gum Tree, Rebecca Potts - 2002)

Kush’s menu feels slightly sparse at first glance, but offers enough intriguing options to compensate for the lack of choices. My brunch mate sampled the sorrel and tamarind juice alongside her salad – a mixture of greens and hearts of palm. The glass of murky juice she received resembled a turn-of-the-century health elixir more than a brunch drink. Its depth and tartness tingled unfamiliarly on our tongues. Although not an unpleasant drink, it would probably be more satisfying on a crisp fall day rather than a steamy summer morning.

Feeling slightly wilted after my bike ride from Park Slope, I ordered the Salad de Chevre ($7.00) which paired fresh salad greens and slices of bright red tomato. Each tomato round was crowned with an ample spoonful of fruit and nut chutney.

Medallions of cornmeal-fried goat cheese rested along the salad’s periphery. Each medallion crunched slightly and then gave way to a rich, crumbly center. The entire salad was laced with a spice-infused balsamic dressing that highlighted the greens without overpowering the dish. Both beautifully executed and refreshing, I left feeling satiated and dreaming up ways to recreate the fried goat-cheese in my own kitchen.

Entering into the Kush Café, I felt as if I had stumbled upon an ancient treasure. Upon leaving, I realized that I actually had just dined at a soon-to-be neighborhood hotspot.

Goldbergers and Cheeseburgers...

2006-06-01T18:35:00.000-04:00

Jew
Vegetarian
Bacon
Identity
Rugelach
Guilt

Intrigued? Read my latest article at www.zeek.net called Goldbergers and Cheeseburgers: Food and Particularism Among American Jews

goodshmeats...

2006-05-10T10:45:00.000-04:00

...is on brief hiatus. I am in the works helping to create a special food-themed issue of Zeek Magazine, due out in Fall of '06.

But stay tuned for more goodshmeats in late May, 2006

In the meantime, check out my new obsession, Edible Brooklyn, a new quarterly magazine that celebrates the borough's diverse food and delicious culture.

Want even more "edible Brooklyn?" Go on an urban foraging tour of Prospect Park with Wildman Steve Brill.

Cafe Habana - Nolita

2006-04-02T20:49:00.000-04:00

Cafe Habana
17 Prince Street (at Elizabeth Street)

Brunching in Nolita can be a trying experience. This nearly non-existent sliver of a neighborhood combines the "scenester" pomp of the Lower East Side and the superfluous money of Soho. Too often, its most renowned restaurants offer better people watching than creative or well crafted dishes. Regardless, I decided to brave Nolita's narrow, boutique-lined streets to find out if Cafe Habana could provide a brief glimpse into its namesake's vibrant culture and beauty.

True to the neighborhood, Cafe Habana is filled with fashionable people and a casually sophisticated decor - both of which are styled to appear as if they simply woke up looking fabulous. Waiting for my brunch mate to arrive, I watched couples toting small dogs and wearing large sunglasses share their meals while the morning sunshine glinted off the aluminum tables and the spring air rushed through the wide-open windows.

Despite its decidedly Cuban name, Cafe Habana serves both Cuban and Mexican dishes. The tiny cafe is revered across lower Manhattan for its grilled corn ($2.00), which comes bathed in melted cheese and chili powder, and is served with wedges of sharp lime. Even hipsters leave their egos at the door and push back their floppy bangs to devour this messy snack.

For brunch I began with a Cafe con Leche ($2.50). I imagined a warm pool of coffee, slightly pale with steamed milk and served in an endearingly chipped ceramic cup and saucer. Instead, our waitress brought a lukewarm, overly-milky coffee in what looked like an ice cream sundae glass. I wondered aloud to my brunch mate if perhaps Cafe Habana's dishwasher was broken, and these glasses were all they had left.

Soon after ordering, my Omelet Caribe ($6.95) arrived along with homefries and salsa verde. Pieces of butter-browned plantain floated sporadically amidst the otherwise pale eggs. The plantain added a welcome exotic sweetness to the omelet, but overall the dish lacked contrast and texture. The salsa verde was equally forgettable, but the homefries were an improvement - savory, slightly creamy, and hot with spice.

My brunch mate's pancakes also turned out to be disappointing. The unsophisticated cakes sagged over the edges of the plate, heavy under a watery mixture of strawberries, bananas, and oranges. Despite the Vermont maple syrup that Cafe Habana serves with their sweet breakfasts, the pancakes tasted slightly burnt. Perhaps we should have stuck with the roasted corn.

The line for weekend brunch at Cafe Habana usually overflows onto the sidewalk. Unfortunately the wait at this perpetually-crowded cafe serves little more than hype.

Portland Breakfast

2006-03-31T16:36:00.000-05:00

Alison works at Pioneer Organics. Every friday she gets to take home several large boxes overflowing with the unsold organic and angelically beautiful produce. This is the breakfast we made with the bounty of the Friday box:

Fruit Salad with kiwi, mango, banana, grapefruit and orange-blossom honey
Salad with greens, snow peas, beets, celery, and Parmesan (left over from dinner)
Omelet with caramlized onions and spinach
Toast with plum tomatoes, basil, Earth Balance, nutritional yeast, sea salt, and pepper
Best. Ever.

Bierkraft - Park Slope

2006-03-20T22:56:00.001-05:00

Bierkraft (191 5th Avenue between Berkeley and Union)

Bierkraft on Park Slope's 5th Avenue is a neighborhood bullseye for artisanal cheese, a staggering selection of microbrews, and hand-crafted chocolates. If this description is not enticing enough, Bierkraft also holds free weekly tastings. Each Tuesday around 7:00pm, about 25 artisanal novices (as well as some closet home-brewers) crowd into Bierkraft's brightly-lit basement room to sample five pre-selected and paired beers and cheeses.

On March 7th, Bierkraft's tasting gave a nod to Women's History Month, featuring brews and cheeses crafted exclusively by women. The toothpick-speared cheese chunks and shot-glasses of beer were accompanied by historical her-story trivia (Queen Elizabeth I drank beer every morning at breakfast, for example).

Adding to the evening's feminine feel, Bierkraft's usual tasting hosts Bobby Reeves and Ben Granger were replaced by female staffers Krystal White and Sally Shelton. Although they were both knowledgeable and endearingly irreverant, their overall demeanor bordered too-close to ditzy, which lost them credibility as tasting hosts. ("What was I about to say? - I think I drank too much Triple.")

Note - While the cheeses listed below hail from several different cheese-makers, all of the beers are brewed by Stoudt's, which is owned by Carol Stoudt.

1. Pils and Sisters Bella Sorella
Beer: Mild and crisp, this German-style Pils is rather forgettable.
Cheese: Sweet, nutty, and buttery, the Bella Sorella is a semi-hard cheese with a deliciously crumbly consistency.

2. Scarlet Lady Ale and Cowgirl Creamery Mt. Tan
Beer: This deep red beer is slightly bitter and described by one of our hosts as "shy."
Cheese: Sue Conely and Peggy at Cowgirl Creamery produce this salty, mild, and slightly mushroomy cheese. The Mt. Tam is Triple Cream, which means it has a high butterfat concentration.

3. Triple and Cypress Grove Humboldt fog
Beer: This beer is fruity and cider-like with a balanced malt flavor.
Cheese: The most outstanding cheese in the tasting. This refreshing goat cheese is both layered and wrapped with a beautiful vegetable ash, which is reminiscent of morning fog. It features three consistency strata, including a luscious melted edge where the bacteria in the rind comes into contact with the cheese.

4. Double IPA and Mouco Colorouge
Beer: Bitter and slightly pine-flavored, this was the strongest beer featured in the tasting (10% alcohol by volume)
Cheese: Described by the hosts as "funky," this Bavarian-style cheese boasts a bright orange rind. Despite having more kick than the other cheeses, the true flavor Mouco Colorouge hid behind the cracker that accompanied it.

5. Blond Double MaiBock and Brovetto Dairy Harpersfield Lavender.
Beer: Most outstanding beer in the tasting. This beer is only seasonally available (in spring). Dense and slightly sweet, the MaiBock arrived at Bierkraft the day of the tasting.
Cheese: This untraditional cheese comes from a small dairy farm in upstate New York. Firm and nutty, it is infused with lavender, which one participant thought tasted like soap. The hosts suggested a drizzle of honey to coax out the full lavender flavor.

Rosewater - Park Slope

2006-03-05T17:26:00.000-05:00

Rose Water
787 Union Street (between 5th and 6th Ave)

Sunday brunch in New York City is an institution - a scheduled moment of relaxation, weekend networking, or gossip catch-up that is often scribbled by Wednesday afternoon into an already over crowded Blackberry. Considering the vital role it plays in the rhythm of a frenzied work week, New Yorkers place high expectations on brunch. Fortunately Rose Water shines between the hours of 11AM and 3PM.

Perched just off of Park Slope's most-traversed block (Union Street between 6th and 7th Ave), Rose Water strikes the elusive balance between upscale sophistication and homey coziness. The decor exudes an elegant charm, like it was designed by your quiet college roommate who devoured English Lit classics and spent Friday nights knitting coordinated scarf/mitten sets. A brick archway ushers diners in, where they are greeted by oversized potted branches, a bookshelf of cookbooks and tasteful knickknacks, and a row of cheerful paintings.

The only downside is that Rose Water is also reminiscent of your dorm room - in size. Rosewater opens for brunch at 11AM and by half past is uncomfortably bustling with anticipating patrons who spill out past the doors and onto the Union street sidewalk.

The $12 prix fixe entitles brunch-goers to an entree and drink - coffee or juice, unfortunately not both. But there is nothing skimpy about the entree options. The chefs at Rose Water attempt boldly exotic flavor combinations like a banana ginger waffle with papaya mango chutney and a fritata brimming with sweet vidalia onions, mustard greens, olives, provolone cheese, and fragrant jasmine rice.

I am almost embarrassed to describe my meal at Rosewater - I wouldn't want to kindle jealousy over the embarrassment of culinary riches I enjoyed. (But here goes - take a deep breath.) I decided to forego my usual cup of coffee and try the cardamom-spiced hot chocolate. The white teacup of warm chocolate I received fit snuggly between my cupped palms. Puddled with milky whipped cream, the chocolate was subtly sweet and intoxicatingly fragrant with cardamom. It evoked the richness of the homemade cardamom gelato I savored during a summer trip to Tuscany.

For brunch I selected Rose Water's Pink Lady Apple Pancakes, immediately drawn to the idea of the cinnamon cashew butter that accompanied them. Shortly after, a stack of two brioche-thick pancakes arrived with a creamer of warmed maple syrup. Each pancake was ringed with seasonal pink lady apple slices. Crunchy cashew pieces added texture to the supple pancakes and delicate apple. As promised, a crowning hill of cinnamon cashew butter slowly melted into the cakes, soaking into the half-exposed apple wedges. I sighed audibly upon my first bite and at several bites throughout my meal.

My brunch-mate ordered a Grilled Eggplant Sandwich with savory thick-cut French fries and homemade ketchup (which turned out to be more of an acidic tomato puree. Honestly, I would have preferred the Heinz variety). The eggplant slices were flecked with feta cheese and served on a firm roll. Although I rarely condone the practice of ordering lunch foods at brunch, her sandwich played a perfect foil to my combination of decadent breakfast sweets.

In a city where mid-morning meals dominate weekend dining, nearly every New Yorker has a favorite place to brunch. If they don't, perhaps it is simply because they haven't been to Rosewater yet.

Chocolate Room - Park Slope

2006-02-19T23:30:00.000-05:00

The Chocolate Room
86 Fifth Avenue (at Prospect Place)

Last March I took my visiting parents to The Chocolate Room, a chocolate boutique and cafe that conveniently happens to be located at the end of my Park Slope block. My father ordered a Bittersweet Hot Chocolate ($4.00), took one sip, and proclaimed it the best he had ever tasted (no small compliment from an 81-year old man).

The brainchild of husband/wife team Jon Payson and Naomi Josepher, The Chocolate Room serves a selection of artisanal sweets which appeal to an adult palate. Customers are ushered in by deep brown walls, dim lighting, and sophisticated music that lilts above the collective hum of patrons' conversations. A glass case of truffles, handcrafted by chocolatier Fritz Knipschildt, and including chili/tangerine, black currant and white chocolate/cardamom combinations, gleams extravagantly. But lest one wax too poetic, the menu also evokes a healthy dose of child-like chocolate euphoria (imagine walking into Willy Wonka's chocolate fantasy room).

The Hot Chocolate my father loved (as did my desert-mate on my most recent visit to The Chocolate Room) boasts a 60% Belgian bittersweet chocolate content. Served in petite brown mugs, the warm drink shares every luscious quality of a melted chocolate bar. I was tempted to use my finger to scoop out the remaining trace of chocolate which coated the inside of the empty mug, but reluctantly managed to resist. Somewhat less intoxicating is the Classic Hot Cocoa ($4.50), which comes infused with bourbon vanilla. The thought of this cocoa evokes memories of cozy winter nights, but delivers a somewhat bland, milky flavor and excessive foam in place of a thick marshmallow.

Guests at The Chocolate Room are treated to a complimentary nibble upon sitting down -my fellow diners and I received a tiny sliver of soft white cake in a puddle of chocolate ganache. After significant deliberation, we decided to try the Chocolate Room Pudding ($5.00) and one of the specials - a Chocolate Tart with raspberry sauce and vanilla-flecked whipped cream. The pudding was cling-to-your-spoon rich, and topped with an indulgent dose of soft whipped cream and chocolate shavings. Although the pudding's initial flavor was powerful, it did not ultimately lead anywhere. I enjoyed this dish, but missed the chocolate pudding my mother and I used to make, which revealed several subtle layers of flavor across the span of each bite.

The tart turned out to be truly special. A firm crispy chocolate shell encased a rich mound of thick filling. The monochromatic desert was surrounded by a brilliant red stream of raspberry puree, which cut smartly through the filling's rich sweetness. A pouty, full raspberry rested on the pillow of speckled whipped cream, crowing the desert. Visually stunning and decadent, this dessert was the highlight of our chocolate meal.

An experience at The Chocolate Room in Park Slope does not fade quickly. My father still mentions his favorite Hot Chocolate, almost a year later. I can still vividly recall the taste of tart raspberry sauce mingling with the sweet chocolate confection. Upon leaving I heard a woman at the table next to me (who had just been handed a menu) quietly breathe, "oh my!" I smiled knowingly at her excitement while, with a rather childish jealousy, secretly wished I could join her.

For a "sweet" article about this amazing husband and wife chocolate team, click here

Dumb conversation and silverware

2006-02-17T07:52:00.001-05:00

video clip: My friend Ansel creating a cutlery statue at a veggie restaurant in Portland. We (Ansel, Tyson, Leah, and Alison) had been hiking and were hungrily awaiting what turned out to be an amazing plate of nachos, a veggie corn dog, and tempeh sloppy joes. The snippet of conversation is embarassingly stupid, and the clip is rather funny.

Video clip provided Alison's digital camera via Google Video

Enid's - Williamsburg

2006-02-11T17:43:00.000-05:00

Enid's
560 Manhattan Ave at Driggs Avenue

We live in a city of extravagance - New York's culture of extreme (and extremely hip) fashion, food and music is a source of civic pride. And Williamsburg is unarguably an epicenter of this lifestyle - at least for now. But for those New Yorkers who dwell more towards the humble side of life, the city's hyper-extravagance can feel a bit alienating.

Enter Enid's - a combination brunch/dinner spot and late-night bar just off of McCarren Park (and the G train) in Williamsburg. Considering it's location, one might expect Enid's to be yet another vapid, glittering hotspot that attracts scenesters like, well, scenesters to cans of PBR. Instead, Enid's is a beacon of refreshing normalcy amidst New York's glitz and chaos.

Enid's certainly preserves aspects of hipsterdom: beautiful clientele and semi-ironic, salvaged-from-the-street decor like a vintage (rusty) liquor-store sign, an old-fashioned photobooth, and a large gold-sequined camel tacked up on the wall. Enid's consistently fills to overflowing on weekends with neighborhood locals looking for a late-night watering hole as well as a solid post-party brunch. But although Enid's attracts a hipster crowd, it somehow maintains a homey, welcoming quality that so many other trendy New York bars/restaurants seem to purposefully strive against.

The inevitable wait for brunch at Enid's is softened by mugs and self-serve pots of coffee (an ingenious trick used in restaurants across Portland, Seattle, and other soggy west coast cities, but seemingly undiscovered in New York.) I adore Enid's menu, which looks like a homemade zine cobbled together by a crafty teenager from recycled magazines and bits of fabric. I also love the inside of the menu for its unpretentious listing of Vanilla-Almond Challah French Toast ($6.95), Huevos Rancheros ($8.95), and unexpected side plates of Cheese Grits, Spiced Apples, and Collard Greens (all $3.00). In addition to self-serve coffee, Enid's also seems to model it's inexpensive prices off of West Coast restaurants.

On my most recent visit to Enid's I chose a dish that I had eyed for months but never tried: Leek and Potato Hash with Eggs any-style ($7.95). The smell of my brunch arrived before the plate did - a heavenly combination of carmalized leeks and sharp cheese melted into the hefty browned potato chunks. The deep-gold yolk of my eggs over-easy melted into the potatoes with a sigh (mine). The hash was accompanied by a bright, lightly-dressed salad that was in itself forgettable, but a welcome addition to the rather heavy meal I had chosen. My brunch-mate's french toast was sweet with subtle hints of almond, and accompanied by fresh fruit. (Real maple syrup unfortunately costs a little extra at Enid's, but is always worth it.)

In many ways, Enid's offers the best of both worlds - a hint of New York's insider scene, mixed with a vibe casual enough that you won't get evil stares for wearing sweat pants to brunch. Combine that with decently priced food (and beer in the evenings), and Enid's is sure to remain a neighborhood staple.

Diner's Tip:
After brunching at Enid's on a summer Saturday, head over to the green market in neighboring McCarren Park to check out the fresh local greens and baked goods.

Food Democracy with Marion Nestle

2006-02-08T22:56:00.000-05:00

I'm feeling guilty. I went to a restaurant last Sunday for brunch, and I'd really like to review it. But I haven't yet. Granted I haven't had a free day or night to write since then...

I will write it within the next three days though, promise.

In the meantime, here is an amazing interview with professor and food writer, Marion Nestle. Enjoy.

http://www.bioneers.org/programs/food_farming/index.php

p.s. Admitting my guilt is far more for me than for you - you understand.

Artisanal Bistro - Gramercy

2006-01-29T18:34:00.000-05:00

Artisanal Fromagerie and Bistro
32nd Street between Park and Madison

A good meal takes time. This fundamental law of culinary physics is regularly broken in our frantic, fast-paced city. All too often, the food we eat serves as a brief waystation between activities and not the celebration we might like it to be. Fortunately, the creative forces behind Artisanal Fromagerie and Bistro understand the importance of time; time to create beautiful, fully-realized cheeses, and time granted to customers to fully-enjoy their craftsmanship.

Walking into Artisanal's spacious bistro, I was hit with an intoxicating waft of sharp cheese. This smell lures some customers directly to Artisanal's fromagerie counter, where one can sample and purchase sturdy hunks (or melting slabs) of earthy Italian pecorinos, fudgy blues from France, and buttery Vermont cheddars. The cheese staff (which includes a college friend of mine, Charles) effortlessly shares the stories, methods, and quirks that make each of Artisanal's 200-plus cheeses distinctive. Artisanal also offers a series of classes, events, and internships for cheese die-hards at their Artisanal Premium Cheese Center on 37th street and 10th Avenue.

Those who stay and dine at Artisanal Bistro are invited in by elegant red walls, gleaming brass furnishings, high ceilings, and immaculately crisp tablecloths. The space has a polished air that is reminiscent of the high-society 1930's era. If smoking was still allowed in New York City's restaurants, monogrammed silver cigarette cases would be on every table, and long-stemmed holders would rest between every pair of red lips. The wait staff at Artisanal glides between tables like polished professionals who are serving a dining experience as well as plates of food. As someone who only occasionally inhabits the explicitly upscale scenes of New York, dining at Artisanal felt a little like playing dress up.

The three-hour dinner my friend Cat and I shared started with bite-sized Parmesanan puffs (which I compared to airy macaroons) and a crab salad that was topped with a spray of shredded greens. The crab dish was served with compliments from the kitchen for being a friend of a staff member. I was somewhat embarrassed to send back such a generous gift, but I did devour the tasting-plate of gnocchi which arrived, also unannounced, shortly after. The gnocchi was billowy, crispy and lightly bathed in brown butter. The savory nuggets paired beautifully with the bottle of peppery Cotes du Rhone that Cat instinctively selected from the extensive wine list (and which our attentive sommelier confirmed was a worthy choice).

I followed the gnocchi appetizer with a dish of Pumpkin and Mushroom Risotto. The short-grained rice was delicately dressed in an aromatic sauce. Nibbles of pumpkin and mushroom thickened each bite, and the whole dish was dotted with toasted pumpkin seeds. Delicious as it was, I was pleased that the portion was modest - allowing me room for another course, another glass of wine, another hour of savored dining.

Midway through our Cotes du Rhone, Charles brought out a gorgeous plate of six cheeses, which he compiled from some of his own favorites. As he explained the selection, he revealed that Artisanal serves all cheese plates with the mildest cheese placed in front of the lady. (My gut reaction is to disapprove of this outdated practice, but since I was playing fantasy dress-up for the evening, I let it go). With two women at the table, Charles diplomatically placed the most delicate cheese halfway between myself and Cat.

Our cheese plate included, from mildest to most piquant: A Chabichou du Poitou from France (delicate and slightly acidic), a Robiola La Rossa from Italy (cherry-essence and soft), an Abbey de Bellocq from France (burnt caramel flavor), a Pecorino Walnut from Italy (nutty and firm), a Roomano from Holland (caramelized and sturdy), and a Rogue River Blue from Oregon (tangy and crumbly). Cat and I both favored the Robiola La Rossa. When allowed to linger on the tongue, the flavors of this cheese complexified and deepened several times over. Never a fan of blue cheeses, I sampled but mostly avoided the Rogue River Blue.

We finished our dinner with a Bouchon Chocolat with Orange Ice Cream, which we found out translates to a "cork" of chocolate. Indeed, this rich cake was both the shape and size of a wine cork propped upside-down on the plate. A scoop of velvety orange-flavored ice cream melted wonderfully into the porous cork cake. With Bacchalian delight and sincere reverence, we toasted the end of our meal and drank the last drops of wine from our glasses.

Leaving Artisanal, I thought that Slow Food - an organization devoted to the enjoyment of lengthy, well-crafted meals - would have been proud of our meal at Artisanal. Certainly after a long week of deadlines, running around the city, and abbreviated meals, our evening at Artisanal was a perfect fantasy.

Dancing to Debbie Friedman

2006-01-20T22:58:00.000-05:00

This has nothing to do with food - but good times should be shared.

Dancing to Debbie

(the file might take a minute or two to load)

Freemans - Lower East Side

2006-01-18T22:15:00.000-05:00

Freemans
End of Freeman Alley, off Rivington between Bowery and Chrystie st.

To enter Freemans (a cozy, English-inspired American restaurant on the Lower East Side), one has to venture down a dimly-lit and seemingly forgotten alley. Luckily, this activity is not as anxiety-inducing as it once was. The effect, however, is still considerable – like breaking down on the side of a deserted road at night, and noticing a solitary cabin glowing safely in the horizon.

The walls inside Freemans are decorated – no covered – with animal busts: the standard deer heads are mounted alongside ox, wild boar, and even a goose, eternally suspended in mid-flight. There are six of them in all crowding the walls, not including various displays of horn and antlers and a human pygmy skull resting above the bar on a faded mantle. Despite my initial shock at so many dead animals (not to mention my solid commitment to vegetarianism), I actually found the critters contextually pleasant against the deep brown wood tables, purposefully peeling-paint, soft lighting, and exposed brick – they would fit in perfectly (if a little creepily) in my little cabin.

Even more pleasant was the glass of wine I ordered while waiting for my friend. Described as having "a bouquet of blackfruits and hints of white pepper," this French wine - Coistieres de Nimes, Les Galets Rouge ($8), was sturdy and warming. It set the mood perfectly for the triumphant meal I was about to eat.

Our waiter, a handsome flirt in a deconstructed t-shirt, graciously answered our questions, including my only half-joking inquiry if Devils on Horseback ($6) were bulls' testicles. Some free-associating memory synapse fired in my brain, which prompted the embarassing question. Hey, with that many dead animals on the walls... (For the curious, they're actually stuffed prunes wrapped in bacon - which I find an equally strange culinary creation).

My friend and I began our meal with a Winter Salad of fennel, clementines, pecans and celery root in sherry-truffle oil. I expected the overly-sweet and overly-dressed salad that trendy restaurants often make the mistake of serving. What we received was a crisp salad with a delightfully subtle blend of flavors and textures. It was equally refreshing and sophisticated.

For dinner, my friend considered ordering a Venison Stew with Roasted Butternut Squash and Creme Fraiche ($20), but decided instead on Trout with Lemon and Thyme ($16). Although I didn't taste it, I was impressed by the trout's deeply hued skin, which encased tender white flesh and a several full sprigs of thyme.

I ordered macaroni and cheese ($10) - the only vegetarian entree - and, at our waiter's suggestion, a side of buttered brussel sprouts. This meal defied my usual, "don't order what you can cook at home" rule, but I was nonetheless fully-satisfied. The brussel sprouts were boiled al dente and sauteed in copious pats of butter. I have been roasting brussel sprouts at home lately, so the boiled softness was a welcome change.

The macaroni and cheese is among best I have eaten. The delicate crunch of the breadcrumb crust gave way to an underbelly of chewy noodles coated in rich cheese sauce. Hints of nutmeg and translucent bites of onion complexified the sauce. Blissed out and satiated, I happily shared tastes of my meal with my friend. As he cleared our plates, our waiter revealed that he eats this same mac and cheese and brussel sprouts combination nearly every day when his shift ends. Swoon.

Full but hesitant to refuse dessert after such a sublime meal, my friend and I split a Vanilla Custard with Blueberry Compote. The silky custard, which came in a mason jar, was light but disappointingly noncommittal in flavor. It was accompanied by a dish of sauced blueberries, which my friend astutely observed were likely frozen. Overall the dessert was not a hightlight of the meal, but I did appreciate sipping the glass of soft, almond-scented sherry that my friend ordered alongside it.

With its back-alley location and embrace of taxidermy, Freemans is one of the quirkier restaurants I have visited in New York. But the food, ambiance (and handsome waitstaff!) make dining at Freemans well-worth the venture down the alley.

A tip for Freemans: Despite being slightly out-of-the-way, Freemans is popular amongst the Lower East Side's trendy crowd and fills up quickly. Arrive well before 7pm to ensure quick seating and before 7:15pm to avoid a significant wait.

Cold night, warm fruit

2006-01-16T22:25:00.000-05:00

Tonight I got home from a four-day conference to find a bowl of neglected, overripe fruit sitting on my counter. I haven't been craving fresh fruit much this winter, aside from the tart Spanish clemintines that peak this time of year.

So, I decided to dehydrate - a friend of mine recently tipped me off to the ease of drying fresh fruit. No multi-tiered plastic dehydrating contraption is necessary - all one needs is a cooling rack, a low-temperature oven, and time. Slice the fruit into even discs (I had a honeycrisp apple and a bosc pair) and let it sit in a 100 degree oven for about 3 hours, or until the plumpness is replaced by wrinkles. Feel free to do laundry or go out for coffee and forget about the fruit as it dries. My friend told me she once accidentally left apple slices in the oven overnight and woke up to crispy, but still edible fruit.

Warm, sweet, and chewy- the dried fruit was perfect snack for a winter night (no, I'm lying - I made chocolate chip cookies too).

Tenement - Lower East Side

2006-01-08T20:45:00.000-05:00

well, not quite.

Tenement
157 Ludlow Street (between Stanton and Rivington)

My trip to Tenement - a Lower East Side restaurant and lounge - began when my friend Tyler said, “I’ll take you out to dinner - my treat if you review it.” (Thanks Tyler, and may that be inspiration to anyone who reads this blog.)

The Lower East Side is no longer the overstuffed but vibrant immigrant stomping ground it once was. The kosher butchers, clotheslines, and barefoot children crowding on fire escapes (not to mention the sweatshops) are gone. Avenue B may still be crowded, but these days its all hipsters with side parts and hangovers. And aside from the relic-turned-trendy-latenight-hotspot, Katz’s Deli (which opened in 1888), the possibility of purchasing an egg cream has dropped significantly.

I'm not overly nostalgic for a Lower East Side I never knew. Aside from reading A Bintel Brief in college, I have little personal connection to this patch of urban island history. Still, I hoped that Tenement might take the opportunity to capture some essence of the old-world Lower East Side that its namesake evokes. But except for some wrought iron and two framed photos of immigrant shop keepers, Tenement looked like any other lovely Lower East Side eating establishment, circa 2006.

Tenement's menu did attempt a few appetizers that payed homage to the Lower East Side's immigrant mix: Potato and Cheese Pierogis with Caramelized Onion, Vegetable Spring Rolls, and Fresh Mozarella and Pesto with Balsamic/Port Reduction. Tyler and I sampled the Potato Pancakes (he dared me to ask for latkes, but I demured). We heaped tart apple/pineapple sauce and chived sour cream on top of the crispy brown circles, allowing the flavors of childhood to adjust to these more sophisticated relishes. Unlike the latkes I grew up on each Chanukah - which seemed to flow miraculously from the frying pan - we had to stop with one each.

The Baked Brie Salad I had for dinner was outstanding, though hardly reminiscent of the impoverished immigrant experience. Four thick medallions of brie encased a fragrant compote of apricot and raisins. The brie sandwiches rested on a bed of pristine mesclun greens dressed in a sweet vinaigrette. Chilled butter on the cornbread muffins that came with our meal rounded out this ambrosial salad.

I talked Tyler into splitting a Banana's Foster for dessert, promising a mix of flame softened rum and caramalized sugar. Tenement paired the dish with vanilla ice cream, but we noted cinnamon ice cream written further down on the menu, and requested a swap. The cold, brown-flecked mound melted sumptuously between the delicate layers of banana. I was jealous of every bite Tyler took.

Muckracking journalist and 20th century photo-journalist of the Lower East Side Jacob Riis would not have recognized "Tenement," where Tyler and I dined - nor the surrounding neighborhood. But perhaps - like many New Yorkers who have witnessed endless neighborhood transformations - he would not be surprised either. Before leaving, I asked our waitress if the building had once been an actual tenement building. She smiled and said, "Oh, it's been lots of things."

Long Tan - Park Slope

2006-01-03T20:32:00.000-05:00

Long Tan
196 5th Avenue (between Union and Berkley)
Brooklyn, NY

I adore living in Park Slope - it is friendly, familiar, and manages to maintain a counter culture edge, despite the plethora of strollers wheeling around Seventh Avenue. But until recently, I did not take dining in Park Slope seriously. There seemed to be a few acceptable places to take visiting parents, but I rarely invited friends to my neighborhood to eat dinner, unless I was cooking for them. Recently, however (over the last five years and especially in the last two), an influx of new restaurants has left Fifth Avenue glittering with culinary jewels.

Long Tan on Fifth and Union Street is certainly among these new treasures.

Long Tan doubles as a Thai restaurant and a hipster-friendly bar. Stepping inside, guests are visually greeted with warm reds, browns, and golds (which felt especially welcome on a cold, slushy night.) The decor is polished, but not oppressively glossy or sleek. Modern, angular design is softened by natural touches like billowy paper lanterns and oversized cherry branches resting in vases around the room. I had felt hesitant to leave my apartment the day after New Year's Eve with a scratchy throat and encroaching stuffy nose. But I soon realized that Long Tan felt as comfortable as my living room - and quite a bit classier.

Hoping to warm ourselves quickly, my friend and I scanned the lengthy drink list. A quick discussion concluded that it probably isn't wise to order a mojito from a bar linked to a Thai (and not a Cuban) restaurant. She decided on a ginger kamikaze (ginger vodka, triple sec, and lime for $7). I sipped an uninspired glass of Australian shiraz ($6), growing a bit envious of my dinner mates slightly flushed cheeks.

Fortunately, our food came too quickly for me to dwell on my careless drink choice. My friend ordered a Beef Satay appetizer with Spicy Peanut Sauce ($6) and a Chicken Coconut Galangal Soup ($5). Galangal, our menu informed us, is a less spicy, more citrusy cousin of ginger.

I tried the Wok Seared Udon Noodles with Tofu and Asian Greens ($10). What arrived was an uncomplicated, steaming bowl of comfort food - oh, how did they know that was exactly what I needed? With my chopsticks, I hunted through the dish for the silky tofu chunks. The tofu was tender and giving and played a perfect foil to the chewy, shoe-string licorice noodles. The subtly spicy greens were accompanied by carrots and sauteed red onions. They were all wrapped in an accomplished sauce, layered with garlic, soy sauce and a shy hint of sweetness.

"How is everything?" our waitress asked. Good enough to stay for desert, we decided.

I completed my meal with a Pot de Creme ($6), which came in a ceramic brulee pot and topped - somewhat superfluously - with whipped cream. The fudgy chocolate cream stuck indecently to my spoon. I scooped out measured bites, acutely aware that each spoonful took me closer the inevitable end.

My friend and I talked, digested, and avoided leaving. When it became apparent that we were closing the place down (like most dual bar/restaurants, Long Tan's bar stays open later than the restaurant), we left and walked briskly down Fifth Avenue, huddled against the chill, headed home. Despite the cold and with Long Tan's glowing warmth still in mind, I peeked excitedly into other new restaurant windows along Fifth avenue, looking forward to the year to come.

Friend of a Farmer - Union Square

2005-12-23T21:48:00.000-05:00

Friend of a Farmer
77 Irving Place (between 18th and 19th)

Walking into Friend of a Farmer (traditional Americana) felt like entering a New England country house, a ski lodge, and grandma's house all at once. Outside, the blustery winter air whipped through the busy streets. Inside, a roaring fire crackled, wood paneling cast a deep amber glow across the rooms, and neat rows of mason jars filled with dried beans sat on shelves above signs that said things like "home is where the heart is." The flowered wallpaper, on closer inspection, turned out to be tapestry. Sitting down at the table I felt settled and calm - how often can one say that with absolute certanity in New York City?

Adding to the initial country charm at Friend of the Farmer was the basket of warm corn bread and chunky apple butter my dinnermate and I were served with our menus. We finished the entire loaf (read: they give you an entire loaf) as if we had just returned from a day on the slopes, famished from skiing on "fresh powder like you wouldn't believe!"

The dinner menu at Friend of a Farmer - perhaps also reminiscent of grandma's house -was heavy on meat dishes including Shepherd's Pie and Chicken Pot Pie (both $16.95), Turkey Meatloaf ($17.95) and Braised Lamb Shank ($21.95). The restaurant also serves lunch, brunch, and baked goods to go.

Scanning the list for options, I settled on a Country Pie ($11.50) and a glass of Chianti. The Chianti was delicious - peppery and deep. The Country Pie was tasty, but more of a quiche than the hearty pie I expected. The buttery crust encased tender broccoli and melted cheese, and was framed with an arc of green apple wedges and a quartered strawberry. The dish also turned out to be an appetizer (the menu was ambiguous, but the price should have tipped me off), but I was already feeling full from the cornbread.

I finished my meal with a slice Chocolate Chip Cookie Pie ($6) that I didn't quite need, but tried because Friend of a Farmer is known for its baked goods. The pie was served with ice cream and sweetened whipped cream. It reminded me of a successful baking experiment my childhood friend and I tried when a batch of Tollhouse cookies went awry: not visually stunning but eat-the-whole-batch good.

My meal was lovely (if somewhat out of my usual price range), but the absence of vegetarian options felt odd. I went to college in Vermont and lived in a housing cooperative that Friend of a Farmer could have modeled its interior design after. Like in many college coop situations, my 16 roommates and I shared both cooking duties and an interest in sustainable living. We took turns cooking vegetarian meals (some of the best food I have ever eaten) for ourselves and the 15 guests who would invariably show up to our cozy, garlic-infused kitchen every weeknight.

So while the decor at Friend of a Farmer felt familiar, I was surprised that there was not a single dish that seemed purposefully vegetarian aside from an out-of-place Penne with Fresh Ginger (which I could have replicated at home for much less than $16.95). "Where were all the roasted root vegetable dishes?" I wondered. "Where, may I ask, was the rainbow chard and kale?"

I was also surprised that neither the menu nor our waiters mentioned the restaurant's committment to using foods sourced from local farmers. Local foods are gaining popularity in New York City and throughout the Northeast (as evidenced by the growth of greenmarkets and CSAs over the past five years.) Friend of the Farmer happens to sit only a few blocks northeast of New York City's biggest year-round greenmarket in Union Square. Coupled with the restaurant's country decor and name, a local foods connection seems obvious. But when I called Friend of the Farmer the following day to ask if they use farm-fresh foods, I received a noncommittal answer of "oh, we do when we can."

Friend of a Farmer offers country charm, homestyle food, and a moment of respite from hectic New York life. Unfortunately, I left feeling a little bit homesick for the real thing.

For more info on organic farming in the Northeast, check out the Northeast Organic Farming Association.

Bad meals, good company

2005-12-19T14:36:00.000-05:00

Sometimes bad meals are redeemed by good company (Alison and Leah at No Fish Go Fish in Portland, OR.) Crappy food - and it's not even in NYC! But I adore the picture. There's love there.

Dizzy's Diner - Park Slope

2005-12-17T14:28:00.000-05:00

Dizzy's
511 Ninth Street (@ 8th Avenue)
Brooklyn, NY

Every month or so I get an email that reads something like this: "Hey you! I'm coming to NYC for a couple of days. If you're around, can I stay at your place?" Most of these visitors end up on my couch, but only the ones I want to impress join me for brunch in the morning at my favorite Park Slope diner, Dizzy's.

Brunch at Dizzy's (the self-titled, "finer diner") ensures three things: 1. A wait, unless you can get there before 10:30am. 2. A small-town feel: red counter stools, copious sunlight, black and white tile, and a flirtatious wait staff. If there weren't so many strollers parked outside, you might think it was a college diner. 3. Embarrassing amounts of food: Dizzy's prix-fixe brunch includes a muffin and sweet scone basket with strawberry butter, an entree and additional side plate, fresh juice, and a bottomless cup of coffee or tea. Real maple syrup - which is fantastic in coffee - and stainless steel pots of cream wait on the tables. Only the mimosas cost extra.

The brunch menu is double sided with breakfast options on one side and (wait for it) lunch on the other. I have admittedly never tried anything from the lunch side, having enough difficulty with the inevitable brunch dilemma of sweet vs. savory. From the breakfast section, try the Amaretto Pecan French Toast ($10.95), Eggs Florentine ($12.95), Juevos Rancheros ($12.95) and the Power Breakfast of granola, yogurt, and fruit ($9.95) - which, perhaps surprisingly, is remarkably good. Offer thanks to your favorite deity if you end up at Dizzy's when the specials board outside reads: chocolate and banana pancakes (swoon).

I hesitate to utter a bad word about Dizzy's, which has been consistently satisfying during my year and a half living in Park Slope. But in all honesty, I admit that my most recent trip there was not my best. The service and peripheral items (muffin basket, orange juice and coffee, thick toast, and green-pepper-and-onion-dotted home fries) were wonderful as usual. But my goat cheese, spinach and mushroom omelet (the Platonic ideal of which makes me tear up with joy) was unusually rubbery and flat-tasting. The fruit cup I ordered for a side plate was also watery, though I take partial fault for ordering fresh fruit in the winter. Usually I stop eating at Dizzy's before the food is gone because I hit my critical food-intake limit. This past visit I stopped eating because it didn't taste good and ended up nibbling my friend's leftover pancakes.

One sub-par omelet and fruit cup aside, I am willing to give Dizzy's the benefit of the doubt. Last summer, a friend sent me a post-visit email asking, "next time I'm in New York again, can we go back to Dizzy's?), to which I should have answered (but wasn't clever enough) "As long as you sleep on my couch..."

A couple of Dizzy's tips:
1. Dizzy's takes cash only. Although this sweetly ups college-like feel, it's easy to forget, and frustrating when you do. There's an ATM around the corner on 8th street.
2. Dizzy's is not particularly vegan-friendly. If you're eating with a vegan, ask for the Power Brunch dry or with soymilk instead of yogurt.
3. Brunches at Dizzy's are huge. Take advantage of Prospect Park's proximity and go for a post-brunch stroll.

Spice - Union Square

2005-12-16T00:26:00.000-05:00

Spice
60 University Street at 10th Ave
-also- Chelsea: 199 8th Avenue between 19th and 20th street
-and- Uptown: 1141 Second Avenue between 73rd and 74tt street

I met a friend after work at Spice, a Thai restaurant just south of Union Square. I’m usually skeptical of chain restaurants like Spice. When a restaurant starts to franchise, the focus often turns away from individuality and towards a highly-produced replica of the things that made the prototype money. The food isn’t necessarily better or worse, but it is interchangeable. (Compare, for example, the feeling and tastes of the bakery at the end of your block and the Cosi on the end of every block.) But certainly some chains must defy the stereotype, right?

Spice has three locations and a few other affiliated restaurants (Sea and Peep) scattered across Manhattan. The décor at each is glossy and hyper modern – angular white plastic furniture accented by neon lights. Walking towards our table, I felt weary with over-production - everything seemed obsessively planned. The one overlooked detail was spatial design - the tables in the University Street location were tightly packed together, requiring minor contortion skills to avoid tripping over a chair leg.

Our waitress offered to take our coats and handed us dinner menus. I was pleased to find several, if somewhat obvious, vegetarian options: Crispy Spring Rolls ($4) Tofu Rama (sautéed veggies and tofu in peanut sauce for $7) and vegetable curry (also $7) alongside the Thai Volcanic Chicken ($11) and the Maekong Aged Porkchop ($9). I chose the vegetarian Pad Thai ($8) - reasoning that the overall quality of a Thai restaurant’s food can be reflected best by its signature dish.

Shortly after ordering, a conical pile of Pad Thai was set before me by a friendly waiter. (To Spice's credit, the wait staff was surprisingly warm for such sleek surroundings.) I was immediately fascinated by a thin green plant sticking out of my noodles, like a feather in a cap. Was it edible? I wondered. I lightly squeezed – it was supple. A large scallion? A garlic scape? A tentative nibble brought back an unpleasant childhood memory when, out of curiosity, I snuck a bite from a carnation stem in a bouquet sitting on my mother’s kitchen table. Ok, just a garnish – moving on.

The Pad Thai itself was decent - well cooked noodles coated but not dripping in a slightly sweetened sauce, served with a fat lime wedge (which proved a much more practical garnish). The tiny cubes of soft tofu tasted vaguely of jasmine, which was a pleasant surprise.

The otherwise agreeable dish, however, fell prey to a vegetarian Pad Thai faux pas, however: fish sauce. Thai restaurants often include traditional fish sauce in their “vegetarian” noodle dishes. Some vegetarians are content to turn a blind eye to this transgression. A friend and college housemate of mine made an exception for fish sauce. “It’s just a tablespoon in the whole dish” he’d say sheepishly, stirring his sauce. “It just doesn’t taste right without it.” My palate isn’t so forgiving. I cannot be certain the Pad Thai at Spice had fish sauce (next time I’ll ask), but the sauce’s slight fishiness was a distraction.

Overall, If you're looking for a decent but not particularly memorable meal (and hey, sometimes that's enough) then Spice is as good as any other. In fact, though I only tried one of Spice's three restaurants, the same could likely be said for any of them. Personally, I am content to leave Spice’s other locations unexplored.

Welcome to Good Shmeats

2005-12-12T20:04:00.000-05:00

Welcome to Good Shmeats

Why is this blog different from all other blogs? The short answer: it's not - it's a aspiring writer 20-something's stab at food writing. The slightly longer, more nuanced answer: I'm a foodie. I never learned to cook growing up, so I only recently realized cooking was a passion. I'm a vegetarian, once vegan. I run a Jewish Community-Supported Agriculture project. I hate the word foodie. I put maple syrup in everything I can. The dominant food systems in America terrify me. I love that eating food is an explicitly sensual act. That we do in public. I'm a little bit frightened to start a blog. This blog is a record of my encounters with the restaurants of New York City.

Some things I'd like this blog to be:
1. a good resource for hungry New Yorkers and visiting friends
2. yet another reason for me to eat. and write about food.
3. a place for readers to share their own food stories
4. witty (though not quite www.gofugyourself.com
irreverent)
5. spiced with juicy tidbits - book recommendations, recipes, websites
(don't worry, I'll always give links - here's one Miriam's Kitchen by Elizabeth Erhlich)
6. tasteful. tasty.
7. updated regularly - and a continual work in progress (the blog as a whole and individual pieces)
8. one woman's tribute (mine) to the eating island of New York City
9. a tiny fantasy of mine realized

A few things this blog won't be:
1. all-inclusive: unless someone would like to spring for my dinner
2. structured (at least not in the beginning.)
3. angry - no petulant ranting allowed. unless it's really deserved