28.1.07

south beach: fifty again.

















Well, after all was said, done, eaten, drank, etc., I don't have anything nicer to say about anywhere in South Beach than Fifty.

It is not perfect by any stretch of the imagination. The bar area is frankly, ah...quite awful aesthetically; in fact, the whole interior is pretty bad. Kind of like a repurposed bank branch or something. The porch can be really pleasant, but there's a Thinsulate sheet that is usually rolled down to protect the diners from....what? Who knows. The service is well-intentioned but thoroughly underprepared, like having a good friend wait on you who's never waited tables before. I ended up with three napkins on my lap tonight because every time she brought a new one I didn't have the heart to remind her that I already had one. Where did she think they were going?

But, but, but: if you're sitting outside at a table on a warm night (and the pedestrian protector is rolled up out of the way) and you feel like eating smartly conceived, well-executed apps at normal human prices, TGI Friday's prices, for fuck's sake, you can't do any better in South Beach than Fifty.

Here's what I ate:

+++

Butter Head Lettuce, Sunny Side Up Egg, Crispy Bacon, Maytag Blue Cheese, Toasted Pinenuts & Warm Horseradish Vinaigrette $9

Steamed White Water Clams & our own Tasso Ham (Spicy Cajun Ham) $9

Pecan Pie with Sweet Potato Ice Cream & Caramel $7

+++

It was all great, but the best spoonful of food I've had in my mouth over the last two weeks was the Warm Pecan Pie with Sweet Potato Ice Cream. Well, that spoonful is honestly tied with Joe's Grilled Lobster Reuben, chicken empanadas from Charlotte Bakery (actually three different chicken empanadas, pictured above and below, from Chile, Argentina, and Venezuela, left to right), Mark's South Beach's Foie Gras Peach Cobbler, El Chalan on the Beach's Green Salsa, Clarke's' blue cheeseburger, Talula's Scallop and Corn Chowder, Taste Bakery's Pistachio Muffin (I have no idea why I didn't take a picture of this huge, beautiful creature), and actually, Fifty's Plantain-wrapped Crab Cake in Avocado Oil as well. Honorable mention goes to Big Pink, where we ate 10 times, I'm not even exaggerating.

27.1.07

south beach: disappointments.

During a two-week stint anywhere you're bound to run into some less-than-satisfying dining experiences. Aren't ye?

Best case, you go somewhere that's supposed to be great, a landmark, and it's average. And expensive. Joe's Stone Crab, for instance. Don't worry, I didn't wait two hours to be seated or anything, I just got takeaway. I just don't understand what the appeal might be. It's basically upscale room service food.

Worst case: excruciating food poisoning. El Pub (or El Pube as Mara calls it) in Little Havana sent me to bed for a solid 24 hours wishing I was beyond dead. I can't even explain to you the degree to which my body rebelled against this food. Lamb stew with plantains and a mamey batida. I haven't been in that much pain since a bad Eggs Benedict at a Howard Johnson's when I was 12 years old.

UPDATES: Interesting developments afoot. Yesterday Mara came down with a mercifully milder version of whatever I had on Wednesday, so I can't say with 100% certainty that El Pub was to blame for my G/I blowout. My lamb was a bit gamey, and the symptoms I endured included a bunch of pain, which I do not normally associate with a 24-hour bug.

And, although there's nothing about this that makes me want to retract my "hotel food" characterization, I did have my first fantastic bite of food from Joe's today: their Grilled Lobster Reuben is out of sight. Thank goodness, cos I felt like a real sucker going in there again after I'd already written them off.

23.1.07

south beach: nemo.


















I never had a girl before with much of a figure
So excuse me if I start to play with your Digital Display
Digital Display - I wish your music start to flow
Digital Display - To make your digits want to show
Digital Display - I could turn you off by day
From your Digital Display

+++

Mara woke up this morning complaining that she'd had "weird dreams", soundtracked by Ready For The World's 1987 hit "Digital Display". She also had two tremendously swollen bug bites on her shin and forearm; I like to think that the weird dreams were caused by insect toxins coursing through her veins and stimulating the portion of her brain that stores information about "the Minneapolis Sound", Prince-related bands like Sheila E., The Family, Jesse Johnson's Revue, The Time, etc.

Before I forget, here's what we ate:

+++

1/2 dozen Oysters with Black Pepper Mignonette and Cocktail Sauce.

Big Eye Tuna Tartare
quail egg, tobiko caviar, Maida's corn melbas.

Steamed Mussels
tomato-harissa broth, scallions, sticky black rice, garlic chips.

Bread with cinnamon dal dip.

+++

Against all odds, Nemo was just as relaxed and all-around easy as it was when we were last here six years ago. A tad more expensive maybe, but then maybe everything is. The warm, glowing eggs that illuminate the exposed bar are still as cool and beautiful as ever, and the generally infernal color scheme still feels warm on cooler Miami nights.

The food? It seems like I've eaten little other than raw tuna and (cooked) foie gras since I've been in Miami. Nemo's tuna was the most satisfying I've had yet this week, largely because of the homemade corn melbas that were served with it. Mara's mussels were very pleasantly spicy and briny, but not terribly surprising. Maybe that's a plus come to think of it: what kind of surprise are you really looking for when opening a shellfish? A loud noise would be good. When we asked for some bread, it was delivered with a cinnamon-spiked dal dip that managed to be both exciting and comforting.

20.1.07

south beach: talula.

















5:30AM. While some really inconsiderate people fuck in the pool directly outside my window, I'm left to consider (among other things) a rather remarkably uncool moment I had at the bar at Talula last night:

+++

Female Bartender: So, can I get you guys something else?
Me: No, thanks...we're kinda ready to crash out.
Mara: (actually crashing out)
Female Bartender: Okay, well I hope we see you again!
Me: Oh, we'll definitely be back...we'll probably be here on Sunday for 25%-off wine night.
Record Player: (needle skipping off)
Rest of Restaurant: (stops eating and talking)
Mara: (ears perk up)
Me: Hmmm.
Mara: Niiiiiice.
Female Bartender: Well.....
Rest of Restaurant: (waits patiently)
Female Bartender: ...that's a good time to get a really nice bottle. That's what I do.
Record Player: (resumes playing)
Rest of Restaurant: (shakes head, returns to meal)

+++

Or something like that. I think I was especially sensitized to the un-hotness of this comment because Mara and I have both been reading Neil Strauss's offensive caveman scientist pickup bible The Game, and I'm sure there's a term for what I did: saying something so obviously inimical to closing a set that you might as well have shat on the bar or puked in your drink.

Actually under the right circumstances I'm sure that either (or both) of those two approaches would be more effective than the 25%-off wine comment. Needless to say I really didn't mean for it to come out like that, and I didn't even realize how it sounded until the bartender desperately tried to cover for me (which I thought was sweet). What can I make?* I'm operating a human body under the influence of a serious sleep deficit. But, you know....they do have a 25%-off wine night--you should be allowed to mention it at the restaurant without feeling like a cheap bastard. I guess my date was just so hot that the bartender was hoping that I'd overcome my obvious physical obstacles and get it on some recipe.*

But enough about my lack of game: Talula, let me just say, was excellent in just about every way except for the fact that we almost didn't go there because their website makes both the food and the inside of the restaurant look incredibly unattractive. We'd heard so many good things about the place that we went in spite of the impression given by the website...the only logical explanation is that it was done by a family member or close friend who needed the work. I'm happy to report that neither the restaurant itself nor the food look anything like the website photos.

We had:

+++

Tartar of Ahi Tuna
Serrano chiles, cucumber, crispy rice, trout roe.

Grilled Shrimp Tamale
Fava beans, roasted poblano chiles, teardrop tomato vinaigrette.

Grilled Sonoma Valley Foie Gras
Caramelized figs, blue corn cakes, chile syrup, candied walnuts.

Daily Soup: Corn Chowder with Grilled Scallops

+++

Mara's soup was unstoppable, the best version of this I've tasted since Eddie Hernandez's now-defunct Sundown Cafe in Atlanta...I think we both could've eaten this all night. The tuna was good, but not legendary; the version I had at Clarke's was just as satisfying, if simpler and less ambitious. In fact, Mara out-ordered me last night...both of her dishes were just about flawless; she followed the soup with the tamale, while I had the foie gras. I ordered it to compare it with Mark's South Beach's version, and I have to say I preferred Mark's. The fig notes here were a bit confusing, almost as if they'd used both dried and fresh. After I got to the blue corn cakes, things improved dramatically, but the first impression of this dish wasn't stellar.

In any event, Talula won big points for a friendly, foodie vibe, and for having a Caesar salad that was less than 10 bucks. Not that I'm going to order it, it's just the principle of the thing. The rest of the menu looks sufficiently interesting to guarantee a return trip. You know, on 25%-off wine night.

* Denotes patois or pidgin English. Insensitive, I know.

19.1.07

south beach: wish and mark's south beach.

















So yesterday we decided to get our inevitable massive disillusionment over with and visit what had been our two favorite South Beach eateries in the past, Wish and Mark's South Beach. Actually, we didn't really decide this, it just sort of happened, the way things do when you head up the beach at night without a plan in your head.

We stopped at Wish first, for what we knew would be an embarrassingly pricey drink and to see what was what food-wise. I'd forgotten that it's almost a perfectly beautiful restaurant outside; I'd also forgotten that the bar is just (for me) all wrong. It's tiny, sterile, and expensive, with bad EuroMiami lounge music setting a vibe that I would ordinarily run away from fast. It's so much an afterthought to the rest of the restaurant that one wonders why they bothered with it at all. I being that one.

We had such an indelible (you know, aside from the stuff I just said I'd forgotten) experience at Wish last time largely due to the atmosphere: we sat outside in the barely bearably romantic garden on a tremendously humid night that finally erupted into big warm raindrops and everyone had to run inside under the porch for a bit...so we had drinks on the porch and watched the downpour drench all of the white linen tablecloths and gradually fill the empty water and wine glasses left behind in the rush, just like in that Guns 'n' Roses video...and someone told me I should "hold on to this one", and I said "I married her"...I'm pretty sure he meant Mara.

Back to 2007: while the menu looked good, the bar was killing my mood, so we had to bail. Luckily, Mark's was a few blocks away. Mark's was a perfect illustration of why you want a good bar scene in your restaurant. Whereas the vibe at Wish was of a lackluster hotel bar, Mark's felt like...well, foodies hanging out insulting each other in a hotel bar.* I knew everything was going to be OK when Mara and our Italian-Irish bartender Damien started busting each other's balls immediately, then unfurling entire paragraphs of actual Goodfellas dialogue while I just sat there wondering if I'd blacked out and somehow missed portions of the conversation:

+++

Damien:
Amsterdam? Wow, I almost moved there with my...
Mara: Boyfriend?
Damien: I like you.
Mara: But it didn't work out.
Damien: I'm not changing my religion for nobody.
Mara: Jew broad?
Damien: I can't believe this. This day and age, a Jew broad, prejudiced against Italians.
Mara: I'm trying to bang this broad, you gonna help me out or what?
Me: Huh?

+++

So while Damien reminded us why we love good American bartenders so much, we ordered some food.

+++

Pan seared foie gras over white peach cobbler.

Jumbo scallops, purée of calabaza, passion fruit butter
and plantain crisps.

Chocolate souffle with vanilla creme anglaise.

+++

The foie gras was just what I was looking for, though serving anything remotely sweet alongside a good peach cobbler will probably work out just fine for me. Mara thought her scallops had way too much of the calabaza puree on board, giving the dish a pumpkin pie feel that was seriously distracting...I like sweet stuff with my seafood more than she does and it was way too much for me too. However if you portioned out the puree appropriately, the scallops were great and everything made sense. The chocolate souffle was a nice, not-too-sweet finish, but paled in comparison to the amazing apple/maple syrup souffle we had at Mark's during our legendary visit in 2001.

Overall, very good food, great service, rumours of a decline in quality proved to be unfounded thus far, at least while dining at the bar. We're going to sneak in another visit before we leave.

* Our evening was greatly enhanced by Damien's performance; little did we know that it was to be one of his last at Mark's: we subsequently found out from Josh at Nemo that, 48 hours later, Damien would walk out of Mark's during his Saturday night shift. Apparently the "good bar scene" only existed when we were there; word on the street is that the bar was normally desolate and bar staff usually made 20-30 legitimate dollahs on an average night.

16.1.07

south beach: fifty.














Yesterday we finally accomplished a few of our modest goals for this vacation. We:

1) had a full day of sun on the beach
2) opened the tequila bottle
3) made it out of the apartment for a restaurant dinner

Even better, we have no sunburn (thank you Hawaiian Tropic), no hangover (thank you Vitamin Water), and the food was very above average (thank you Fifty).

One of my reservations about this trip is: we don't eat like we used to, both in volume and in terms of what we're looking for. Back in the 90s when I first started cooking, it was during the rise of super-hyphenated and pretentious fusion cooking in America, and I'm sure that my tastes suffered immeasurable setbacks. I really don't try to cook like this anymore, but I still like it when a chef who has successfully assimilated these ideas cooks for me.

We ate at Fifty thanks to some last minute research which revealed that no one had a single bad thing to say about this modestly-priced place that is right across the street from us. We've been doing a lot of research and running into trouble because of the new appetizer pricing model in America: $15 and up suddenly became totally acceptable at some point in the last 5 years.

I'm balking. If it's fascinating food that I can't either technically can't make or conceptually can't imagine at home, I have no problem with these prices. But I'm not paying 15 bucks for a caesar salad, a carrot-ginger soup, or a watercress and endive salad (Nemo I'm talking about you here). Buffalo mozzarella, basil, half-roasted tomatoes, and an infused EVOO makes for a nice appetizer, but I can do this myself.

Anyway, Fifty was an easy sell because their prices are still 1999 prices and their food looks thoughtful and unusual. Chef Rolando “Roly” Cruz-Taura worked with Mark Militello for awhile, and Mark's was a landmark dining experience for us back in the day. Did I mention it's literally right across the street?

Fifty's a nice-looking place, a bit hotel bar, but not distractingly so. We sat outside because there was no one sitting inside. We had:

+++

Calamari Trio:
Buttermilk Fried Calamari, Baby Turk & Caicos Conch and Chile Rings
Grilled Squid Stuffed with Spicy Braised Oxtail
Chilled Calamari & Baby Octopus Cocktail

Jumbo Lump Crab Cake (how-to here)
Wrapped in green plantain with Avocado Aioli & Herb Infused
Extra Virgin Avocado Oil.

Crispy Veal Sweetbreads with Chimmichurri and White Truffle Essence

+++

For now, let me just say that the crab cake was excellent, do not fail to order it if you go to Fifty. Before last night, I myself had not ordered a crab cake in a restaurant since 1996 or so, but our server said that it was one of their signature dishes, and I do love avocados. When the plate arrived, it was the kind of crab cake that shouldn't even be called a crab cake, it should just be called Crab, no filler in sight. And the sauce was platelickingly good. I could've eaten 4 of these.

The calamari trio was 66% awesome, 33% good: the cocktail portion wasn't my scene, kind of a Bloody Mary/gazpacho presentation that has never been a favorite of mine. But the other two calamaris were heavenly.

The sweetbreads were a solid B: the sweetbread component was a bit undersized, allowing the chimmichurri to overwhelm it in volume, we agreed that a nice crouton or something to soak up the extra sauce would have made the disparity less obvious.

To sum, we'll be going back at some point in the next 10 days, I'm sure. I will add my voice to the chorus of people who have nothing bad to say about Fifty: upbeat and real (as in non-robot) service was also a nice plus.

14.1.07

south beach: big pink.














Well, we did it: beach vacation in progress. It only took us 5 years. At some point I'll get around to trying to understand why South Beach works for us, but for now I'll just be happy that it does. It definitely doesn't hurt that our room is simply awesome, 50 yards from brilliant turquoise water that we can see and hear from our windows. It also sports three windows that open (!), which allows us to set up crossbreezes of scarily windtunnellish proportions. I awoke to see my cash money flying around the room this morning in a worryingly unstable cyclonic formation...I managed to secure most of it without incident. Anyway, I wish you all could be here.

Eating: against all odds, one of our favorite emergency grub places down here is Big Pink, a 20.5-hour diner (you know, vs. 24-hour) that combines a vast menu of competently-prepared gourmandized diner food with a stainless steel industrial vibe and a full bar. I've heard some terrible things about the service here, but in the 8-10 times I've been here everyone has always been exceptionally nice to me. And this was even before I'd gotten used to Amsterdam service.

Example: yesterday I ordered a glass of sangria (which may or may not even be on the menu, I'd just spied this empty pitcher labelled "sangria" behind the bar and assumed there was some more of it laying around somewhere) because I'd been walking around for 90 minutes in jeans and a black long sleeve shirt looking for flip-flops (long story). The bartender said that they didn't have any sangria, but that she'd be happy to make me a glass of it. This kind of thing does not usually happen in Amsterdam.

Anyway, Big Pink has great salads (including this soy-marinated mushroom kebab appetizer served on bok choy with a feta dressing that shouldn't work at all but is very very good) and red velvet cake. The only disappointment we've had: "Nemo" polenta fries with a spicy ketchup. The ketchup was like a European version of tomato salsa, sharp and overcooked, pointlessly spiced; the fries were sadly tasteless.

The Nemo referenced in that dish refers to Big Pink's parent restaurant, Nemo, where in the past we've enjoyed many slow, expensive evenings at the bar. We should find ourselves back there any minute now, I'll let you know how it goes.

UPDATE: An hour after my "isn't South Beach wonderful" moment above, I was nearly killed in what I'm sure will eventually be a deadly altercation between the possibly violently racist Cuban counterman at Washington Ave. Food Plaza and a black patron of questionable sanity. Why neither of them riddled the other one (and in all probability me) full of bullets remains uncertain.

11.1.07

season's beatings.














As in, I took one over the holidays. Something inside me demands escalation, and unfortunately during the winter holidays this is achieved through repeated submergence in holiday cheer. Bosom Caresser, anyone? I won't even get into the Supercock.

My point being: Happy New Year, etc. On Saturday heading to sunny beach places for a couple weeks and will document my foodstuff encounters when appropriate.

In other news, it's time to revise my Amsterdam recommendations...in December I revisited a few of my "must-eats" and, well...there've been some changes afoot, for example: Toko Ikan Mas has changed their loempia recipe, so sadly this is no longer a must-eat.

More of this sort of thing later.

3.12.06

love hate mail.

Want some hate mail? All you have to do is slag off somebody's home city-state-country-region-favorite food. Everyone knows this. Why do they still do it?

You have to wonder why someone who took the trouble to join an online discussion forum like, say...eGullet, one that requires more than just "create a username and password to join" membership...why they would present statements of opinion as absolute fact. Say, for example:

"Everyone knows that the best (cooked meat preparation) is the original (regional variation) from (region)."

This person is either

a) looking for a fight. This is the only truly defensible reason to phrase a sentence in the above manner.
b) under 25 years of age. 'Nuff said.
c) a long-time NYC resident who hasn't traveled much, or someone who has just moved to NYC and is eager to become a "New Yorker".

Let the hate mail begin!

20.11.06

mexican miscellany.

I was just having a real corn tortilla quesadilla for breakfast this morning (an occasional indulgence...actually on three separate occasions this morning) and once again silently thanking those Corny Bakers for reuniting me with my lost love, the corn tortilla.

If you'll recall, I didn't actually get to utilize these boys in the big game last Sunday or whenever that was, but I really should've. Flour tortillas just blow, and somehow...I forgot that. I let the absence of corn tortillas cloud my judgement. As a way of "making things right", it was my duty (pronounced "deewty") to provide those tequila-addled Europeans with a real LA-style quesadilla last weekend after having served them so many flour tortillas in the past...I owed it to them, and frankly...I failed.

Luckily I succeeded in providing my own self with several this morning, so everything is OK. I just want to point out that if you're not making quesadillas with fresh corn tortillas, start doing so.

Relevant things I found on my procrastinative travels this morning: a pictorial guide to burrito folding, which includes the little-known secret third fold and made me pine for days of old, when my life revolved around arriving at Tortillas on Ponce de Leon as they opened at 12 noon, ordering a shrimp burrito with cheese and spinach and a Sam Adams, waiting 10 minutes or so with my Creative Loafing, and then entering into a dream world for the next 45 minutes or so, red and green salsas trustily at my side. And then going home for a nap. That was a good day.

Why do things have to change? Tell me that. I'm serious.

Actually I'm only half-serious. Maybe 60%. Regardless, I also looked at the Wikipedia quesadilla entry, which, while being strangely informal, is also pretty informative.

19.11.06

zuurkool.

In less bitchy news, Klary has a nice piece on sauerkraut up at Smaakpraat.nl, (sorry mother dear, it's in Dutch). This is especially relevant for me since I've been eating sauerkraut every day that I haven't eaten mole in the past week. Dinner at Greetje kinda got me started on it and I haven't been able to stop...I think because I haven't actually had it with sausage yet. So that will be tonight's dinner, in an effort to get the zuurkool monkey off my back.

But the main takeaways from Klary's article: rinse your sauerkraut well before using it (if you've never done this before, you have been eating something very different from what sauerkraut can be like); and toss a glass of kirschwasser over it after it's cooked and before serving. The latter tip is a new one for me and I hope to try it out tonight if I can manage to drag my ass out of the house to go get some kirsch.

EDIT: I did not drag my ass to get kirsch b/c there's not a liquor store in our neighborhood (how is that possible? This is supposed to be a bad neighborhood), but I did drag my ass to the corner to get some sausage. Actually, I got two, in order to have a bit of a taste-off: Weidenaar kookworst from Friesland, flavored with nutmeg and ginger; and Spar Gelderse rookworst, flavored with MSG and fake smoke.

Actually the Spar rookworst is about the only packaged rookworst I've seen without MSG (here called e621 or smaakversterker (literally "taste amplifier", which sounds like the title of a Boris CD)), which is why I bought it. But it does have fake smoke.

Worst in general, but specifically rookworst is a bit nostalgic for me...when we first moved here, we were renting an apartment for two weeks until we could move into our actual apartment, and during those first two weeks I have no idea what we did other than watch music videos (you could count on seeing Aaliyah's "More Than a Woman" or Basement Jaxx' "Where's Your Head At" once every 20 minutes, as a result I associate these songs with the squirrel-like naivete we possessed back then) and eat the following five items exclusively:

1) Wokkels
2) Eggs + Sambal Badjak
3) Couscous with butter and Heinz Curry Sauce
4) Kletskoppen
5) Rookworst + Huisman Zaanse mustard (possibly the dorkiest link I've ever linked)

I can't imagine why we didn't buy groceries...maybe we didn't want to mess up his refrigerator? I think he didn't have an oven, only a stovetop burner. But I really can't begin to understand our rationale for this diet. But anyway, I guess my point is that we were sweet and unblemished then, and those memories smell like rookworst. Or something. Whatever, I'll reveal the extremely unsurprising results of the worst taste-off in my next post.

stop already.
















with giving Dutch businesses and products English names. This is a country with a fantastic reputation for "business savvy", whatever that is, where people speak English as a second language better than most Americans speak it as their first. Which explains WHY the Anglolinguaphilia in marketing exists, but does nothing to explain why the names are so embarrassingly BAD.

Maybe all countries do this. You've all heard about Engrish in Japan. And in America...I used to go by My Dong Korean/Vietnamese restaurant on Buford Highway all the time (great to yell out over your shoulder as you leave the house: "Hey honey, I'm going out for awhile, need anything from My Dong?"). And native Americans do it too (not "Native Americans")...isn't American food marketing full of appropriated foreign words, like "Cafe Buon Giorno"s and "Cafe Bella"s, and doesn't every city have a French resturant called "Pastis"? OK, but Americans are notoriously unilingual, so their naming a cafe or restaurant something completely banal or awkward in another language should not be a surprise.

But the Dutch have a mostly well-deserved reputation as sophisticated multilinguists.

How, then, could Albert Heijn call its newest "gourmet" ice cream Nut Explosion? It's bad enough that the name of this gourmet line itself is "Excellent" (a gourmet line that would be scorn-worthy no matter what it was called because in some cases they just repackaged things they were already selling as "regular" products. And in most cases, they stopped selling whatever product they were carrying that might have competed with their new brand, like Haagen-Dazs. Excellent!).

So, anyway...if anyone asks if you'd like to taste their Excellent Nut Explosion, eh....no you would not (this link in Dutch points to a product recall from AH because some of their Excellent ice cream had "hard plastic pieces in it which may be hazardous to your health"). Even better, when you Google "Excellent Nut Explosion", all you get are stories about meth labs blowing up. "Meth Lab Explosion" is a flavor I would be willing to taste before this Nut Explosion.

I haven't even addressed Gorgeous Restaurant...let me think about it over some Excellent coffee while you ponder their actual "mission statement":

Chic without constraint. Glamour without pretence. Personal and open. A place where you can feel at home, a place in which we’re happy to welcome you. A restaurant in one word... Gorgeous.

Actually those first two sentences are pretty much lifted word for word from my own personal mission statement...proof that industrial espionage is alive and kicking.

* not a real word.

+++

11.11.06

finalmente! tortillas de maiz.

I really thought I'd never see the day...Corny Bakers: you rock, rock. You know that list of things I keep saying you can't reliably find in Holland? Tomatillos, poblanos, anchos, pasillas, guajillos, achiote, epazote, corn husks, etc. No longer true. I really have no idea what their prices are like or if I can even order from them directly. But I bought some of their corn husks, masa harina, and frozen corn tortillas yesterday at Tjin's (who are now also my heroes), and everything was pretty reasonable...4 euro for 1.5KG of masa harina, for example.

Something embarrassing that did not seem reasonably priced (6 euro) but that I would have spent twice as much money on now that I've tasted it....Jim Beam BBQ Sauce (after looking at other websites, it's not such an unreasonable price after all). They also had Open Pit and BullsEye, but high fructose corn syrup was too close to the top of the ingredient list on those guys (second ingredient). It's not even that I'm supermilitant about HFCS or anything...it's just pointless, lazy cooking (in addition to being terrible for your body). With the Beam sauce it's just regular corn syrup, and it's not even its own ingredient, it just shows up as a component of Worcestershire sauce. Amazing.

Anyway, I said it was embarrassing because we know that off-the-shelf sauces are a no-no for any pitmaster worth their smoke. It was an impulse buy, though, and for once a really smart one...it's ridiculous and unexpected what a nostalgic taste this is (even though I've never had Jim Beam's sauce before)...I've obviously repressed the memories of exactly how much BBQ I ate during my time in the Southland. But this is an especially good BBQ sauce, assuming that nostalgia hasn't slipped my tastebuds a roofie. Vinegary and molasses-y and spicy, without too much smoke and a good bit of Worcestershire and black pepper. Let's just say I bought it yesterday and half the bottle is gone...I just had BBQ salmon for breakfast, following my BBQ catfish from last night. And a few spoonfuls before bedtime. And I am now licking my breakfast plate.

+++

10.11.06

it's all about taste.

Taste is a subject that's been under much discussion in these parts as of late. Mostly with regard to music and mostly between Hilary and me, but it's funny how synchronicity works sometimes: I've just recently had several other rather deep discussions about taste with completely unrelated people coming from very different perspectives. Hopefully I'll have sufficient focus to elaborate at some point.

Right now though I just want to point to someone whose taste in Amsterdam bars seems to be similar to my own: these are some nice Flickr photos of a handful of my favorite watering holes in town (note: the second Arendsnest foto is actually a pic of In de Wildeman, in case you care). Especially nice since I never seem to see any pictures of Het Schuim, and it's such a dark but airy interior where I've spent a number of satisfying afternoons.

+++

8.11.06

restaurant greetje.

Had a rare sit-down meal out tonight, at the easy-on-the-eyes Restaurant Greetje on the Peperstraat where Raap & Peper used to be.

Here's what I had:

+++

Sauteed black pudding with warm apple sauce.


Roasted half Dutch pheasant with sauerkraut and mashed potatoes, duck sausage, pheasant gravy and duck liver.


Crème brûlée with liquorice and liquorice ice cream.

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And, my comments, based on an email conversation about the meal with someone else who was there (who I hope doesn't mind that I've turned our personal conversation into blogfodder, I hereby grant her reciprocal privilege to do the same):

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In retrospect, my biggest issue with Greetje was my completely unfounded expectations, and that is hardly the restaurant's fault. I can't say anything was really wrong with my meal, it was all well-prepared and multi-textured, and the service was...interesting, incompetent but very good-natured and occasionally attentive, which is better than average for restaurant waitstaff in Amsterdam. We only had to go look for them once I think (an ordered bottle of wine never showed up...because it was being chilled in the freezer. Now that is home-style cooking)!

My blood pudding was good (did I really just say that?), but I really only got excited about my sauerkraut and my duck sausage, and that's just because, well....crikey, it's sauerkraut and sausage, what's not to like. The sausage was like a mini merguez, spicy and nearly red....and the sauerkraut was baked with potatoes and a breadcrumb crust and cutely presented in a little pot on the side. Very delicious and definitely the most satisfying part of the meal. My pheasant was mostly very tasty, I did get one unpleasant bite that made me realize I'd forgotten what "gamey" tastes like...it reminded me of my cats (not the way they taste, but something about them...either their food or their litter box. Or maybe both. Hurl.)

So, to sum: Greetje was interesting in that it tried (or appeared to try) to focus on a refinement of traditional, regional Dutch cooking, the menu being charmingly specific about historical names and regional slang. The food: artfully presented, but I think a little more salt and pepper and a little more sauce would've really helped measurably in the satisfaction department. "Pleasant" is the word that keeps coming to mind. But based on who knows what, I'd expected something a little more exciting than "pleasant".

Still, I'd recommend it as an introduction to casually elegant Dutch cooking, and perfect for visitors to Amsterdam who are interested in this kind of thing. Plus, importantly, we had a very cozy and relaxed evening in terms of pacing and ambience and general vibe. But I might also take them to a good game-centric eetcafe like Cafe van Beeren to taste the less-refined but more comfort-foody version of rustic Dutch dishes.

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22.10.06

guisado de garbanzo istmeño.

I cracked the spine of a cookbook today for the first time in a long time, and it was Susanna Trilling's Seasons of My Heart.

Gag-inducing title aside, it's a great cookbook, focusing on the diversity of Oaxacan cuisine. Today I was trying to use up some ancient items from the pantry and my darting eyeball's gaze landed on a 3/4-full bag of chickpeas. Gotcha, you ceci monkeys. Here is my adaptation of Lupe's Stewed Garbanzo Beans (p.203):

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guisado de garbanzo istmeño.

400g chickpeas, soaked overnight (or 5 cups canned)
water to cover
1/2 medium white onion, finely chopped
3 garlic cloves, finely chopped

400g canned peeled tomatoes, chopped or pureed
1 cup chicken stock or roasted vegetable stock
200g chorizo
1 medium white or yellow onion, chopped
8 garlic cloves
1 ripe plantain or 1 not-so-ripe banana, cubed
2 tbsp. pickled jalapeños

The general idea here is to cook the chickpeas first (if you're not using canned) with the onions and 3 cloves garlic, adding water as necessary to keep beans barely covered, maybe 30-45 minutes, until al dente, then drain them and place them in a good stew pot. Add the tomatoes, onion, 8 cloves garlic, and 1 cup chicken stock to the chickpeas and simmer on low heat.

While the chickpeas are simmering, remove the meat from the chorizo casings and fry it for 5-7 minutes in a smallish skillet. Add the browned chorizo to the beans, leaving the oil from the chorizo in the pan. Fry the plantain in the same pan (with the chorizo oil) until browned, then add to the beans. Add anything that's still laying around, then cook the assembled stew on low heat for another 30-60 minutes, or until beans are completely tender. Puree if you want a bisque-y kind of thing. I did.

Notes: This was unexpectedly fantastic. Something I might change would be the pickled jalapeños...kind of a mmm jarring taste against the comforting roundness of the guisado. My jalapeños were also 1) a bit old and 2) European. I think some reg'lar fresh green chiles diced would be a better idea. I also turned the leftovers into a sauce for pork tenderloin for unexpected dinner guests Phil and Andy, paired with a reduced ancho/roasted garlic broth: out. of. sight. Literally, in about 5 minutes. Gone. Then we got really high and listened to a bunch of Wu-Tang. Good night!

28.9.06

lavash pizza.

Usually when I haven't posted for this long, it's the sign of some grave divergence from normal healthy living. But in this case, no. Just no time for procrastination, so, no time to write here.

I did make the best homemade pizza I've ever had the other day (homemade as in: not made in Italy and not cooked in a wood-fired stove), and you'd never believe how I did it. I can't believe how I did it, because at various points in our lives we've devoted quite a bit of energy to making a great homemade pizza. Anyway, as we like to say around here....more later, but I'll give you some hints: oven as hot as possible; mozzarella, parmigiano-reggiano, fresh tomatoes, fresh basil, sea salt, and plenty of good olive oil; 8 minutes; lavash bread.

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2.9.06

fumbling toward nextacy.

I've been trying to post something here, but everything I've been up to lately is too complicated to post about quickly. So I'll just say this:

Worst Live Band Ever? Helium. No contest, hands down, etc. I've seen them 5 times and watched them suck powerfully and incessantly 5 times. This was tragic for me b/c Pirate Prude and The Dirt of Luck were two of my absolute favorite discs of 1994-5, and while some of my other favorite artists were just up and actually, literally dying left and right without my having seen them live, Helium just couldn't get excited enough about their gigs to do anything other than scowl and pout and just unabashedly befoul the stage with their energysucking absence of goodness (sorry Ash, I don't mean you), for me most memorably at Atlanta's now-gone-I-think Cotton Club, where Blonde Redhead just mopped the floor with Helium's frowny-faced shrug of a set.

Really, it's not like I've been obsessing about this for 11 years or anything, honest. It's just that I had a summer of unusually nostalgic listening because all of Matador, Touch and Go, and Merge Records' back catalogs are now available on eMusic, so I downloaded all the old favorites that I accidentally sold when we had our CD shop (I didn't realize that some of them were out of print)...I was happiest to find the boys from Chavez, Polvo, and Archers of Loaf out there...and of course Helium, which started all of this. "Baby's Going Underground" is still a great song.

Still no Bonsai Superstar though, 'cause it was released on Grass. I had a prolonged fantasy about releasing it myself last night, but thankfully it seems to have passed.

Something about food will show up here eventually. Until then, go listen to some Camille. Her Le Fil disc is, IMHO, everything that Bjork's Medulla should've been but wasn't. It's playful, passionate, experimental, occasionally awkward, and interesting while still being pop-song-predictable enough to play for normal people. And there's none of that over-emotive full-throttle yell that the Swan Lady indulges herself in. Additionally, there aren't 36 distracting guest stars. I also don't understand a word of the Camille stuff, and I'm sure that helps immensely.

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12.8.06

subterfuge.














I have been ill for the last few days, but I am now in tip-top shape and ready to return to the world of knocking all of your socks--maybe even more of your clothing and accessories than that, maybe a fob or brooch as well--right the hell off with my witty and urbane observations about eating cheap food.

What the fuck did I do during this mercifully cool and very rainy downtime? I:

Read Paul Auster's New York Trilogy, during which I closed the book several times and just sat there staring at it because I couldn't believe how...bold (yes, that's a typographic pun) it was. Nonchalantly yet staggeringly audacious (is there a font style for that)? It just made me realize how philosophically easy the postmodern ironicism of the Eggers, DFW, Leyner, etc. crew is. New York Trilogy is really the first book I've read in a long time that I just couldn't believe I was reading. And it's 25 years old!

OK, back to the food shortly.

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28.7.06

eating in amsterdam, duck style (part 2).

















IMPORTANTE: This post is from 2006, a long time ago. Much has changed. Please don't hold me responsible if things aren't as good as they were X years ago (and counting)....

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Man, does Blogger suck. Welcome to Installment 2 of this 4-part series, necessitated (the parts) by a ridiculous bug in Blogger that begins adding tags indiscriminately if you edit the same post a number of times. Confusingly, here is Part One of this series.

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6) Loempia and Maiskoekjes at Toko Ikan Mas, 1e Constantijn Huygensstraat 61. (link)

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UPDATE, Jan 2007:
Recent visits to Toko Ikan Mas have been disappointing...their loempias seem to have degraded into something more doughy and bland. Bummer.

UPDATE: Jan 2009: Loempias at Toko Ikan Mas seem to have recovered...not quite the same as they used to be, but headed back in that direction. Los Pilones, on the other hand, has been increasingly disappointing on our last two visits. BOO. Both visits have been to the new Jordaan location, it's true, but the changes aren't execution-related, they seem conceptual: there are fewer authentic menu options, and in general the food seems much less spicy and interesting.

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Toko Ikan Mas
is a bit of a nostalgic favorite from when we first moved here and lived right across the street, but we still find their vegetarian loempias to be the best in town, primarily because they try harder.

Terminology check: A toko is typically an Indonesian food shop that sells take-away snacks and full meals as well as produce and supplies for the home chef. A loempia (or lumpia in most other languages) is very similar to a Chinese egg roll, a Vietnamese spring roll, and a Thai popiah. They were introduced to the Dutch population in the early- to mid- 20th century, probably by Chinese and definitely by Indonesian immigrants, and they are now everywhere, at least in Amsterdam. It would be a challenge to find an Amsterdam snack bar that did not have something it referred to as a loempia.

Unfortunately, these may be the some of the worst loempias in existence. Thick, soggy wrappers around fillings that don't taste like much more than salt and cheap, old frying oil. To be fair, 90% of Amsterdam snackbar loempia makers probably use the same 3 brands of frozen loempias, so there's really no comparison with someone who puts some effort into it.

Toko Ikan Mas makes its own loempias. They use a paper-thin wrapper that doesn't retain much oil, and fill it to bursting with the usual suspects (cabbage, carrots, tauge/bean sprouts) as well as vermicelli noodles and some good heat from a sambal. These loempias are about 6 times the size of the standard borrelhapje loempia/vlammetje (a tiny loempia that was invented so that loempias could participate in a borrelhapjes plate (bar snacks) without scaring off the bitterballen and osseworst).* One is a reasonable order for one person. I should stress, though, that their size has nothing to do with their goodness: they're good because they're fresh and light.

The other item to pick up here is a maiskoek, or Indonesian Corn Cake (also called frikadel jagung in Indonesian maybe?). It's also fried, but wrapperless; this is basically a corn fritter with actual corn, lemongrass, leeks, and a little sambal. As always, I recommend scoring a tamarind or young coconut water drink from the fridge to wash it down.

Again, as with most of these Indonesian/Surinamese snack places, the closer you can go to lunchtime, the better the food will be and the more likely they'll have what you're looking for. These aren't all-night places, they're typically open til 7 or 8 at the latest, and by then (if they've calclulated correctly), they'll be out of just about everything perishable.

* The actual reason for this size issue may have something to do with the fact that Malaysian spring rolls are actually traditionally quite small.


7) Chicken Mole or Cochinita Pibil at Los Pilones, Kerkstraat 63. (link)

European-Mexican food. Just seeing those first two words next to each other should be enough to put a scare in you. If you've ever been gallivanting around Yurp and thought it might be fun to try a restaurant called A Taste of Texas, Buenos Nachos, La Cantina, or anything remotely Mexican-sounding, you know what I'm talking about.

It's not that the cooks in these places don't have the skillz necessary to prepare authentic Mexican dishes, they've just never actually tasted authentic Mexican food before. So everything is (at least) slightly off, like eating in a bad dream. Guacamole can be toothpaste-colored and creamy, as in, it has cream in it. "Salsas" can run the gamut from simply crushed and unseasoned canned tomatoes with jarred jalapeno slices to highly seasoned spaghetti sauce. Corn tortillas? Sadly, no. Same goes for tomatillos, poblanos, epazote, nopales, hoja santa, chipotles, anchos, pasillas, Negra Modelo, moles, pipians, etc. etc. etc.

Unless, that is, (get ready for a transition here...) the European-Mexican restaurant in question is Los Pilones, run by two brothers from Mexico City (smooth!). You can tell that Hector and Pedro aren't creamy guacamole guys as soon as the chips are brought to your table. They come with not one but three excellent salsas. The non-creamy guac is simple, chunky, and otherwise perfect as well. For entrees, we usually stick with the chicken mole and the cochinita pibil because they've been great every time and nothing else on the menu has been able to distract us from them.

Now...as great as it is, Los Pilones is not a Mission burrito joint, or a taco truck, nor is it many of the things that we American Eaters of Mexican Food are homesick for, authentic or not, so don't expect any of that. But, it is a lovingly-designed, artfully-managed fun spot for dinner or drinks that serves carefully-prepared, as-authentic-as-possible Yucatecan and Oaxacan food. In Amsterdam!


8) Bocadillos at Hollandaluz, Haarlemmerstraat 71. (link)

This shop can do no wrong in my tiny little mind, or at least not much (they could maybe carry some better canned tuna...Ortiz for example). Before Mara took off for Scotland this summer, our sunny day plan went like this:

Her: "OK, see you at the park. Get the one with the membrillo, and something else."
Me: "The artichokes with aioli?"
Her: "Hmm. We just had that one."
Me: "But it was fantastic."
Her: "Right. Get one. And something else."
Me: "That's two humongous sandwiches already. How many days are we going to be at the park?"
Her: (frown, with extended lower lip).
Me: "OK, what else?"

The items in question are bocadillos (sandwiches) from Hollandaluz. We've had all 10 of them (or at least I have), and my favorites in order are....well, it's just easier to list the ones I wasn't bowled over by: both of the roasted red pepper bocadillos might actually be fine, but compared to everything else they were a bit boring. If I were going right now, I'd get a tuna/aioli and a manchego/membrillo. Their aioli is the best I've ever had, I think, and any sandwich that they put it on is one you're going to want to bite the shit out of. But...their albondigas are also the best I've had, and the warm chorizo with onions is the shit as well. They also have a morcilla (blood sausage) option that's a bit hard to see on the menu, but it's there, and it's good if you're up for it. Make sure to ask for a little extra olive oil on any of these sandwiches, because the olive oil they use here is out. of. sight.

I haven't even mentioned any of their other homemade stuff: great non-fishy marinated fresh anchovies; paellla; gazpacho, croquetas. And unflaggingly friendly service, even in the deepest throes of our Summer Deathwave of Heat.


9) Gambas and Homemade Ginger-Pear Tart at Van Kerkwijk, Nes 41.

This is my fail-safe "dining out with guests" option in Amsterdam. I've eaten here at least ten times and been thoroughly pleased every time. It's not really "fancy" cooking, but you won't find any hutspot or kroketten here. It's a quietly cool (but not quiet) and classy neighborhood restaurant run by an ever-changing number of sisters that prepares fresh, creative food with a pronounced Spanish influence, but more than that (to me) seems very Dutch in its appropriation of "whatever sounds good".

My most memorable meal there was a beautiful, perfectly cooked filet of beef in a strawberry/balsamic/olive oil sauce, simply plated and delicious. In fact, the steaks here have always been very very good (for Americans reading this, it's worth mentioning that you will not see a charcoal-grilled steak here very often, they're more often pan-fried in butter I believe). Some nights we just go for starters, interesting cheeses and gently modernized pan-European tapas/antipasti. The menu changes often, and there are usually interesting seafood and salad options. We almost always order the gambas, large whole shrimp baked in a clay pot with lots of garlic, good olive oil, and red chile pepper. And for dessert, we order the homemade perentaart when there's still some left (mom makes it for them every day the restaurant is open). Excellent, friendly service and an overall good vibe. OK, the music is occasionally a little...mmm, lounge-y for my tastes, but with cool music Van Kerkwijk would probably be too devastatingly attractive for its own good anyway.


10) Bara at Toko Hangalampoe, 2e Nassaustraat 7.

I just had one of these this morning, as this is my downstairs Surinaamse toko, and the baras are only 1 euro...how can you not get one when you walk by? A bara is a deep-fried black lentil doughnut (bet you never thought you'd see all those words in the same sentence) of Indian/Nepalese origin. The Indian influence on Surinam cuisine seems surprising for a South American country, until you find out that 37% of the Surinam population is East Indian/Hindustani (the largest ethnic group in the country). I know this is true because Wikipedia told me so.

Anyway, Toko Hangalampoe's bara participates in the noble tradition of Indian lentil fritters, but takes it in a totally different direction by adding to it a ridiculously spicy Madame Jeanette (habanero relative) salsa smeared liberally on top (less liberally if you don't speak Dutch, I've heard). This is the spiciest food I've had in Amsterdam, in fact it can be too hot (depending on who is behind the counter). If you're not a chile-lover, you might want to ask for the peper separate (it comes in a little plastic bag this way) so you can regulate your dosage. But you definitely have to get your bara met peper.

This is probably not the best bara in Amsterdam, but it is above-average, for sure. It's possible that you will get a not-completely-reheated bara. Take it home and put it in the oven to reheat, or the toaster if you got your sambal on the side.

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