atlanta: keepin' it sleazy.

Some friends are headed to the ATL for one night only and wanted some entertainment tips. It was tough, due to the diverse, idiosyncratic, budget minded nature of this group of friends, so I just approached it as if it was me stranded on a Monday night in Brookhaven without a car.

Well, as if it were a budget-minded version of me. This is tough, as little gives me more reliably perverse pleasure than spitting on my own budget's grave; my first ATL inclinations would be to go to Sala or Tierra, or somewhere similar where I could seriously deplete my cash/credit reserves while seriously treating my giant hungry tooth to good eats...and then go do some of the other shit listed below.

Travel is another moneysucker: one of many negatives about the urban (and suburban) sprawl of Atlanta is that you must have a car to be truly mobile. Or a lot of money for cab fares: they pile up quick if you're carless and you don't have all night to try and get somewhere useful via MARTA.

For the options outlined below, the most cost-effective way to get to options B and C would probably be to take MARTA from Brookhaven/Oglethorpe Station to either Midtown Station, North Ave. Station, or Five Points Station, then take a bus or cab to any of the destinations below (specifics follow).

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OK, so now...the list. Keep in mind that this is a budget-minded version of me who's apparently trying to re-live his mid-20s.

So. I'd probably do one of these (in ascending order of adventurousness):







OPTION A: CHAMBODIA.

Take a moderately expensive cab (or hopefully hotel courtesy van) to Hae Woon Dae. The point of this option would be to experience a real Chamblee strip mall, an evening of real Korean BBQ, and plenty of real unusual (but pleasantly so) atmosphere, followed by a relatively early bedtime. To dramatically increase the adventurousness of this option, you could visit one of the next-door strip clubs for some concerned frowns, intimidating stares, assuredly ethnic booty, and maybe even some exciting gunplay.

This option has collapsed under the impossibility of its own logistics. There's just no reasonable way to get a larger group of people out there from Brookhaven without a car service, and I'm not sure that's in the budget. My suggestion of cabbing it to Buford Highway was met with tremendous skepticism by locals still living in the ATL.


OPTION B1, VIRGINIA-HIGHLAND

Take MARTA from Brookhaven Station to Midtown Station. Take the #45 bus (Virginia-Highland) and get off at the intersection of Virginia and Highland. Or take a cab from North Ave. Station to the intersection of Virginia and Highland.

Your destination is: my old watering hole in Virginia-Highland, the Highland Tap, for deadly deadly martinis, icy-cold Sierra Nevadas, and a superb burger or steak, possibly followed by either: Taco Mac across the street for their legendary beer selection (and hey Monday is trivia night, giving you the equilibrium-testing challenge of using your brain while simultaneously reducing its usefulness).

Other dining options in the Virginia-Highland area will appear here shortly.

Note: Should you feel invincible-livered, Option B1 puts you in an excellent position to combine Options B and C, but the degree of difficulty is high here. Read on for details.

If you're just looking to extend Option B1, you could enjoy a pleasant 15-minute postprandial stroll south down N. Highland to Option C below. It's a pleasant walk even if you decide to forego Option C but just want some exercise and a nightcap: The Righteous Room is where I'd go, and then call a cab from there.

Or you could take a cab to Heavy Metal Karaoke (with live band!) at 10 High Club (under the Dark Horse Tavern). Mara said it rocked.

Remember MARTA only runs til midnight, so...if things get out of hand, cabbing it back to Brookhaven will probably punch a $30 hole in your wallet.


OPTION B2, LITTLE FIVE POINTS
Take MARTA from Brookhaven Station to Five Points Station, then take the #3 bus (Auburn Ave / MLK Drive) east to Euclid Ave and get off in front of the Variety Playhouse. Or take a cab directly to the Variety Playhouse.

Your destination is: my old watering hole in Little Five Points, the Euclid Avenue Yacht Club, for a pulled BBQ pork sandwich, good beers, and entertaining camaraderie. There's a few more blocks' worth to investigate here, but really...it's hard to consider L5P a nighttime destination in itself these days without a show to go see there. During the day....maybe, for CD/LP shopping, but still...not a terribly rich seam to mine 'less you just wanna drank.

Pictorially, About.com hits some highlights of Little Five with this pictorial, but geez, here are some more nostalgic pictures from pre-digital times, 1998!


OPTION C, URBAN BLOAT
Take MARTA from Brookhaven Station to North Ave Station, then either take the #2 bus (Ponce de Leon) to Highland & Ponce de Leon, or take a cab directly to the Clermont.

Your destination is: the Clermont Lounge. To quote Wikipedia: "The Clermont is perhaps best-known for featuring dancers who do not meet the traditional physical standards for strippers, the most famous of which is Blondie, notable for her ability to completely flatten empty beer cans between her breasts." To say that the Clermont strippers do not meet traditional standards is...accurate. The only downside here is the shitty canned beer selection, but...you're slumming.

The Clermont should be followed or preceded by a greasy pie at Fellini's Pizza, or a decent Cuban sandwich at La Fonda Latina (I wouldn't order anything other than this or the paella here). Don't expect greatness at either of these places, you're there for the patio and because I used to go there. There's also the Majestic, which really only makes sense when taken in tandem with the Clermont or similar debauchery.

Safety Note: you will probably snap this relatively quickly, but just in case: this is not really an area of town to randomly explore on foot unless you're up for "real adventure". Stick to Ponce de Leon Ave, walk tall, and don't talk to anybody on the street unless you're trying to score some drugs. And if you are, don't follow anyone anywhere to get them. Unless you really need them. And then, well...take it sleazy, bro.

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And speaking of scoring...you should also at some point try to score a HOT Krispy Kreme donut if you haven't had one. But don't bother looking for one if you're not prepared to wait for the HOT NOW sign in the window to light up, cos otherwise....it's just a donut.

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tour de france.

Ha. I am suddenly going to France for 11 days. Well, not just France, but frankly, wherever the van takes me. Here's where it will hopefully be taking me:

29-03 Opwijk (BEL)
30-03 Nancy (FRA)
31-03 Bern (SWI)
01-04 Genève (SWI)
02-04 Grenoble (FRA)
03-04 Montpellier (FRA)
04-04 Bourges (FRA)
05-04 Limoges (FRA)
06-04 Brest (FRA)
07-04 St. Malo (FRA)

I desperately need chomping tips for this tour, since: a) it's my first trip to France, period, and b) I don't know anything about anywhere we're going. Our schedule is tight, as in, we won't have much time for getting lost looking for good food, so I need reliable info....any ideas?

For my own reference, some notes:

We start out in Opwijk, which is a tiny Belgian suburb of 12,000 people outside of Bruxelles. I'm not sure what the deal is on this gig, or how late in the day we'll leave to get there.

5 hours away is Nancy (tourist info), in the Lorraine region, the Northeast of France. The more I look at it, the better it looks, it's full of Art Nouveau (L'Ecole de Nancy), which I know nothing about. Described more than once as "the artistic and intellectual heart of modern Lorraine". Plagiarism, or generally accepted fact? Here's the venue.

Then it's 4.5 hours to Bern (tourist info), which Wikipedia describes as "rich of cultural offerings for every taste" (sic). Right. We're playing at the Reithalle, which used to be "the old riding school of Bern, now a meeting place for the alternative scene, with concerts, parties, flea market and much more". Hmm.

Then, yay, a 2 hour drive to Geneva (tourist info). Here is eGullet's Geneva thread, not so helpful at the moment, but maybe it will chug into life soon. Here is where we're headed.

2 hours away, Grenoble (tourist info) is in the Alps, and is not only full of Italians, but is walnut country apparently, so I should try to find some nocino (or vin de noix, walnut liqueur); tourtons, pasta squares stuffed with cheese, spinach or prunes (amongst others) then fried. Restaurant listings here (apparently stolen directly from the Rough Guide).

A nice short (3-hour) drive to Montpellier (tourist info) is next. Montpellier is supposed to be notoriously difficult to eat well in (and drive in). Cellier-Morel (Maison de la Lozere) has received a bunch of recommendations, but it's Michelin level dining. Mosaïque (21 rue Vallat) is supposed to be good and simple.

Then, a 7-hour drive to Bourges (tourist info) in the Loire region. Someone recommended the pâtisserie Aux Trois Flûtes, on the corner of rues Joyeuse and Bourbonnoux; for chocolates and the local sweet speciality of fourrées au praliné, Maison Forestines on place Cujas. In general, fruit and veg are the shit in this region. Another recommendation just popped up for Le Jardin Gourmand. Which looks good, but I seriously doubt we'll have time for it that day.

3 hours to Limoges (tourist info). Limoges is part of Limousin, here are some eating links. Can this be considered prime foie gras country?

Ook. A tough day, 9 hours to Brest. Brest is in Brittany, sounds like it's not much to look at (bombed heavily in WWII). But this is the time to start looking out for crêpes and galettes. And seafood. La Carene is somewhat near the water.

3 hours away, Saint-Malo (tourist info) is in Brittany too, and looks awesome. Too bad the venue isn't closer to the water. Here's an eGullet post on Breton pastries, including Kouign Amann. And someone has said that the Le Petit Moulin du Rouvre restaurant just south of St Malo and west of Mont St. Michel is good eating.

Then.....11 hours back to Amsterdam, hopefully nowhere near as destroyed as the last time I tried this. Actually, maybe I'll hang out in St. Malo for a few days if the weather's nice, then take a train back.

dollyflower.

It feels like we're the last to know about how to make cauliflower taste good. I learned about it this summer from a Jean-Georges Vongerichten recipe, but further research revealed that the topic has been gaining critical mass for some time.

The concept is simple: cut the cauliflower into 1/4-inch slices. This thickness seems to allow the stems to cook at about the same rate as the florets. And then cover the whole mess with the best olive oil you've got. Roast it in the oven for 40 minutes at 200C, keeping an eye on it to make sure that it doesn't overbrown. You could also just turn it over every 10 minutes or so if you don't mind hanging out by the stove.

What you end up with is something that is nutty and sweet that most people would never guess was cauliflower. The extra good news is that the recipe readily accepts elaborations: using butter instead of olive oil; adding cumin or rosemary; pine nuts and capers, etc.

Below is my adaptation of the initial recipe that got me hooked on this preparation method, but it's also great without the caper-raisin sauce.

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roasted cauliflower with capers and raisins.

1/3 cup capers, drained + 1 tbsp of their liquid
1/3 cup raisins, preferably golden
1/4 cup water
2 tbsp. butter
nutmeg for grating
ground black pepper
1 tablespoon sherry vinegar

1 head's worth of cauliflower florets, stems cut longways into 1/4-inch slices
1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil or walnut oil

Place cauliflower in a roasting pan and coat with olive oil. Place in a 200C oven for 40 minutes, checking every 10 minutes or so to prevent overbrowning. Meanwhile, combine capers, raisins, butter, and water in a small saucepan and simmer for 10 minutes. Let it cool and then zshoom it up in a food processor.

Reheat the sauce, then add the nutmeg, vinegar, pepper and salt if needed. Serve cauliflower with a dollop of the sauce onto 4 plates. Finish with a tiny grating of nutmeg.

UPDATE: Apparently I've incorrectly transcribed one or more improvisatory elements of this recipe...tried it according to this recipe last night and it had lost something. Will try to fix soon.

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let it FLO.

One of the most popular questions from our readers here is: "Why don't your photos have anything to do with your posts? Huh? Why not?"

And the answer is: get off my back, man. I finally managed to get over to Brasserie FLO and have a bite to eat (sorry Klary, I didn't mean to go without you guys, I just ended up over there unexpectedly around dinner time). This can't be considered an actual review, since I just sat at the bar and had a salad and a couple of beers, but I learned a couple of things about the place, enough to know whether or not I'll be back.

And: I will. The food was good. I had the "salad with rillettes of duck, smoked duck breast, sausage, bacon and croutons". Very tasty, lightly dressed, totally edible and something I wouldn't make at home.

The only real negative for me is that the lighting was a bit brighter than the Mole Family prefers. But this isn't really a realistic complaint, because the ideal dining lighting for us is near-total darkness. The service was young and unprofessional, but pleasant and they seemed to be trying to do a good job. And the prices were reasonable. All in all, initial indications suggest that it's a fine place for a drink and a bite. I can imagine that service problems multiply if you actually sit at a table or order an entree, but that's pure speculation. I'll let you know when I go back this weekend.

painting the town red.

Apparently many other people in Europe enjoyed the lunar eclipse last night. I myself did not, because during the fun part (pictured above), la luna became obscured by clouds.

Or maybe it went out for a glass of red. It seems that I'm not the only person in town who is wondering where the hell I can find a nice glass of red wine in a dark cozy environment. Free local rag nl20 has an article this month about wine bars in Amsterdam, saying that with the growing appreciation for wine in Holland and the proliferation of wine bars around town, Amsterdam is "finally beginning to act like an international city" (insert cynical dog poop joke here).

Maybe I shouldn't be skeptical. Maybe we haven't heard this before. Actually, we have. Back in 2002 or so, several similar articles popped up around the introduction of several winebars to the city's landscape. As far as I can tell, only one of those is still around, Boelen & Boelen. Back when those articles came out, I went by a couple of these places (whose names escape me at the moment), and...they just seemed soul-less and designed to attract the eye in a way I associate with flash-in-the-pan desperation. Understandably: opening a restaurant of any sort is a terribly risky proposition that usually fails expensively, at least that's what my dad told me when he talked me out of opening a restaurant back in the 90s.

So, back in the early days of the winebar rush, Boelen & Boelen seemed more physically approachable than the others, but mostly I just remember being knocked out by their high prices. Of course, now that Euro-inflation is an accepted fact and the U.S. dollar's implosion has made everything expensive for us expatriates, Boelen & Boelen's prices are looking downright average.

Bubbles & Wines, which is already on my list of places to check out, still looks interesting and not quite as self-congratulatory as some of the others. I think it helps that, in the photos I see of B & W, the people behind the bar seem to be friendly-faced, with welcoming, open smiles. I'm such a sucker for crafty marketing!

The other names mentioned in the article are:

1. Vyne. Good name. Really cute website that doesn't play vapid smooth lounge-jazz beats when it starts up. Huge points for that. Unfortch, the photos on the website make the place look a bit like a museum shop. It's definitely not a relaxed, comfortable-looking bar, it looks like a place to go out and fetishize something. The IENS reviews are rather terrible and suggest that this place suffers from the now unsurprising Amsterdam problem of unqualified, disinterested, perhaps even rude waitstaff. O, it's laughable, up to a point, isn't it.
   
   I'm just about beyond that point...I've been really reluctant to reach this conclusion, but I think that this inability to really understand the concept of "customer service" might well say something significant about the culture here (across the Internet, a chorus of unpleasant, whiny voices cries out in unison, "oh, ya think???"). I definitely don't want the robotic Stepford Waiters or the fawning/bratty customer-is-always-right relationships of the U.S. to take root over here, but...fuck. Just try a little.
   
   Which reminds me: our friend Andy, who is not a needy person while dining, finally ate at this Dos place off the Marnixstraat (maybe an offshoot of Duende?), and said that while the food was good, there was a woman working there who was the most unpleasant person he's been served by in a long time. It would've been a total bust if he hadn't struck up a rapport with the chef, after which everything was smooth sailing and generally very good. So...there you go. Avoid the blonde woman at Dos. IENS reviews suggest that she's either new or a fill-in.
   
   
2. Rosarium. Looks like a beautifully designed place, but the website is not too forthcoming about the food or drink options. The IENS reviews are uniformly excellent, which is unusual and more than likely indicative of something out of the ordinary, exactly what I'm not sure. A negative point: it's out in Oost Bumblefuck.
   
   
3. Silex. It's not immediately obvious what this restaurant is doing in an article about winebars, based on their website menus. Their 2 red by-the-glass choices are uninspired, while the bottles are very heavily weighted towards French and Italian standards. The menu is very "European". Looks expensive and disappointing...but: the IENS reviews are very positive. Not that that means anything. Maybe worth seeing what the bar area is like. I need a scout. Or an intern.
   

So....more places to check out. Too bad I'm on the wagon for a few weeks as part of my new "month-on/oh shit: another month-on/thank god, finally a few weeks off" drinking regimen.

southern cookin'.

This could have been one of those post titles that every newspaper slash magazine hack has used to death: you know, talking about the southwestern Asian/eastern Mediterranean country Georgia but using coy little references to the southeastern U.S. state Georgia. I'm not even going to give an example of it here, you know what I'm talking about. This post is just a reminder to start cooking some Georgian food, because it looks like a fantastic way to take advantage of the lovely Moroccan/Turkish goods at Bario Market downstairs (quite possibly the friendliest men in Amsterdam).

On the web, About Georgia has some nice entry points into Georgian cuisine. Here's the eGullet post that got me a-salivatin', and this cookbook from Darra Goldstein (or this one from Paula Wolfert, or both) will probably end up in our comparatively modest (45 or so) cookbook pile/stack.

let it snow.

I'm only writing instead of working because I got 8 minutes of sleep last night (see previous entry), and because it's actually snowing outside, only hours after I idly wished it would. That almost never happens. These are hardly conditions under which a man can be expected to get anything done.

Except maybe cook (and clean, fuck!). I have suddenly contracted a fi-yuuurious craving for Chinese food, specifically something from the Szechwan side of da house--my head needs blown off, badly. I want my lips to fly around the room screaming (assuming that's still possible when they're not connected to the rest of me).

But I ain't gwine to do takeout, you know...see, all my homies (New King, Nam Kee) live on the other side of town now, so I gots to do it my own self.

One of the better resources I've seen for making this stuff at home is on eGullet, innocently titled Chinese Food Pictorials. They're done by a guy called hzrt8w (uh, real name W.K. Leung), and they're thorough as all get-out.

If you're not already familiar with the degree of obsessiveness with which eGulleters can track a topic, the Szechuan Peppercorn thread is a good place to get a taste. Lots of additional photodocumentation of homestyle Chinese cooking can be found on the Chinese Cooking at Home thread.

There's also another thread that has piqued my interest these days: Korean Home Cooking. One of the ringleaders here, ChryZ, has a blog where most of the pictorials also show up. Here are the front runners on my to-cook list:

1. Dwenjang Jjiigae (pork stew)
   
2. Haemul Pajeon (seafood/scallion pancake with spicy dip)
3. Buldak (korean fire chicken with mozzarella)
   
4. Soondooboo Jjigae (shrimp/kimchi stew with tofu)
   
5. Jajang Myung (noodles with black bean sauce)
   

Jajang Myung is last because it's the only one of these I've actually tasted before. It looks like a can of motor oil poured over a bowl of linguini, but it's good eatin'. There was a good bulgogi restaurant in Atlanta whose bulgogi was so good that it kept me from branching out too much. I don't think it was My Dong. The restaurant.

Actually My Dong might have been Vietnamese. The restaurant. Here's eGullet's Vietnamese Home Cooking thread as well.

And....I also found Andrea Nguyen's Vietworldkitchen to be a valuable storehouse of great writing and recipes from the Vietnamese kitchen. The question is: will I get around to cooking any of these recipes, or will I get distracted by some other piece of exotic fluff that will generate yet another pointless post and no actual food?

brainstorming.

Unfortunately I find myself awake and sleepless after a very disturbing dream about an ex-girlfriend. And there wasn't even any sex.

I was sitting at a table in a modern Italian restaurant (a la...Babbo, let's say, but not Babbo) before it had opened for dinner, say 4pm, in a tuxedo, waiting for something, all the lights were off inside but there was still enough light outside so that you could see everything fine. A menu was on the table. A wedding party noisily exited of one of the back rooms, just having done some post-wedding thing, post-wedding because the bride was in white, and...lo, the bride was my ex.

We were surprised to run into each other there, but not like, "Wow, haven't seen you in forever," more like people who see each other regularly and are just surprised to run into each other somewhere unusual. I said something like hey, that's three years in a row we've seen each other here at this place. She sits down next to me but facing me, it was one of those banquette thingies, and starts talking about something. When she turned to her right, toward the rest of the restaurant, to look around, I could see that she was wearing a lot of makeup, as brides tend to do...but there was something really garishly wrong about the part around the temple side of her left eye.

Not wrong like, this is the part where she's actually dead or anything...it was just unfinished, strangely white and shiny. So while she was talking, I blended it in with my thumb and it looked better.

And, sadly....that's all i remember. The bad part was Lynchian in it's level of scary evilness but the specifics elude me. Well, a little girl's body was pulled limp from an ocean harbor by a crane, but then the sun shone on it and it was alive and waved to the crowd; also, I'd hidden a Christmas present for someone (R. Scott Hanson I believe) somewhere and couldn't find it. I knew it was in a high place, somewhere that I had to stand on tiptoe to reach. But while I was looking for it, I was also embarrassed about the gift because it seemed cheap and lame, it was some kind of old "classic" piece of literature in it's original paperback version, with notes scribbled on the cover. I think Scott's parents were getting dressed to go out during this.

None of this was scary, just menacing...the bad part was happening simultaneously, though, and it had something vaguely to do with my ex, and with me being part of a group of 6 very bad people who received instructions about what specific bad things to do via an intricate system of cubicles and P.O. boxes. There were toilets involved as well. Ominous, no?

And so you see, I am awake, with only a couple of hours of sleep under my belt. Leaving me to ponder things like "what will I do with the thawed salmon in the fridge?" I also have some merguez I bought yesterday, mm-hmm, yes...now watch as I attempt to deploy some maple syrup as the bridge ingredient here, and a dab of orange marmalade as well, for a kind of Seattle brunch vibe:

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marmalade-glazed salmon with merguez sausage and maple sweet potatoes?

1/4 cup orange marmalade
1 tsp Dijon mustard
1/8 teaspoon ground ginger
1 garlic clove, pressed
250gr salmon filet

4 merguez sausages

2 sweet potatoes
1 tbsp maple syrup
2 tbsp butter
grated nutmeg

toasted pine nuts, minced chives and minced cilantro for garnish


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We'll see...

party time, part 6127.

As so often happens 'round these parts, we've decided that it's "time for a party".

At our last apartment, well...we used to have a lot of parties. Or more accurately: we had a good number of small "dinner parties", several medium-sized "get-togethers", and a few rather large and memorable bashes, including that rare bird (pictured above), the Successful New Year's Party. You know the one where, although alarming things happen: someone you don't know does a serious swandive off a kitchen counter, faceplanting into the corner of the stovetop; someone else is allegedly "pushed" down during Nieuwmarkt midnight fireworks and returns with an ugly bloody gash on her calf; the cats disappear and the party has to be "paused" for 10 minutes to make sure they're inside because they've never been outside before in their lives...

Although all of that happens, the oven diver is carried upstairs and put to bed (asked if she needed anything, she replied "vodka" and then fell asleep), the leg gash is swabbed and gauzed, the cats are found...

...and the food is exotic and excellent because you are fortunate enough to have friends that can really cook; just a few too many people bring unexpected numbers of people so that it seems ever-so-slightly overcrowded for an hour or two; random and not-so-random DJs step up to the task masterfully and everybody dances, you manage to properly gauge your own alcohol intake, and you go to bed at 9am feeling good about the world and your place in it.

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We've lived in our current apartment almost exactly 1 year, and we have not yet had a party party. Yes, there are good reasons: my primary co-partier was away in the Arctic north for almost 5 months. Upon her return, I was absolutely mired in work goop, nose to the grindstone like the proverbial paperhanger until the holiday parties set upon us like a pack of hungry Duran Duran wolves. And then her parents came to party visit, and then we went on vacation, etc. etc. etc.

So, sure. There are reasons. But what I'm saying is...in the words of King Geedorah and Mr. Fantastik:

it's on nigga
on and crackin'
like Dig'em
lips be smackin'.

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Obviously, after the guest list (unfortunately, the supercomputer-like calculations required to properly calibrate the ideal mix of people who will be interested in each other or can at least all have fun together are beyond the scope of this page), the first consideration is the food. Actually, for me that comes before the guest list.

This highlights one of the very few things that my co-partier and I disagree on. One of them is dub music, which is not very relevant in terms of food. The other is (sniff) cilantro. She is a "cilantro/soap" gene person (I realize that this enzyme/gene thing is still under debate, but I'm hoping that that's the explanation), and I am currently in the mood for something cilantro-heavy. I'm aware that cilantro can be served in a bowl on the side. In fact, one might say that that's a better way to do it for a party anyway since apparently something like 25% of people might have this soap gene (Source: Wikipedia).

I'm just saying: we don't disagree about much: but this "party food" thing brings up the one thing we may never see eye to eye on (there's still a chance for dub, I think), this cilantro issue, and it's just not fair...because, dammit...OK, Andy puts a bunch of cilantro in his party food and it's great. And I should be able to, too. Because otherwise he has an unfair advantage. There, I said it. It's out.

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Up next: More procrastination in the guise of Menu Planning!

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P.S. I wish it would snow.

UPDATE: Six hours later, it is snowing.

team trivia and hot wings.

Well, after a buttload of traveling, Team Duck is now back in Amsterdam battling jet lag and a weird, Affliction-like toothache. So if you ask me something and I bark "It's my goddamned TOOTH, I can't take it anymore!" and then throw you over a lunch counter, or douse you with gasoline and set you aflame....that's what's up.

In other "towering achievements" news, we thoroughly spanked the rest of Churchill's Pub in East Cobb during an evening of Team Trivia...actually, it was an upset win, down to the last question, which had something to do with Fargo and the AFI's list of 100 Greatest American Movies Of All Time. I can't quite remember the details...what was I even drinking? Oh right, Jaegermeister.

Before the freezing brown liquid gunked up my circuitry, though, I somehow correctly identified some lines of poetry as being Robert Browning's. Actually "brown" was a bit of a theme that evening (oh, isn't it always when you hang out with MT). We chose "Brown" as our team name (we're usually sporting the witty moniker The Libya Miners); there was a question about a Browning automatic, and, um....well, I think that's it. The only other question I can remember had something to do with the Arctic Ocean.

Whatever. Ever wonder about the whole deer/crucifix thing?

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:

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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

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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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

+++

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.

+++

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.

+++

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.

+++

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):

+++

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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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!

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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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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