Week of a Thousand Dinners

I thought Sarah and I had really gone through the wringer when we had our "Week of A Thousand Soups." Sarah made a different type of labor-intensive homemade soup each night of the week. That week was a walk in the park. This week is a picnic in the park, a six-hour book club, two plays, a concert, filming a movie...

Saturday: Dinner out at Meridiana (UWS Italian) with my sister visiting from Washington
Sunday: Host a dinner party for Sarah's book club, reading Polish poet Wislawa Szymborska
Monday: Dinner out at Alouette (UWS French) to celebrate Sarah's birthday
Tuesday: Picnic @ NY Philharmonic concert in Central Park
Wednesday: Dinner at Puttanesca (Hell's Kitchen Italian) with Greg's colleagues, Sunday In The Park With George @ Lincoln Center TheaterThursday: Sarah's parents arrive from Kentucky, host them with Vietnamese or sushi
Friday: film scene for movie "Satan Hates You" (then possible celebration dinner for Sarah, post-birthday?)
Saturday: "Real" Chinatown in Flushing, NY with Sarah's parents, Uncle Bill and Aunt Yao, see a play downtown with all six of us

Epic Poetry Breeds Epic Conflict

This canto of my epic poem, "Travelin' Travis" describes the steps to making an egg cream. There has been some dispute about this issue. Noted egg cream expert Dave Cook of www.eatingintranslation.com claims that the spoon should be rapidly jiggled up and down while submerged in the egg cream, not stirred round-and-round as described here. I have observed several practitioners of the round-and-round school, but none of the up-and-down faction. When we created them ourselves, we did round-and-round, and frankly, I don't see any reason to denigrate the proud tradition of the egg cream with any juvenile up-and-down-ism.

There was a diner called Key West
where somethin’ strange was cookin’
They treated him great, like a rich potentate
He thought “it’s prob’ly ‘cause I’m so good-lookin”

The soup he ordered to begin
had a big round yellow ball
Matzo, they said, unleavened bread
And he saw the writing on the wall.

He’d grow to love this new cuisine
and maybe all things Jewish.
Oh me, oh my! Corned beef on rye!
Plus pickles, one or two-ish.

And something new he’d never seen
and never heard of either
a chocolate dream called an egg cream
with a spoon used as a beater.

A squirt or two of chocolate syrup
(Fox’s U-Bet, if you have it)
Milk - a dash! Seltzer – a splash!
Then whip that spoon, dagnabbit!

You whip it up real hard, real fast
and it foams over the top.
How odd it seems, no eggs, no creams,
but once you’ve had it, you can’t stop.

Horns of a Dilemma

Which One?

Sign Of Imminent Doom

Our neighborhood is being subsumed by a vortex. Probably because we are cosmically undeserving of a view as nice as ours.

Attack of the Killer Tomatoes

How many of us remember this movie fondly as the big-screen debuts of both George Clooney and Anthony Edwards? Especially those of us who were hormonal boys at the time and thrilled to discover the double entendre in the title?
Unfortunately there are no bikini-clad babes to distract grocers and restaurateurs from the past week's salmonella scare. NYC's health department sez we should stay away from raw plum, Roma and round red tomatoes. The feds say that Arizona, Florida, Idaho, Montana, Nevada, North Dakota, Oregon, Rhode Island, South Dakota, Wyoming, Washington D.C. and Puerto Rico might be infected. Really? Washington D.C.? Was that Georgetown or the Mall where the vast tomato fields have been stricken?
Florida sez they're gonna have to destroy $40 million worth. Tough luck, Florida. I'm sure that money would have gone to fair wages for legal workers on environmentally conscious farms.
I'm not one of those George Weld guys who only uses "local, free-roaming chickens and artisanal heirloom grits" in New York City. Too hard to chase down the chickens, especially on Park Avenue. But I've got to admit that the higher gas prices get, and the more industrial agribusiness gets pounded by scandals like this one, the better I'll be pleased.
I was talking to my uncle who runs a mushroom-canning business in Missouri, and he said "with these high gas prices, it just doesn't make sense to buy those mushrooms from California anymore." Hmm. Maybe the Missouri guys should can the Missouri mushrooms, and the California guys should can the California mushrooms, and then we wouldn't have to truck them halfway across the country just to turn around and ship them right back again.
I thought it was pretty funny that a decent grocery store like Gristede's took the time to make a nice sign to explain which tomatoes were from where and why they were safe, and Western Beef tacked up a four-week-old inspection notice from some company nobody's ever heard of.

A Visit From A Friend

Here are a few photos of some of the places our friend Travelin' Travis got to visit when he came to New York. We had a good time, and we think he did too.

Brighton Beach Gastronomy

Brighton Beach is our favorite beach for beach-going in NYC. Orchard Beach is my favorite beach for bike-riding, Coney Island for amusement park-ery, and Jones Beach for death-defying idiot transit stunts (don't ever, ever, try to ride your bike over the Robert Moses Bridge). Long Beach is a much nicer beach, but I don't think it counts as NYC. Also, they charge you! Doesn't that seem wrong? Even out in the Hamptons, they don't charge you for simply occupying a space on the sand. If you want a great beach, with a bunch of impossibly tanned and pretty young girls, a Wendy's nearby, and a party train, go to Long Beach. If you want an amazing cultural experience, a combination of skin colors and sizes, and great Russian food, go to Brighton Beach. We have to say, that the best thing about Brighton Beach is that everyone is so darn happy. We're pretty certain it has something to do with not being in Russia anymore.

The Food
Our introduction to Brighton Beach eats on this day was a "salty cheese" placynda, (empanada-type pastry) procured at the most exclusive deli in the world. Why is it the most exclusive? We don't know. But the placynda was frickin' awesome, as our surfer pals might say. The cheese was like a mild feta, with a strong dose of fresh dill, encased in a light, steamy, not-the-least-bit-greasy fried dough. I'm throwing in a photo of the ones from M&I, although we don't know if they're as good as the Exclusive ones. Also - as R. Kelly in "Ignition" says - it's probably a good policy to go with the ones that are poppin' fresh out the kitchen. In the Exclusive photo, you can see the lovely ladies selling them fresh from their table in front of the store.

Sarah and I decided to get our Russian on at M & I International food. We went up (past the alluring sausages) to the third floor, where there's a deli with about 25 indoor tables and 15 outdoor tables. I've seen another blog post that described a visitor as being "intimidated" by the uncooperative Russianness of the patrons and staff. In fact, Sarah scurried off for a while, before I could convince her to come up and try some of the goodies. The most surprising thing about the joint was that every single person was drinking this cherry-currant fruit juice. You just don't see that kind of conformity in the good ol' U. S. of A. It was labeled in the case as "fruit punch," so that's what we said when we ordered. The guy behind us snorted and said some guttural Russian word. When we looked at him uncomprehendingly, he translated for us "compote." It was pretty good, although I asked for ice and they didn't have any. Lots of cherries and currants in the bottom of the cup, although I seemed to be the only guy who ate mine. It was great with the very blintz-like rolled-up crepe with raisin cheese spread in the center. The cheese was like a ricotta, or whatever cheese they put in blintzes.
Downstairs at the grocery store, the hottest-selling items besides the sausages seemed to be the vegetable salads. We had already tried some cubed beet salad and the "Russian Salad" of cubed potato, egg, pea, carrot, and whatever else they put in there with mayonnaise. The Russian Salad was great but didn't travel well, so we stuck with more beet salad, plus a very popular carrot slaw, plus some "eggplant caviar" that seemed to be the hottest-selling stuff in the joint. Babushka after babushka seemed to order a gallon jug of the stuff. Or at least a plastic quart container. Even though I can't stand cilantro and this had some, this stuff was very good. Fresh-tasting, not acrid like some eggplant dishes, very light on the palate, we used it for all kinds of things. My dad made a sandwich out of it, although I don't know if that's allowed by the strict Russian usage bylaws. In the photo, that's the beet salad on the left, the carrot salad in the center, a pickled tomato on the right, some mushroom and some sauerkraut filled pastries, the eggplant caviar behind the tomato, sausage in front, and some fresh-baked pita chips on top of the pastries.

Would You Read This Book?

One of the programs that Sarah had on this Mac, and that we hadn't used for many years, (I haven't used it since 1990 or so) is Print Shop. Remember this? You could make a card or something, print it out on your dot-matrix printer, color it in, and give it to somebody!
Out of curiosity, I opened this version from 2002. It was kind of fun!

Morningside Street Art

Right outside our apartment, on 110th and Broadway, we happened to come upon this fella doing some sidewalk street art. I chatted with him a little bit, and he seemed pretty normal, but I didn't ask him the big question. "Why?"

Community Food and Juice

Community Food and Juice is probably the most popular restaurant in the neighborhood. It has gotten a lot of press for opening and has a nice, though somewhat utilitarian decor. This place has got more business than your dog has fleas. When we arrived at ten to nine AM, there was already a line about ten deep, and the moment they opened the doors, the place got swamped. I dunno if this is a function of their recent opening or the early summer let's-get-out-for-breakfast-on-such-a-nice-day enthusiasm springing up among the young and hearty in the neighborhood. The opening wasn't even that recent anymore. Probably young blood and bedevilment.
There seems to be a lot of enthusiasm for breakfast around town these days. Did you read the New York magazine article describing the city's best breakfast in that hipster haven of Williamsburg, Brooklyn? Get a load of this: "chef-owner George Weld has forged a modest kingdom from local-free-roaming-chicken’s eggs and artisanal heirloom grits." I'm sure you've noticed all the local, free-roaming chickens running the streets last time you walked through Brooklyn. And anybody who uses the words "artisanal," "heirloom" and "grits" in the same sentence clearly does not have a good picture of a)how grits are made and b)the grit-consuming demographic in this country.
Unfortunately Community Food and Juice, as you can perhaps deduce from its name, is given to some of the faults of the sainted George Weld. Everything is organic, local, sustainable, blah, blah, blah. It's got "energy-saving kitchen equipment, composting, and tables made of reclaimed wood."
The food is just okay. Both times we've been there, our orders have been screwed up. The B.E.L.T (b.l.t .with egg) was quite good, and the addition of grated carrots to the hash browns is a real treat. Sarah's potato pancakes with smoked salmon were nothing special--too fat and dense. The dill-laden creme fraiche, judiciously applied, ran out at the end of the first pancake. The latkes were billed having a "caviar creme" topping. They came with about a teaspoon of salmon roe with a scant tablespoon of the creme fraiche. And they forgot the salad that was supposed to come with it. All for $17. I don't know about you, but when I hear caviar, I want caviar. Or, if it has to be salmon roe....well, then at least give me the same amount I'd get at the corner sushi joint. The homemade salmon was good, and in great abundance on the latkes. I know it's retro, but some chopped onions would have been a nice accompaniment.
The juice is especially good, although there isn't much variety. They were pretty much limited to orange and grapefruit both visits, although our waitress helpfully pointed out that we could have orange and grapefruit mixed together.

Mad Scientists in Soda Lab Hysteria!

So this is the result of an experiment we did in science class for a test of the scientific method. The students had to create an experiment in which they tested a hypothesis about five different sodas. They had to drink five different sodas, then rate them all on a scale of 1-10 on five different variables. We calculated the average rating they gave each soda, then plotted it on a graph. They had to measure the variables against each other, one as independent and one as dependent, for instance "I believe that the fruitier a soda is, the more thirst-quenching it will be" is an example of a hypothesis in which fruitiness is the independent variable and thirst-quenching ability is the dependent variable. Then they had to create their own charts that tested their two variables to see if they had a positive or a negative correlation, or any correlation at all. I used some rather strange sodas, and included seltzer as well. The president of one of the major grocery chains here in New York (Gristede's, Key Food, D'Agostino, C-Town, one of those) just released a statement that the number one best-selling product in New York City supermarkets is a one-liter bottle of seltzer. That is what is purchased more often than any other grocery item. Does that seem strange to you? Especially because my students all hated it, hated it only a little bit less than the ginger beer.

Xenophilia And The Ontology of Delight

There's a culinary dilemma that I've been puzzling over for some time. That time you had that transcendent dish, that transporting plate of carpaccio de boeuf in the little brasserie in Paris, did it really taste that good? Or were you in such an elevated, travel-induced euphoria that you merely convinced yourself that this truly must be the finest thing you've ever tasted? There are lots of things that one eats when traveling through some traditional foreign culture and "discovers," then brings home stories and memories of. Many is the traveler who returns from Peru with a story of ceviche better than anything you've ever had. On the anthropological research website "Stuff White People Like," they offer a quote about this phenomenon at that supposedly white cultural practice, the dinner party. "If you are able to bring a particularly rare dish from this culture, you will be the star of the party. To seal the deal, be sure to explain as much as you possibly can about the dish: history, availability, and the proper way to eat it. Every white person at the party will be taking mental notes."
I was thinking about this today as I finished a Dr. Brown's Cel-Ray celery-flavored soda, supposedly a Jewish/Brooklyn thing along the lines of an egg cream. I think it's about as Jewish as banana cream pie, but at least it's got a picture of the Brooklyn Bridge on the can. It's not bad, but it got me thinking about all the weird stuff I've been drinking lately. And then I thought "but it's not nearly as weird as when Chris brought that gazpacho in a box to a party in Madrid, along with a bottle of vodka to make Bloody Marias." And that was not nearly as weird as the drink that we had as we hung around Pamplona with college kids. I have no idea how those guys spelled it, but I've seen in spelled kalimotxo, pronounced CAL-ee-MOTE-cho. This was super-cheap red wine purchased in "bricks," or little lined cardboard boxes, mixed half-and-half with Coca-Cola and poured over ice. I guess it's a real tradition there in Navarra, Spain.
And I thought "is there any way in the world I would have drunk this stuff if I weren't traveling?" And I didn't just drink it, I loved the stuff! It tasted great. I couldn't get enough.
I haven't got up the nerve to try it here stateside, but I bet if I did, it'd be the world's worst drink.

Morningside?

Our neighborhood is known as "Morningside Heights." I had wondered what that meant and checked up a little bit. I guess it used to be known as Asylum Hill for the lunatic asylum that stood where Columbia University (formerly Kings College in lower Manhattan) is now. But Morningside Park was built by Frederick Law Olmsted, the same guy who did Central Park, and the enormous cliff that faces east to the park is exposed to the sun in the morning, and is hence on the "morning side." When we first moved to Harlem, the park was notorious for crime and there were cabbies who would refuse to take us past it. My buddy Chris once had to threaten to vomit in the cab if the guy refused to take him home. Worked, too.

Now the park is very nice, although there is some dispute about gentrification. When they kicked out some crackheads, my buddy Justin the social studies teacher was quoted in the newspaper about it and used the phrase "indigenous population." That was pretty funny.

But now there's a lovely little farmer's market there that's open on Saturdays, so Sarah and I go down there. This time we bought some nuts from some intellectual-type farmers who conversed about genius, dedication, and food as a universal human stimulus. Stupid nuts cost six bucks.

Korean Mill

The Mill Korean Restaurant is a fairly longtime institution on 114 and Broadway. I found a few reviews saying they "a few years ago" converted from a Jewish greasy-spoon diner to a Korean restaurant when a cook there, a Korean guy, bought the place. That was from 1995, so it's been a while now. It's the only Korean place that I've seen on the Upper West Side, so we're glad they made it. We're also glad that they've got outdoor tables on a beautiful early-summer evening. We both ordered the Dolsot Bi Bim Bap, Greg with beef, Sarah with tofu. Although we both stirred it around pretty vigorously to cook the raw vegetables and egg in the hot stone bowl, the waiter came over a couple times to encourage us to stir it up. Greg ordered "rice cakes," thinking he might compare them to the risotto cakes we've made. That's them in the red sauce above Greg's bowl. Does that look like "rice cakes" to you? It's an extruded tube of boiled fish and rice paste, in a spicy pepper-and-vegetable sauce. It was a little like chewing rubber tubing, but the sauce tasted good and added some welcome flavor to my a-little-bland Bi Bim Bap.

The most fun part, aside from eating outdoors and cooking everything at the table in those stone bowls, was a holdover from the Jewish diner days. We've heard that this place makes the best egg cream around town, and so we had to try it. And the egg cream was great. Stirred more heartily than the Key West version, and not nearly as sweet, it was the highlight of the evening for us.

Do you have a sense of humor?

Here's a test. How far can you go down the list and still genuinely laugh at this person's comedy?
1. Woody Allen
2. Steve Martin
3. John Candy
4. Ben Stiller
5. Adam Sandler
6. Ashton Kutcher
7. That guy from Saturday Night Live. Not that one, the other one.
8. Sinbad
9. Pauly Shore
10. Anything in trousers, honey.
11. Dane Cook

Man that was hard. I kept thinking "4 - Tom Hanks? No, he's really a 3. OK, 4." "What about Leno? 5? 4? 3? He can be pretty funny. But so annoying." I definitely believe that John Candy is at least a 2, but I don't have the heart to make any more changes.
The point is if you can make it to 6 or so, you have got a dynamite sense of humor. If you can make it past 8, you're demented.

The reason I ask is that Sarah and I were debating about the level of humor we should have in the blog here. As you surely noticed (like fudge you did), in the posting on Virginia ham, apropos of nothing there's a hobo joke. And it's not clear what the hobo would do or why. Well anyway, there were several jokes in there about rednecks, hillbillies, being so broke you can't afford Confederate flag memorabilia, and questionable hygiene practices at roadside food stands. And Sarah decided that this sort of thing was tasteless and insulting. Which of course it was.
However, the question arose. What is the internet for, if not to provide a forum for feckless wiseasses to denigrate the honest, hard-working people of America?

The Large Marge

As you can see from the photo, I am much happier with a Large Marge in my hand than a red soda. The Large Marge is a specialty of Denny's (a long time friend of the family) who has named the drink after his wife, Marge. The Large Marge is most happily consumed at sundown on a porch in the country in summer. The trick is to get the drink ready a minute before critical sunset time---say, twenty minutes before the sun sinks behind the mountain ridges. It's a vodka tonic with about six times the lime juice of a regular vodka tonic. Here's the recipe: grab a tall glass, add lots of ice, squeeze in the lime, add as much vodka as you like, top with plenty of Schweppes tonic water. Run out to the front porch, grab a rocking chair, lean your head back, sip. Or, have Denny make it for you.

The Thirst Mutilator - What You Crave

I'm a big drinker. Always have been. Whatever you put in a glass in front of me, I'll drink it right down and ask for another one. Typically, I'll have finished my glass of water before the waiter has had a chance to get around the table distributing them to my fellow diners. If we don't get a pitcher of water from the waiter, he's gotta make four or five return visits to fill my water before the appetizers arrive. At school, I drink two one-liter bottles of water every day between first and sixth period.
So when Sarah and I started considering ways to lose weight, I thought - hey, I shouldn't drink so much. Often when I come home, I open the fridge, open a beer, drink it, then open another one. I thought - geez, that adds up after a while. So we bought plastic bottles of water (don't get on my case, we refill them from the tap), and now instead of drinking a beer, I drink a water. Much better for my health. I still drink beer, but I don't drink one after the other.
But since I changed my drinking habits, I've been getting strange drink cravings that water just won't satisfy. Yesterday I bought a fruit punch from one of those slushee-style machines at a pizza joint. I asked for a large cup half-full and bought a bottle of water to mix. Then I've been craving Fresca and checking for it at every store we visit. It's harder to find than you think. Usually we don't drink soda, but in the past few days I've had a Jarritos tamarindo, a Good-O redpop and whatever weird tropical soda I can find.
Sarah refuses to buy soda for me because it's unhealthy. This is a good policy, but there are many times I wish I had that button that Lyndon Johnson had installed in the Oval Office, where every time you pushed it, somebody would bring you a Fresca. But then, of course, he used to conduct his cabinet meetings from the toilet, too. Never trust a president from Texas, that's my policy.
But at home, with Sarah's stern refusal to allow soda, my cravings can get me stirred up with no release. But thankfully, we've found an ideal solution. Sarah makes a big batch of her famous mint tea to keep in the fridge. She juices a dozen lemons or so, then steeps a big bunch of mint with Lipton tea bags in boiling water for a few minutes, then adds some sugar and water. This recipe has been in the family for many generations, and we get to use home-grown mint on the farm in the summertime.
This tea can satisfy the meanest drink-craving, and can be modified with the addition of extra water (this is one of my oddball cravings) or even gin or vodka. Although we've only done that when we were doing a series of drink experiments, it turned out great. We don't drink mixed drinks during the week, but this is a great one for parties.
Some notes to remember when you make this recipe are that you need an efficient method of juicing citrus and that the type of mint you use makes a big difference, so you need to sniff before you buy. I don't think I can describe the smell of the right mint in words, though. Give it a shot, and let us know what you think!

Warning - Graphic Images and Content

You know, starting Uptown Kitchen, I thought "we're bound to be the only people writing a blog about cooking in Manhattan, right?" Boy were we wrong. Not only were we not the only culinary enthusiasts with internet access, we found out that there are actually more blogs about culinary enthusiasm than there are about sexual enthusiasm. Criminy! Who knew it was such a dog-eat-dog-sauteed-with-a- reduction-of-limoncello world out there?
At chowhound.com, some guy posted a "what are your favorite New York food blogs?" thread, and not only were there innumerable results, I had never heard of most of them, and they were all so professional and insightful it made me want to turn my face to the wall. I got very intimidated by one site, where a girl actually quit her job to move to New York and blog about food. She describes herself as "a very hungry and opinionated girl on a mission to become a key figure in the culinary world. Armed with a killer appetite and a blue ballpoint pen, she's ready to take the city by storm." This was before I read any of the posts. Not only does she misspell several words per post, she seems to gravitate toward the unpleasant. When reading "I basically decided that falafel tasted like body oder," I began to doubt the sense of shame I should feel at posting my own obviously foolish misadventures in the kitchen.
I found her blog while looking up stuff about bagels in NYC, and was trying to find a picture to show the difference between sable and lox. She was writing about some bagelry that she "discovered," then showed a picture of the bagel she was raving about.
Aaaahhhh!!
Take it away!
Hide the children!
That's a hollowed-out(?) pumpernickel bagel, scallion(??) cream cheese, slippery-looking sable, lettuce(???), tomato(???) American cheese(?????!!!!!!?????), onions and more tomato.
Gah. Bluh. Ullggghh.
I'm sorry for subjecting you to that image. If there was any purpose to this post, it's merely to establish that, while my pizza may be ugly, at least we shouldn't be ashamed of the clearly frivolous content here.