Chicken and Rice Man

For months, KM has been telling me about the glories of the chicken and rice man, who runs a halal cart not too far from my work. In the waning days of summer, I finally made my pilgrimage to the southeast corner of 53rd and Sixth. But woe, it was Friday afternoon, nearly two, and the chicken and rice man and his associates were packing up the cart. But I could see the chicken sizzling on the griddle. I could see the famed white sauce. I asked him what he thought he was doing. Some nonsense about a break on Fridays and he'd be back in an hour. But I'm hungry I protested. I'll be dead of starvation by then. No heart. He pulled down the metal curtain and closed off the aromatic victuals from my hungry eyes.

It was months before I could bring myself to risk heartache once more. This week I finally ventured forth tentatively. And I can report now that I know where the chicken and rice man's heart went.


Oh man oh man oh man, for $5 you can get a mean plate of chicken, yellow rice, cut up lettuce, slices of pita, smothered in white sauce with a dash of hot sauce and you too will learn to forgive the cruel machinations of the chicken and rice man as your taste buds dance with joy and your flickering computer screen reflects a very happy and satisfied worker bee on her lunch break.

Inoteca

Headed out to Inoteca in the Lower East Side this weekend for wine and dinner consisting of snacky food.

Their antipasti platter strikes me as original compared to the usual fare of 2-3 sliced cured meats, a cheese or two, and some roasted vegetables. It has among other things: pickled fennel, marinated olives, breadsticks, a vegetable frittata, what looks like broccoli rabe, some cheese, some charcuterie.

Fried risotto balls with butternut squash. I think they rolled their balls in cornmeal, and it made for a much lighter crispy outer shell than the fried risotto balls I had made rolled in panko bread crumbs.

An assortment of fried vegetables. I loved that there was a little salt cellar. I love salt.

Bruschetta: fagioli del giorno (white beans, a little bland), pesto (amazing), some sort of herbed cheese (ricotta?) with fresh sliced fig (also amazing).

More bruschetta (noci - tasted like nutella).

Beet salad with orange, hazelnuts and mint. Lovely.

The Problem with Knowledge: Nigiri Sushi

The problem with knowledge is that it gives me anxiety.

Ever since I read that you're supposed to dip your nigiri sushi fish side down into the soy sauce, and that there shouldn't be any wasabi in the soy sauce because the chef will have put the precisely appropriate amount between the fish and the sushi rice, and that you should pour exactly enough soy sauce and no more into your container to suffice for your meal, I've always felt a bit guilty when I dip my nigiri rice side down into wasabi infused soy sauce that fills the sauce cup in a healthy manner such that at the end of my meal there is an unappetizing puddle of wasabi muddled brown soy with some rogue rice kernels.

The only thing that helps is that I rarely frequent a caliber of sushi restaurant that would even know to be disappointed in my uncouth eating habits.

Knife Arsenal

I love my arsenal of knives. They are all lined up, over a dozen of them on a stainless steel magnetic strip in the kitchen.

When C first saw the setup she considered locking her bedroom door at night to prevent a potential burglar from grabbing a butcher knife on the way in and hacking her all to pieces. Nevermind that the burglar would first have to get past the doorman in addition to the dead bolt and date rape lock that we engage each night. Nevermind that the luck we've had with the dead bolt lock and date rape lock, said burglar would be more likely to find one of us locked out in the hall way instead, where he'd have no opportunity to grab the butcher knife and hack us to pieces, but could instead just rape us, seeing as how there'd be no date rape lock in the way.

Just saying.

French Laundry Cookbook

I finally starting flipping through the French Laundry cookbook that my dear friend M got me for my birthday. All I can say is that I suddenly feel that my life cannot be complete with a chinois and a tamis. A chinois is a conical seive that is just perfect for extracting maximum flavor from a lobster stock. A tamis a drum seive that you can force soups through in order to get unparalleled smooth texture that Keller calls the taste of luxury.

Nevermind that I barely use the French steel mandoline and the food mill that I own. Nevermind that I don't think I've used even once the blender that I extensively researched before purchasing. Nevermind that there are at least five knives in my arsenal that have been used less than a half dozen times.

I am in desparate desparte need of a chinois and tamis.

Bread Knife

Do you think it's better to have a bread knife with an offset handle or a plain bread knife? Either way, if you're in the market for one, please make note of how thick the actual blade is. Our bread knife has a rather thick blade which means that slicing is torture.

I've definitely sliced my finger in an overeager attempt to get the croutons ready for a homemade French Onion Soup. Sadly, the blade was sharp and thick, which meant that it takes a moment to realize the idiot move one has made.

All that being said though, don't shy away from sharp knives in general. Overall, you'll suffer less bodily harm if your knives are sharp.

Not feeling the love

Sometimes I really want to hate my friend G. Why is it that when he gets busy with work that means flying to New Orleans or Houston or Toronto or San Francisco, where all by himself he has to suffer through fried alligator, ribs, boudin, and oysters?

Work is starting to cream me just in time to spoil the holidays, but for me that means bad takeout: Indian, Thai or Sushi in plastic. Woe is me.

Holiday Cocktail Party: Next Morning - Five Points

After cleaning up the horror of our living room after the Holiday Cocktail Party, C and I headed over to Five Points for brunch to find some grub to soak up the night's excesses.

Five Points' Churros are amazing. They are light and rich and sweet.

C had the special, some sort of gingerbread pancake.

I tried to order the heaviest eggiest thing and settled upon Sweet Italian Sausage and Poached Eggs over Buttermilk Biscuits and Sauce Choron. It was good, but the flavors were too rich for my stomach that morning. I think it might have been more prudent to just have had rice porridge instead!

Holiday Cocktail Party: Cheating and Late

After guests had arrived, we managed to roll our a few more dishes. The Lamb Meatballs actually came out last as there wasn't any more room on the table until later in the evening. I had already baked them, so it was just a matter of reheating and sliding them onto some plates.

Meat and Cheese Board. Always a welcome guest.

Last minute preparations. A good bunch of guests had already arrived, but I refused to cancel this dish after I had gone through the nuisance of peeling and de-veining two pounds of shrimp. This sauce is mind bogglingly easy. Throw in some olive oil and butter, then some cream, then lots of Cajun seasonings, let it come to a simmer and thicken, season with salt and pepper.

Toss in shrimp, and look happiness.
And finally, D of carbonara fame brought over these Bouley macaroons. Mmm. Judgment in comparison to Laduree and Pierre Herme macaroons of Paris? The Bouley ones had more filling, so the sweetness and creaminess overwhelmed an opportunity to appreciate the perfectly baked light and airy macaroon shells. Aren't they gorgeous though? Really is like eating jewels.

Holiday Cocktail Party: Sweet and Savory

C made Spicy Candied Pecans, Sweet Potato Baked Chips, Cheesy Phyllo Rolls, Gingerbread Cookies, and Chocolate Crinkle Cookies.
This year, she decided not to experiment and stuck to the recipe. Verdict, don't stick to the recipe. It was good of course, but tastes really soared when she trusted her instincts.

Mmm, these were so good. I was both indignant and proud as a peacock when a guest asked where we had ordered our food. I don't think a lot of what I made looked anything but homemade, but I think these chips look positively professional.


This picture does not do this dish justice, it's all those precious phyllo scraps that have been piled on top. It's twice baked with a variety of cheeses sprinkled between each phyllo layer.

Gingerbread cookies with candied ginger, mini meringues and chocolate crinkle cookies with peppermint frosting. Now that looks like Christmas!

Holiday Cocktail Parties: Baked and Fried

I decided not to strain myself this year and do things that I thought would not be too hard. The menu included: Mushroom Risotto Croquettes with Fresh Mozzarella Centers, Fried Baked Mac N Cheese, Lamb and Currant Meatballs with Mint Yogurt Sauce, Pan Fried Chorizo on Crostini, Buttermilk Biscuit Bites, Bacon Wrapped Dates, and Cajun Cream Shrimp on Crostini.

Mushroom Risotto Croquettes with Mozzarella Centers. I soaked a hearty handful of dried porcini and morels overnight before chopping them up and adding them to diced plain white button mushrooms. For stock, I used a combination of homemade turkey and chicken stock, and the leftover mushroom water. It killed me that I had to use store-bought fresh mozzarella now that I finally know how to make it myself and have realized it's not that difficult, but there wasn't time. I made a huge put of risotto in the morning and shoved it into the fridge to cool.

Fried Baked Mac N Cheese. After baking, cooling, and slicing the mac n cheese, I rolled it in flour seasoned with chili powder and salt, then in egg wash, then in Panko. After a deep fry in Canola oil it was ready to go. Another thing that kills me is that these croquettes look so ugly on the plate. Normally we do a better job on presentation, but there just wasn't time.

People love these Lamb and Currant Meatballs. They're really easy to make. You basically dump the ingredients in, moosh, roll into balls and bake. The Mint Yogurt sauce is also simple. Just take some Greek yogurt that's already been drained, add some chopped mint, and season.

These chorizo slices I pan fried in olive oil, bacon fat, cloves and cinnamon. I really had wanted to soak some white cannellini beans, cook them in some chicken stock with sage, and then purree up the whole mess that I could pipe onto crostini and then lay a slice of fried chorizo on top. Stupid Whole Foods doesn't have white cannellini beans though, and I never got a chance to visit the mother ship otherwise known as Dean and Deluca. *sniff*

These Buttermilk Biscuit Bites came out much better than the ones I made for Thanksgiving. This time I mixed the dough in the food processor and stopped when the butter particles made the dough look like grainy sand. Then, since the refrigerator was full, I ended up stuffing the bowl of dough in the freezer to keep it cool. These things rose three or four times in height in the oven. I ended up folding a lot of layers into subsequent batches of dough as I smooshed the remnants together.

The only problem is that I made way too many. Maybe five times as much as what you see in the picture. I also had aspirations for these suckers. I was going to split them in half and smear some jam on each little bite. Alas, also no time. *waah*

Bacon Wrapped Dates. Instead of getting the super thick cut bacon from behind the meat counter at Whole Foods, I just got the prepackaged bacon, which is sliced much more thinly. If you are making this at home for just a few people, I'd advise going with the thicker bacon. Soaking the toothpicks made a huge difference, they hardly got charred at all.

Holiday Cocktail Party: Ready to Go!

C and I had our annual holiday cocktail party this past weekend, and if I do say so myself it was a success. A market success despite the snafu that arose out of a misguided, but heavy dose of confidence earlier in the day. We became convinced that preparations were on target, and then all of a sudden it was 6pm, and C and I had to form croquettes balls, make Cajun cream shrimp, make cheesy phyllo rolls, finish buttermilk biscuit bites, fry stuff, clean up, set up the tables, and change. It was horrid.

Thankfully most of our guests were late. With less than 5 minutes before start time, C dashed into my bathroom for a quick shower. Our TV was in her bathtub because we had cleared the console table to make a mixed drink bar. From 8 to 8:15pm I prayed mightily that no one would show up. V actually came on time, and bless her heart, I didn't mind that she saw me looking like the bottom of a trash bag and instead I put her to work pulling out our stemless wine glasses.

C managed to whip herself into a sleek plum cocktail dress, and then I dashed in for my makeover. I bungled taping myself into my dress and had to call C away from guests for emergency support.
In the end though, I think we both managed to be out and presentable before five guests showed up. Whoohoo! Thank you thank you for being late!

Thanksgiving: Trying Not To Go Overboard

I rounded out the Thanksgiving menu with a few accompaniments. Nothing too crazy as the turkey was my focus, and I'm trying to familiarize myself with the concept of moderation.


The cranberry sauce was an orange ginger concoction. I used fresh squeezed orange juice and zest and fresh ginger.
Then some chopped candy ginger went on top of it. The sauce was probably a bit too piquant for the menu. I made it for a holiday party last year to rave reviews, but it was for h'ors d'oeuvres: thin slices of turkey over small slices of rye or pumpernickel with a dab of cranberry sauce.

Here's the gravy. I went a bit heavy on the roux (lots of flour). Then I poured in the pan juices and some homemade chicken stock.

Roasted beets and beet tops with horseradish creme fraiche. I dumped the leftover sauce this morning, made me sad.

Buttermilk biscuits. Rolled these out a tad too thin so they didn't puff up as much as I would have preferred. I was pretty neurotic about keeping the butter cold though, so it was properly flaky and buttery.

I also made some garlic mashed potatoes. Two and a half pounds of potatoes. One celery root. Two heads of roasted garlic. Cream. A stick of butter. Yum.

For dessert, in addition to C's apple pies, I made some Meyer lemon buttermilk sorbet. Still haven't successfully made ice cream yet as the custard eludes me, but sorbets are a cinch.

My plate: round 1. I'd miss it if it weren't the fact that only a day or two ago did I finally finish working through the leftovers.

Thanksgiving: Broccoli Puff

This was J's contribution to the dinner table: Broccoli Puff. I had been giving her grief about it for weeks, largely because the dish is the antithesis of what usually rolls out of the oven. It's chopped frozen broccoli, cream of mushroom, mayonnaise, and cheese baked for a bit and served.

First of all, it's fascinating to me because it's a casserole, and I don't do casseroles, but I remember that my Southern Baptist neighbors always had casseroles when I was growing up. Second, it involves cream of mushroom soup. To me, cream of mushroom soup and the word casserole just scream America of the suburbs with dogs and mailboxes and kickball in the streets and pastel colored clothes. The fact that there is frozen spinach and mayonnaise and cheese in it really puts it over the top.

It was a nice addition to the table, but honestly, I think it would have been a better accompaniment to white rice. The rice could soak up all of the creamy, cheese richness.

I haven't tasted something like it in I don't know when. You know that scene in Ratatouille where the critic tastes something and is transported to his childhood? I tasted this and was transported to my conception of a normal American family's dinner table in some state that doesn't border an ocean.

Now that I think of it, it's bizarre that the only dish on Thanksgiving that effectively conveyed that sentiment to me was this one. How American was our American Thanksgiving?

Thanksgiving: Fruit and Vegetable Prowess

C and I did a joint effort on the Thanskgiving meal. Though she cooked a mean turkey last year when she was holding down the fort in New York and her family was in town, this year her dishes generally stayed away from protein. C was a vegetarian for a few years, and I think she's smarter than I am about what do with them. My "solution" is to drown them in cream and cheese and fat.
A simple mesclun salad, with greens from the Greenmarket, with pomegranate seeds, bacon and a balsamic vinaigrette. The bacon was the bacon that was basting the turkey. Some pansies out there have been known to eat turkey bacon with their eggs in the morning. I just love that we had turkey flavored bacon with our salad. On the subject of salad, the original conception was that this would be a light salad that would cut the richness of the other dishes. With the bacon and the super flavorful balsamic vinaigrette, I'm not sure that happened. Well, at least it fit in.

Cornbread stuffing with celery, pine nuts and peas. This was so good. I know because I'm still eating it and though a part of me is just so done with Thanksgiving this many meals in a row, with each bite of stuffing, my mouth is still happy.

Glazed carrots and parsnips. See those carrots? I once bought those carrots myself for a dish, so excited that I would have purple carrots. Imagine my fury when I realized the roots were impostors and remained bright orange to their core. It's one thing for a black woman to pass as white fifty years ago in Alabama. There are a whole host of reasons why that might make sense. But a carrot? A carrot hasn't got any rights in this house. It was out and out fraud I tell you. And besides, unlike C, I took too much peel off, so you couldn't even tell that my carrots were pretending to have a beautiful coat of purple. Harrumph. These not only looked good, they really tasted of themselves. Alice Waters would have been proud.

Brussel sprouts with chestnuts and a little cream. So good.

Individual apple pies.

These tasted really like apples. They weren't overly sweet like some store-bought pies. Sadly however, the four of us ended up splitting one pie at the end of the night because we were so full. I kept on nibbling on the crust the next morning though.

Hey guys, C's thing is lingerie. As in that's her line of work, and I don't mean she works the local strip joint. It's her business. And she cooks. How much do you hate that you aren't dating her? It's okay, you probably aren't worthy anyways.

Thanksgiving: Heritage Turkey

For Thanksgiving this year, I decided to splurge and get a heritage turkey. Though my turkey comes from a flock dating back to the 1800s, this was a modern turkey, and I ordered it online through Heritage Foods USA, the e-commerce arm of the U.S. Slow Food USA, and the bird arrived via fed ex, fresh cold and nestled amongst air bags and ice packs.

Ordering through Heritage Foods was in itself an experience. First, the price of all of these heritage animals is astronomical. Ten pounds of ground pork will run you $85.00, shipping included. Second, I started receiving emails, excitingly phrased, about the availability of Heritage Calendars. I love the good-tasting animal, but I can't quite imagine any scenario where I would want a picture of some chickens to look at in May, even if the chickens come from a long and noble line.

Our turkey was going to come Frank R. Reese Jr's farm in Kansas, the Good Shepherd Turkey Ranch. I had loads of fun reading up about Reese. The New York Times said that Mr. Reese was known as one of the best people in the industry who know how to do a match.com on a boy and girl turkey. In the final days to Thanksgiving, I watched a YouTube video of a slightly uncomfortable looking Mr. Reese explain what puts the "heritage" in a heritage turkey. Occasionally, while he speaks, the flock of turkeys in the background will burst into a spontaneous group gobble that makes them sound like a band of hysterical Aunt Pitty's from Gone With the Wind.

Then I started to freak out about cooking the bird. You see, I had crowed to everyone about how awesome it was that a heritage turkey was going to be part of my Thanksgiving meal. Problem was, I had never cooked a turkey before. When I started reading about roasting heritage turkeys, I discovered that the meat can be tough. Oh dear. Some recipes advised cooking at high heat for a short period of time. Other recipes stood by slow and low.

The Good Shepherd website suggested cooking them at 325 degrees, but I found an L.A. Times article from 2003 that compared different turkeys including a Good Shepherd heritage turkey. The newspaper had called up Mr. Reese, who told them to cook it low and slow, and so the paper cooked their bird at 275. In interpreted this to mean that Good Shepherd wanted me to cook my baby at 275 but for whatever reasons didn't have the balls to say as much on their website. Two-seventy-five is awfully low. I also decided that all of the advice about cooking on high heat were just lies.

I cobbled together a couple of recipes and went ahead to begin prepping the turkey. Our bird was 9.5 pounds, and turns out that there was a three digit code in in the SKU that would have helped identify the farmer who raised our bird and the breed of bird. I tore the plastic off and dumped it in the trash, and it was days later before I bothered to read the one page information sheet I had stuck to the refrigerator with a magnet.

Tuesday night I made a maple rosemary butter and let it set up.

Wednesday night, I yanked the giblet packet out of the bird, dried it, separated the skin from as much of the breast meat, thigh meat and back as I could handle, seasoned it with kosher salt and fresh black pepper, and gave the bird a late night butter massage under and over the skin. I simmered the giblets with a bay leaf, some water, and white wine.

Thursday, I took it out to come to room temperature, threw a bit more salt and pepper over the skin, trussed the turkey like a chicken according to Julia Child's instructions in Mastering the Art of French Cooking, and not wanting to bother basting, covered it in thick cut bacon that I staked in place with little toothpicks. I set the oven for 275, put the turkey on the rack, poured in the giblet broth, tented the bird with oiled parchment paper (which I anchored with aluminum foil) and shoved the thing in the oven. After two hours, I pulled the parchment off, took off the bacon, which I finished cooking on the stove top and cut up for salad, and jacked the oven up to 375 to brown. After about a half hour plus, the skin started to brown, so I covered the breast meat in aluminum foil, got the oven back down to 325/350 and kept the bird in there until the thigh meat registered 160.

No brining, no basting, no stuffing. The verdict? Well, problem is, I don't really eat turkey and lack a deep memory reserve against which to compare this Thanksgiving bird. The dark meat was good. The breast meat was still breast meat, a bit dry, and I thought C's brined turkey from last year was probably better. If I were to do it again, I'm probably inject the breast meat with pan juices after I took off the parchment paper, which is what the Good Shepherd website recommends.

That picture of the carved turkey makes me feel like one of those murderers that hack up their victims. And I must say, even though we got as close as possible to having a turkey that Ben Franklin would have had, I still don't see why he thought it should have been the national bird.

Thanksgiving: to start

This year, I spent Thanksgiving in New York. C and I set up to prepare a small dinner for four. Or rather, a regular sized Thanksgiving feast for a small group of four.


J started us off on the right foot and brought us some charcuterie, cheese and olives from Murray's. We had some spicy salami and domestic prosciutto, which was actually prosciutto from Canada, but unlike many domestic prosciuttos, it wasn't too salty.

There was a cow and sheep's milk Podda Classico from the island of Sardinia. Murray's described it as "sharp, grassy and full." "It gives you the slight sensation of an electric shock."

Then there was a good old, all-American Meadow Creek Grayson. Murray's description: "Conscientious farming, raw Jersey cow milk, and the terroir of Galax, VA (eleation 280 ft) contribute to a beautiful washed-rind cheese. An American Original, it is mildly pungent, creamy, beef, and fruity. Serve with fresh fruit for a tasty treat." We served it with wine, and it was tasty.

When J arrived and we began digging into her meat and cheese spread, the turkey was roasting. We slid in the stuffing (courtesy C) and broccoli puff (courtesy J). I pulled out the biscuits and threw those in after the turkey came out. Since it was just the four of us: C, J and W, there was no pressure, no seat mealtime to meet. We just talked, nibbled and sipped wine.

Hudson did remarkably well considering the assault of friendly food smells hitting his sensitive nose. He didn't miss out entirely though. The next morning, he got leftover prosciutto, turkey and salami scraps mixed in with his dog food.