GASTRONORMOUS

I am lousy at pool, but I love playing it, so I couldn’t help but be seduced this awesome dining table that converts to a pool table!

As a stand-alone dining table it has a very cool modern aesthetic and comes in a number of finishes (you can also buy cool coordinating benches or chairs). I like the metallic base with the wooden top, but all-wood options are available too. I also like the idea of a hidden-in-plain-sight pool table in the dining room, where the whole family has access, rather than displayed in some dark rife-with-testosterone-no- chicks-allowed game room.

I assume the price is equivalent of a of a high-end dining table plus a custom pool table, i.e. out of reach for most of us—no prices are listed on the product website. But maybe you can convince your boss to buy it to use as the company “conference” table. Think team-building!

Thanks for the link, Coolest Gadgets!

When I moved to Brooklyn 3 years ago, I thought I would miss terribly my old neighborhood, and its proximity to Festival Mexicano. As it turns out, absence did not make the heart grow fonder. In fact, when I return to the East Village/Lower East Side neighborhoods, especially on weekend nights, I realize how blind I was to its faults. In the last number of years, it has become overrun with rowdy drunk college students and out-of-towners.

I fear the coffin of good memories I held for the neighborhood was nailed shut upon my last visit to Festival Mexicano with Hubs, The Predicate, and Fab Eddie, weekend before last. My usual meal, enchiladas suizas (which are not smothered in the tomatillo sauce usually associated with that word, but pumpkin seed sauce) were extremely salty, and the refried beans tasted…sour. And the restaurant was crowded with hipsters, college students, and a big bachelorette party (to which someone brought a shoebox full of jello shots–classy). Cheap margaritas can only add so much when the food and scene is so lacking.

After dinner we decided to go out for a drink before heading back to our respective homes, but every bar we tried to go to was crowded to capacity with what else but drunk college kids, hipsters, and out-of-towners. The Predicate had the idea to go to Gonzalez y Gonzalez on Broadway. It is kitschy like Festival Mexicano, but on a much grander scale. The decor includes a giant sombrero and a flashing rainbow of lights outside. We thought that would be a sort of ironically funny thing to do, and in keeping with the Mexican theme of the evening. But when we arrived, there was a line outside, and doormen were stamping hands. I couldn’t believe it. Even the tackiest place in the neighborhood was suddenly hip. And I’m sorry, a line and hand-stamping? That I can’t even enjoy for the irony.

In desperation, we went to Botanica Bar around the corner on Houston, but it was so crowded there was no place to stand, let alone sit, and fresh DJ tracks were pumping so loudly we couldn’t hear each other. So feeling much too old and decidedly un-hip, Hubs and I slunk home to watch a rerun of Saturday Night Live instead.

To add injury to insult, I felt sick later in the night, and it definitely was not from the margaritas. I realized then that not only had I grown out of the neighborhood I once called home, but maybe out of Festival Mexicano too.

I lived in the East Village of Manhattan for 11 years, 10 of which were spent on East 3rd Street, right at the cusp of the EV and the Lower East Side. Over the years, I watched the L.E.S.’s Jewish zone west of Ludlow and Latin one east of Ludlow morph into a unified non- denominational and pan-ethnic district of nothing but hipster bars, restaurants, and shops.

Of course Max Fish and the Pink Pony were cool neighborhood destinations long before the hipsters moved in en force. And so was Festival Mexicano. Not a hipster joint, per se, but once the bar Welcome to the Johnson’s moved in across the street, it wasn’t long until the good cheap food and cheaper margaritas drew them in.

Don’t get me wrong, you mustn’t come here expecting culinary excellence. I have long lamented New York’s lack of good Mexican Food, the likes of which can be found in every neighborhood of every town in all of California, and while Festival Mexicano is not as good as the California Mexican food I grew up on, it seemed closer to it than much else in New York.

But in fact, I admit I was first drawn to The Festival because of the decor, which I found ironically amusing–colorful serapes and artificially aged photos of bullet-belt-slung banditos hung on the walls, and one wall was decorated with a fresco of a Mexican village. But it was once I sampled the food, and the ridiculously cheap margaritas, that I became hooked.

Not much has changed at Festival Mexicano over the 10 years I have been eating there. The prices were raised once (margaritas went up 50 cents to $4). I mirthfully noticed when they discovered the squeeze- bottle method of sour cream garnish delivery. I panicked a few years ago when they shut down for renovations, fearing they would go the way of other old neighborhood places, but they did re-open with a new ceiling, ceiling fans, and a new jukebox. Otherwise, though, nothing has really changed.

The margaritas are not out of a machine, but whipped up to a froth in a blender you can hear whirring in the kitchen. The pleasantly salty, avocado- studded chicken ranchero soup remains a favorite. The sour cream-cut guacamole doesn’t keep us from ordering the satisfyingly old-school guacamole nachos. And the waitresses remain slightly surly (and it isn’t a schtick–they truly are not happy to serve you).

TO BE CONTINUED…

Monday means feeder!

[Apologies for the relative lack of posts-- I have been busy preparing for a move, and Michelle of the WCB is busy with a new job! -EH]

There is soup, soup, and more soup over at Off The Broiler.

Zut alors! Two blogs reported last week about the newly opened Exceptions Gourmandes in Paris. (Chocolate & Zucchini and David Lebovitz). Unfortunately, with the state of the dollar, a single brioche would cost me a week’s salary. So I will have to wait for Exceptions Économie aux Etats Unis! Jusqua-la, mon Paris!

Franki Bruni made the mistake of asking readers for their dining-out pet peeves. Nearly 100 responses show that New Yorkers apparently hate everything about restaurants and their employees. [By the way, my biggest restaurant pet peeve is when the dish that arrives in front of me isn't what is represented on the menu. It is fine if you replace the pine nuts with almonds, but tell me before I commit to the order that the dish isn't as described.]

The Kitchn had a link to the “Table of Condiments that Periodically Go Bad,” a list of condiments and how long they keep in your fridge, in the form of the periodic table. Brilliant. I have one complaint: where’s the salsa? Can it be that the MIT geniuses who came up with this chart don’t know that it is the number one condiment in the US (has been since 1992!)?

Also over at The Kitchn, a reader asks what her next non-stick pan should be. I am leery of non-stick pans partly because of the very reasons the reader says she wants to replace hers: the non-stick coating had flaked off, and, she assumes, ended up in her family’s food. (Plus, you can’t heat them as high as plain stainless–Teflon degrades at very high temps.) Some PTFE- and PFOA-free non-stick options are discussed. If anyone has information on other types of so-called “green” non-stick pans, please feel free to use the comments section below.

I admit that I am a sucker for good design. When I saw this chopping board, I thought it would revolutionize my life, or at least my kitchen prep. The idea is that you cut your veggies (or whatever) on the board, then when you grip the handle, the sides of the board fold up to form a chute, making the transfer of said veggies from chopping board to frying pan a breeze. Ingenious, right? Plus, it is so cute, and comes in a great shade of green. And the kicker: it is dishwasher safe. There was no way I wasn’t buying this. So I did.

I have since realized that even more important than good design is good engineering. And this chopping board definitely lacks the latter. After a few uses and washings, the handle stopped staying in the upright position seen in the photo, and when the handle falls from the upright position, it acts to lift the entire board of the surface off of your counter, so you have to hold down the board to keep it flat—not so handy when both hands are already busy wielding a knife and holding a zucchini in place. [$16--$22]

Feeder is a new feature, highlighting interesting food-related posts from around the web. This week we have some trivia, a couple daring recipes, an important fund-raising campaign, and more.

The Accidental Hedonist dispels the popular belief that a vodka martini is James Bond’s favorite drink. MI5’s savviest spy is certainly no teetotaler, but his actual most ordered drink is neither shaken nor stirred…

Chocolate & Zucchini, in its usual charming manner, proffers a great-sounding carrot and beet salad.

Four words: Candied Bacon Ice Cream.

And speaking of desserts with bizarre star ingredients: over at 101 Cookbooks: Black Bean Brownies?

From The Kitchn, home-grown alfalfa sprouts. My mom used to always do this when I was a kid; don’t know why I never have. Now that I am moving to a place that gets light in the kitchen, maybe I just will!

Lastly, and most importantly, the Gothamist Food Blog has a story on the TAP project. Participating restaurants are asking for a donation of $1 for regular ol’ tap water, and then donate the proceeds to UNICEF to bring clean drinking water to especially impoverished areas in third world companies.

See you next week!

I must have inherited from my mom her love of “beans and greens,” as she calls them. Many different types of beans and greens work well together, but a classic italian combination is spinach and cannellini beans. My take on this combination includes some whole wheat pasta and romano cheese to make an entire meal.

The recipe calls for red chili oil. I used the one from O&Co., one of my favorite stores, but I have seen this type of product at many specialty food shops. If you haven’t had whole wheat pasta in a while and think you hate it, give it another try. Great strides have been made in the last number of years in perfecting the taste and texture of whole wheat pastas. There is no longer any reason to subject yourself to grainy pasta that cooks to mush rather than perfectly al dente for the sake of healthy eating. I have been using Luigi Vitelli brand organic pasta lately, and love it.

Penne with Spinach and White Beans

1/2 lb whole wheat penne
1 TB red chili oil
4 large cloves of garlic, minced
1 10 oz. package frozen spinach, defrosted
2 TBS balsamic vinegar
1 tsp red pepper flakes (or more, to taste)
1 tsp dried oregano
1 tsp salt
1 15 oz. can of cannellini (or other small white) beans
Good quality olive oil
2 oz. Pecorino Romano cheese, grated

Bring salted water to a boil. Cook pasta a minute or two less than package directions. Drain, reserving a couple cups of the pasta water and set aside.

Meanwhile, heat chili oil in a large saucepan over medium-high heat. Once hot, add garlic and stir for a few minutes. Add spinach (do not squeeze water out of spinach, and don’t worry about defrosting it 100%, most of the way is okay), vinegar, and spices (do yourself a favor and don’t taste it at this point, the vinegar will taste too strong–it needs time to reduce and mellow). Cook for about five minutes, stirring often. Add cannellini beans, and cook about five minutes more, stirring occasionally.

Add pasta and a ladleful of the reserved pasta water. Stir a few minutes until everything is heated through and liquid has thickened a bit. Taste and adjust seasonings as necessary.

Stir in a bit of olive oil (a tablespoon or so) and heat through. Turn off heat and stir in cheese.

After plating, shave a bit more cheese on each serving.

Serves 3-4.

Last Sunday was a bon voyage party for Hubs’ friend Katie, who is leaving this week to go live in a villa in Tuscany to grow grapes and make (and presumably drink) wine. Indefinitely. This might sound suspiciously like the plot of a certain travel-diary-turned-Diane-Lane-vehicle-chick-flick, but I assure you it is not. Yes, that which is but a romantic dream to women of a certain age all across America, will, to Katie, just be–life. Or, shall we say, la dolce vita!

The party was hosted by Katie’s dad Jeff and Kim at their spectacular apartment in the Meatpacking District. On a table was set an array of Italian meats and toasted bread, along with a ramekin of peppery olive oil that happened to be from the very farm that Katie is moving to. I glanced over at the kitchen just as Jeff was opening the oven door to reveal a luscious-looking pizza inside. Looking at it’s toasty-brown cheesy bubblyness, my terrible jealousy of Katie’s new life abated–just knowing such beautiful things could be had outside of Italy lessened the sting. I couldn’t wait to try a slice.

Sauce slopped to the floor as I took the first bite of the delicate point of the slice. I wiped up the mess before scarfing down the rest of it. My bane is a pie that skimps on sauce, as I have mentioned before, so this slice made me happy despite the unfortunate mess I made with it. Besides the favorable sauce-to-crust ratio, the cheese-to-sauce ratio was also perfect. A divine proportion seemed to be in effect.

I walked over to the kitchen island and watched as Jeff uncovered another plump ball of dough and stretched it our into a circle. I sheepishly admitted to him that making anything involving yeast intimidated me and so I was duly impressed by his pizza-making skills. He assured me that it was easy, pointing to the baguette and ciabatta he has also made, and mentioned that he took an artisanal bread course at the French Culinary Institute in Manhattan. Turning back to the pizza, he poured on a generous amount of olive oil and ladled on the sauce before sprinkling it with cheese and toppings (in this case, mushrooms). He indeed made it look look easy, but I am going to need more counter space and a good amount of culinary fortitude before I attempt it at home.

For dessert, Kim made two desserts that were as delicious as they were beautiful. One was a lemon tart featuring a homemade lemon curd and a pignoli crust; very Italian all around. The filling was equal parts sweet and tart, but without being cloying as such desserts often are. This last quality, or lack there of, is probably partly attributed to the brilliant pignoli crust, which countered its sweet filling with mellow, slightly salty, nuttiness. The other dessert was sort of a combination of an apple galette and tart tatin. The apples were caramelized as in a tatin, but the crust was a straightforward pie crust; a stroke of genius that really allowed the chewy apples to shine. As with everything else from the evening–the pizza, the wine, the company, the view–it was inspired, and a great send-off for Katie!

The Red Hook ballfields vendors were just granted a six-year permit. Brooklynites can forget their frijoles-focused fretting, the delicioso-ness will return this May!

Here are some photos from our visit last summer. I opted for a papusa (a corn cake stuffed with frijoles y queso), which I was so delicious that I gobbled it all down before I remembered to take a picture. Luckily, I was able to get some snaps of my friends’ baleadas, which are like giant soft tacos, as well as some other offerings at the fields.

A Baleada.

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Charred Corn.

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A Predator and His Prey.

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The Colorful Agua Fresca Stand.

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Another Baleada.

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Mangoes on a Stick.

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Balloons and a Grill.

I am what I like to call a fishitarian, and have been that way for 10 years: I don’t eat red meat, pork, or poultry, but I’ll gladly stuff my face with (nearly) anything hauled out of the water. I settled on this dietary lifestyle after watching my family’s long, convoluted metamorphosis through various forms of vegetarianism.

When I was about 10, my dad decided he wasn’t going to eat red meat anymore; by the time I was in high school, this personal decision of his had evolved into the near-complete vegetarianism of the entire family. Except me. A moody adolescent, I wasn’t buying what they were selling. I worked at McDonald’s at the time, and would luxuriate in lavish displays of lip-smacking over Quarter Pounders brought home from work while my parents and brother would sneer in disgust. I remember their 5-year experiment with a vegan lifestyle after I moved away from home (ah, that disappointing first Thanksgiving!) as a blurry, horrifying time in which my parents lost their sense of humor and spent hours reading package labels in the grocery store. My younger brother, who had morphed from a passive participant to a raging militant, was one of those vegetarians (we all know at least one) who hated vegetables. He subsisted almost entirely on a diet of bean burritos (hold the cheese, please!) from Taco Bell.

Having this kind of history, it was a bit surprising to find this gift from my parents on our doorstep a few days before Christmas:

It’s a Coleman Road Trip Grill LXE [$149.99]. Quasi-vegetarians and carnivores alike will find this cute contraption nothing less than a pleasure to incorporate into their cooking arsenal. It’s tiny (just 36 inches and 50 pounds), easy to fold and pull with a handle, and its gas heat packs a surprising wallop. The legs even come off so you can use it on a tabletop. Our car has a picnic table built into the trunk (I admit it swayed me to buy the car, what can I say? A BUILT-IN PICNIC TABLE, people!), so it’s only natural that we should need other similarly collapsible outdoorsy stuff. Dare I say our next purchase should be a tent-thingy?

Weirdly enough, I’m now the only person in my family who closely approximates a vegetarian; my parents and brother shocked me this year by admitting that they eat poultry again. I wouldn’t be surprised if soon they are drying their own raccoon jerky and attending Ted Nugent concerts. For former vegans, surely this is a small conceptual leap.