GASTRONORMOUS

I have stood and gazed into the window of One Girl Cookies in Brooklyn many times, admiring the sweet creations that are made with the precision of Martha Stewart and the fancifulness of a cookie fairy (you know about cookie fairies, don’t you?). But I have never gone in. The place just looks too fancy, and maybe too expensive, for me. But after Eat It: Brooklyn’s rave review, I might have to force my way in, if just for a single peanut butter coconut cookie….

Miso is one of those ingredients that irrationally intimidates me. Like yeast. Or fava beans. I don’t know what it is. It seems to exotic for my simple refrigerator to hold. And if I buy it, will I use it? And in what? Well, how about Mark Bittman’s great-looking green beans with walnuts and miso? As usual, his recipe looks easy, elegant, and delicious.

Holy huitlacoche! If only I had known about the theater-district restaurant Toloache before I last ate in the area. NYC Nosh gives it a mostly positive review. The quesadilla with corn and huitlacoche looks totally scrumptious.

Penne alla vodka is one of my favorite pasta dishes. I often order it when I see it on a menu, but I have never actually cooked it. It just seemed like something so delicious must be really complicated. But who knew penne alla vodka is actually quite easy to make? The Amateur Gourmet did, that’s who.

In case you haven’t had the daily recommended dose of cute yet today, you simply must check out this adorable five-year-old’s cooking show. The recipe? Yummy Yummy Citrus Boys. The kid is just precious, and actually mostly seems to know what he doing (in some cases the finer motor skills aren’t tuned enough, and he makes a couple “Is this right?” glances to his off-camera parents, but hey, he’s five!). Among the pearls of wisdom he dispenses: “In order to make a batter, you must mix it.” Adorb! [via boingboing via Grub Street]

I spent Christmas Eve through New Year’s Eve in California, visiting my family. The family company was warm, the kids were equal parts sweet and fun, and the food was duly indulgent. For Christmas Eve we ate the now-traditional meal of New Mexican enchiladas made by the Hubs. He has always been well-loved by my family, but I daresay their hearts grew even fonder for him the first time he made enchiladas, with his from-scratch sauce. He also made posole, and my dad made some refried beans (also from scratch). It was quite a feast. So much so that I was too distracted by the tastiness to take pictures. The next time the Hubs graces my plate with his enchiladas, I promise to document it appropriately.

Christmas was at my Brother and Sister-in-law’s house. It was sort of a potluck affair. Appetizers were provided by me and my mom, who brought along some homemade green tomato chutney and pepper jelly (see left. Yum!), both of which she served with crackers and cream cheese, she also brought along some smoked salmon with capers. I made a family favorite, my Grammy’s cheeseball.

To go with the main course, I made a salad (nothing fancy, just some mixed greens with tomatoes, carrots, and scallions, with a homemade balsamic vinaigrette, but some mandoline-sliced carrots and tomatoes upped the aesthetics of it, which made it seem fancier than it was). My mom made some delicious green beans and my Sis and BIL brought the mashed potatoes (made with sour cream, butter, etc., as Christmas potatoes should be!). The main attractions—standing rib roast and a unusual and fabulous porcini-mushroom, spinach, and sausage stuffing—were provided by Bro and SIL. They also made an incredible from-scratch pumpkin pie using Maxine’s pie dough and filling not out of a can, but out of a pumpkin! Great! In addition we had for dessert some of mt Granny’s famous cookies. And, no I do not many one type of cookie, pluralized because of the dozens she makes. She is famous family-wide for many types of cookies, which she makes every Christmas (chocolate-mint-walnut, icebox, chocolate crinkle, and date-swirl cookies among them).

All in all, it was as delicious and satisfying as Christmas dinner should be.

Apologies for the lack of posts of late. I was out of town for most of the holidays, and when I got home my site crashed as I was trying to upgrade it.

Please tune in later today for more…

By the way, the comments are now working, so please comment away!

I know what you are thinking–pancakes? How banal!

These may look like your run-of-the-mill pancakes, but I assure you they are not! The Hubs offered to make pancakes for breakfast last weekend, and who am I to refuse? Scanning the cupboards for the necessary ingredients, he quickly noted that we were out of the regular vegetable oil with which we usually make pancakes. Thinking I might have to change out of my cozy PJs and face the harsh weather outside in order to retrieve more, I panicked: “Use that mandarin olive oil! It’ll be (gulp) great!” I feigned authority in saying this. In reality, I knew it was a risk. Olive oil might be weird in pancakes, but the alternative was the by far less attractive option at that moment. He looked at me skeptically for a moment before shrugging his shoulders and saying plainly, “okay.” And he fired up the griddle.

Besides the mandarin olive oil (which I have used before), he added some pecans, a dash of cinnamon, and a tiny splash of pure vanilla extract. The result? Sweet and subtly exotic pancakes! And not olive-y at all. I don’t need to tell you how to make pancakes, but next time you are whipping up your favorite morning ‘cake recipe, think about adding some orange- or lemon-flavored olive oil to the batter in place of plain ol’ vegetable oil. It doesn’t sock you in the face with fruit flavor, but offers a hint of bright citrus flavor that will surely perk up your Sunday morning.

Got the recession blues? A prix fixe $24 lunch or $35 dinner (including molten chocolate cake) at one of Jean-Georges Vongerichten’s restaurants should be soothing balm for your financial wounds. [via Grub Street]

This is not a joke: Nicholas Kristoff calls for Prez-elect Obama to appoint a Secretary of Food (as opposed to Secretary of Agriculture). It is a wide-ranging, informative, and fascinating op-ed in the NY Times. [via Bitten]

Eat It: Brooklyn reviews Buttermilk Channel, where I failed to go to brunch last weekend. With exception of slightly over-oily pasta, it looks like pretty delicious seasonal dinner fare. Must go!

Bread-making intimidates me. The yeast, the sitting, the rising, the punching, the kneading—one temperamental chemical reaction goes wrong, and your loaf is dust. I was never keen on science, which might explain my wariness of adventures of the doughy kind. I was therefore duly impressed by Food Mayhem’s post on Ciabatta-making. She even made the starter, which doubles the scary-sciencey quotient.

Whenever I make a recipe that says that a sauce needs to be reduced down to 2 cups (or whatever), I admit that I always guesstimate, with varying results. What the heck are you supposed to do, I always thought, dump all the boiling hot sauce (soup/glaze/whatever) into a measuring cup each time I think I am close to the requisite amount? No, all I need to do was fish a chopstick and rubberband out of my junk drawer. More one this MacGyver-ish technique over at The Kitchn.

Now, stop reading this blog and start Christmas shopping, already!

I met the Predicate for brunch last weekend. We had intended to go to Buttermilk Channel, the new place on Court St. that has been getting a lot of attention, but it turns out they don’t serve brunch (I hope there are plans to do so–that end of Court St. needs more brunch options).  We then attempted to go to Frankies 457 Spuntino for their fantastic brunch, but they were really busy, and with a movie to go see later, we didn’t have the time to wait the half hour. We then walked through the blustery cold over to Smith Street, where we checked in at Patois, one of the very first restaurant-settlers of the wild east that was Smith Street in the late 1990’s. I have heard they do a great brunch, but have never experienced it myself as there are always interminable waits there. On this day, there was “only” a 20 minute wait, but again, because of the movie, we didn’t take the hostess up on the offer to wait for a table.

We finally ended up Savoia, a place I have always overlooked, in favor of any number of the other eateries in the area, for some reason. The joint was almost empty, which I think must be due just to the fact of its proximity to Patois, of the all-you-can-drink mimosa brunch, and not due to poor quality of the food, which was basically pretty good. It wasn’t the best brunch I have ever had, but I have certainly had much worse.

The meal didn’t begin totally promisingly. With our beverages came a basket of bread that contained some focaccia that, oddly, tasted faintly of fish, and some crusty bread (pugliese?) that might have been good when it was just out of the oven, but now was clearly a day old. Pulling at that tough crust was straining my neck muscles, so I finally gave up on eating it. I was now worried about that was to come…

Luckily, my concerns turned out to be unwarranted. The eggs in purgatory were delicious: two medium-well poached eggs were nestled in thick and hearty (but maybe a tad too salty) marinara sauce. The eggs were served with a healthy portion of gnocchi, which I have never seen on a brunch menu before. I wish I would see it more often as it made a tasty and filling addition to the eggs—perfect for a late brunch. The Predicate ordered what was labeled on the menu as a “Monte Cristo” sandwich, but it actually ended up being an Italian version of a croque madame: toast (plain, not battered) topped with prosciutto, cheese, and sunny side-up eggs, served with salad. While it was no Monte Cristo, it was delicious. The Predicate was big enough to forgive Savoia for calling this dish a Monte Cristo, as, she admitted, her paradigm of the classic sandwich was Denny’s rendition, so who was she to judge (she added that if Savoia had tried to do a “Moons Over MyHammy” sandwich, that was a meal she could justly and authoritatively compare to Denny’s).

In the end it was a hearty and satisfying meal–I would go back, and maybe try it for dinner some time (I have heard their pizza is great). For brunch, if you are ready for a long wait to be seated, and looking to get drunk mid-day, then by all means go to Patois, but if you want some hearty morning-after food, and want it quickly, then Savoia is a good bet.

Savoia
277 Smith Street
Brooklyn, NY 11231
(718) 797-2727

One day after breakfast in Mexico, we decided to take a 20 minute cab ride to the town of Playa del Carmen. We wanted to explore what was described to us as a “quaint fishing village” and maybe experience a bit of real Mexico. We quickly saw that quaint it ain’t. I am sure there are parts of town the cater to locals, and might even be called quaint, but the most of what we saw was the street 5th Avenue, which is a long strip of crappy souvenir and t-shirt shops, touristy restaurants, and jewelry stores with hucksters outside beckoning you in to interest you silver, and perhaps a time share. Mostly it was a disappointment, but we did find a nice little pottery shop on the fringes of strip, and I bought an awesome pair of Brazilian sandals (that aren’t available in the US—I know only because I have looked for them here!). Plus, of course, the jaunt allowed for this reportage on what culinary choices await you, should you ever find yourself in Play del Carmen, or Playa as many simply call the town.

A place named El Oasis was recommended to us for their legendary seafood tacos, but we couldn’t find it. We ended up eating at a touristy Mexican restaurant on 5th Ave., which was probably a mistake, but we just didn’t have the time to go exploring all over town on foot. My brother deemed the restaurant “forgettable,” and indeed, I don’t even remember the name. My dish featured canned mushrooms and canned cactus, among other things. I didn’t touch it; something about canned mushrooms—the texture, I think—trigger a gag reflex in me. Instead, I ate guacamole wrapped in fresh tortillas. Not bad, but not exactly a balanced meal. The fish tacos, left, were edible if not memorable, and featured grilled, instead of fried, fish, which was a good thing. Even if I remembered the name, I don’t think I would recommend it. It was the type of place that has mariachis, bright red and green chips stuck in their guac, and takes pictures of you wearing an enormous sombero (this one with the word “Mexico” hand-spray-painted on it) and then later tries to sell the photo-as-tequila-bottle-label to you. None of us were thrilled with the meal, but it was a nice little respite off of the hot street, and a chance to sit down and chat as a family over some beers and sodas.

We wandered a bit off of the main strip, down to the famous beach, and to the pier area, which was lined with tables offering shell jewelery, hair braiding, and fresh fruit (see top photo) and nuts. The Hubs and I also walked over to the bit less touristy 10th Avenue, where we saw some taco stands that had themes and signage I just fell in love with.

Here is the taco stand called Mr. Kiwi. As you can see (click on the photos to enlarge them), the mascot is a winsome beanie-topped kiwi dude sipping some jugos (Or is it tequila? That kiwi looks like he is pretty squeezed). As you can see, besides the obligatory tacos and tortas, this stand also offers hamurguesas. Por los gringos, naturalmente. Though the tortas are clearly what make this place stand apart: If you look closely at the word “tortas” in the signage, the pictorial torta that takes the place of the “o” has a scale underneath that measures “25 cm.” Of course, I guess that could have been instructions to the sign maker (”I want it to say “Tortas & Tacos,” but for the “o” in “tortas” paint a sammy with stink lines emanating from it, and make sure the drawing is exactly 25 centimeters!” Something like that. What? It could have happened. Or maybe I am reading too much cake wrecks). But assuming their actual tortas are 25cm in length, I wonder how big the 20 peso “super torta” is? Whoa. Mr. Kiwi is blowing my mind.

Copyright infringement alert! In the upper right hand corner of the wall of this taco, torta, and burrito stand called Tacochido you will inexplicably see the unmistakable countenance of Roberto’s Gran Chico (Bob’s Big Boy to you and I). I assume that is a torta he is holding on the left, and not BBB’s iconic hamburguesa-doble. On the right he doesn’t loop his thumb around his suspender strap, but instead holds a taco (of course!). In non-Big Boy news, I love the beach vagabond hats covering the florescent lighting. This place actually looked pretty good, but we didn’t try it as we had lunch with the whole fam. Besides, I don’t think they were open yet (see empty jugos containers on the—is that an ironing board? Or just a cleverly designed folding table?).

And lastly, Dr. Taco could not help but catch my eye. Genius marketing! Who doesn’t want to buy tacos from a hirsute-legged, speedo-wearing, stethoscope-bedecked, mustachioed old dude? Plus, he seems to be dancing in those Peppermint Patty shoes. Ok, I heart Dr. Taco.

While the meal we had in Playa wasn’t the best, there is plenty of good, or at the least memorable, food to be had there—just as long as your stomachs lead you off of the tourist-beaten track.

I spent the entire week of Thanksgiving with my family at an all-inclusive resort, the Barcelo Maya Palace, on the Yucatan Peninsula, mercifully far south of rowdy Cancun. I must say that while I knew this was probably the most relaxing option for us, and certainly the best idea for the kids (my nieces and nephew, all under age 9), I still wasn’t totally sold on the all-inclusive idea. When I travel, I really like to experience the culture, and especially the food, of the place I am visiting, and the idea of eating at French and Japanese restaurants at a secluded resort in Mexico seemed a little odd to me.

While I must admit that the culinary offerings weren’t the highlight of the stay, I hasten to say that this all-inclusive experience was amazing–I couldn’t have been more wrong in my misgivings.  There was so much to do on-site: several pools, a beautiful beach, great snorkeling (on clear days) in crystal water, shuffleboard (I swear, it is actually fun!), bocce ball, tennis, ping pong, and of course lounging in a hammock with a margarita is a possibility in time of day. Plus, there are tons of things to see off-site, from eco- and water-parks to Mayan ruins. It was a really great week for everyone, adults and kids alike. Perhaps it wasn’t the most culturally enriching vacation, but it was exactly the sort of relaxing, stress-free trip we needed—I would return in a heartbeat.

As to the food: In general, all-inclusives are not renowned for having great food (my sister suspects this might be because the unlimited free alcohol leads to less discerning guests!). I think anyplace that must serve thousands of people a wide variety of eatin’ options at every meal is not going to have the best food. That said, the food at Barcelo Maya Palace was better most institutional-level eateries out there. And strangely, where they seemed to cut corners was at the formal sit-down, table-service restaurants (like the Caribbean joint, left).

The Barcelo Maya Resort group offers nine “a la carte” restaurants in all (in addition to buffets and snack bar/grills, which were open for longer hours), and we ate dinner at four of them: The French, Caribbean, Brazilian, and Mexican. All the meals got mixed reviews from our group. Some people in our twelve-person posse preferred the Mexican and Brazilian places, others put those two in last place. We all liked enough things at the buffets and snack bars to keep us happy, and the kids (well, okay, the Hubs and I included!) probably liked the buffets the best. It was much better than I expected it to be, though not every dish hit it out of the ballpark.

There were tons of fresh fruit, cereals, pastries, made-to-order omelets, and anything else you might want in the a.m. at the breakfast buffet. The biggest hit for breakfast I think were the chillequilles, which were prepared without eggs, but that you could top with a red or green-sauce poached egg. Yum!

We ate most lunches at the grill, which was actually a smaller version of the buffet (the buffets also had made-to-order grilling stations), but had a more outdoors-y setting. Again, the lunch and dinner buffets offered some good and bad things, but enough good to keep us full and happy, though most of us were not big on the mayonnaise-based prepared salads featured at lunch. But there were plenty of other lunch and dinner options, from pizza and pasta for the kids, to soup, salad and sandwich fixin’s, and custom-ordered fajitas. There were Mexican specialties at every buffet, and I loved that I could have guacamole at every meal, including breakfast! It was good guacamole, too.

At all of the table-service restaurants, some of the details were off. For instance, the delicate piped stars that we were told was flavored butter, was actually flavored margarine, or maybe Crisco—it had that mouth-coating greasy feel that even most margarines these days lack (the buffets featured real butter, oddly). Also, all the restaurants seemed to have issues with serving food at the right temperature. Many things meant to be hot were served lukewarm or cold. Service in general was unpredictable; it was great at the French restaurant and at the buffet for dinner, but not as good at the other restaurants or the buffets for breakfast or lunch.

Our first meal at a table service restaurant was at the French Brasserie. As with the other restaurants, this got mixed reviews from my family (as there were 12 of us, I suppose this is to be expected). The boulliabasse looked spectacular (left), but tasted a little less so. Some of the other dishes, like the surf and turf, and a fish entree were bigger hits. We were there the night of my sister’s birthday, and the staff gave her the most memorable (and loud) happy birthday greeting I have ever seen, with one waiter cracking a towel somehow to sound exactly like firecrackers. It was hysterical. She was mortified. Everyone else, of course, was delighted. This was the Hubs favorite table-service restaurant, and my bro-in-law’s too.

We had Brazilian on Thanksgiving, and it was, I guess, an appropriate celebration of all things meat (served on those weird Brazilian meat swords seen exclusively at Brazilian restaurants). The turkey (on a sword!) was the biggest hit of the night, appropriately, though one piece was undercooked (um, ick). Other complaints were that the cuts of meat were not top-notch. But I’d say a good half of us enjoyed this meal. It was among my brother’s favorite places.

Unfortunately, I didn’t take pictures at the Brazilian or Mexican meals, or any of the buffets (I know! I don’t know what was up with me—I guess I was too much into vacation mode even to blog!). But you can get the flava of our meals from the mini photo essay below. P.S. Included are pictures taken by my nieces and nephew, ages 6 through 9, which accounts for the picture of the fish sticks and some other cool photos.

Tomorrow: Our daytrip to Playa del Carmen.

More on the family Thanksgiving vacation later today, but for now, this (to whet your appetite):

You might imagine we drank mostly margaritas whilst vacationing on the Mayan Riviera (as they call this stretch of the Yucatan coast), but bars at the Barcelo Maya Palace resort (where we stayed) had a host of tropical frou-frou drinks that even the most serious imbiber would have a hard time resisting when staying here. Don’t get me wrong, in New York, I wouldn’t deign to order a drink called the Banana Republic or, heavens to murgatroid, a Strawberry Daiquiri from a machine, but on the Mexican Caribbean, one simply must, well, do as the Mayans do, as they say.

I think it is safe to say that the favorite frou-drink of our family ended up being the Isla de Coco, which was a frothy coconut and rum confection floating atop a “sea” of blue curacao. (That’s it, just to the left of the no-smoking placard that I was apparently already too swizzled to think to remove from the cocktail-table still life before photo-ing.) As a rule, I am not a fan of blue curacao, but here it worked to cut the sweetness of the rest of the drink and add a little punch. It was so festive, tasty, and satisfying!

I must try to replicate the recipe–I can think of a better way to ring in the beginning of our New York summer. Seven. Long. Months. From. Now.

Technically speaking, I am back in already-wintery New York, but my thoughts are still lounging somewhere on a palm-tree-studded beach, meditating on the crystal blue waters of the Mexican Caribbean. Check in tomorrow for word on my culinary adventures (and misadventures) in Mexico, and what I have been up to in the kitchen since.