tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-71255409942525351502024-03-13T08:09:27.521-07:00Planet MarlyMy national & international take on what to eat and where, because no one should ever have to miss out on an incredible food opportunity!Marlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784997998733075320noreply@blogger.comBlogger60125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7125540994252535150.post-73232986546892139042012-10-09T13:06:00.001-07:002012-10-09T15:23:15.815-07:00Calamari Please Hold the Ketchup<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK5pcBxjmbQAiWc9vXXIYnWu9mUMImBJ4JvCaPJfOVQa9peF0Npy1BeXBI1W37_3xCLLssBeG_sfCyVemy3d67RMF4IO6ex0QiBQT0ZFv0AxJ0jRiYauZJfDbgzw5KzKGc4Q_A6hfVXjhp/s1600/543422_10151197175093905_979113779_n.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK5pcBxjmbQAiWc9vXXIYnWu9mUMImBJ4JvCaPJfOVQa9peF0Npy1BeXBI1W37_3xCLLssBeG_sfCyVemy3d67RMF4IO6ex0QiBQT0ZFv0AxJ0jRiYauZJfDbgzw5KzKGc4Q_A6hfVXjhp/s320/543422_10151197175093905_979113779_n.jpeg" width="239" /></a></div>
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In the last few weeks I’ve been hit with an overwhelming
craving to eat calamari, aka “fried calamari in
the typical fashion." To me that translates to breaded rings and tiny tentacles of squid that are deep-fried and served hot and crispy. When I refer to calamari I
am never referring to grilled calamari on top of greens or that newish fad of calamari sticks—a stack of breaded calamari planks
that when picked up flounce up and down like a rubber pencil. Nope, those latter types of calamari are just not for me.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Calamari is one of those proteins in which I suspend my
disbelief about 80% regarding what I’m actually eating. What can I say, I could barely look into the famous and breathtakingly gorgeous jellyfish tank at the <a href="http://www.montereybayaquarium.org/efc/jellies.aspx" target="_blank">Monterey Bay Aquarium</a>, and while I know that jellyfish are not quite the same as squid, still, this type of creature is not what I like to imagine ingesting with full cognitive awareness. Calamari is squid after all, and
personally I do not find squid attractive to look at or think about chewing. That said, the tiny tentacles pieces on a typical fried calamari plate is pretty much the squid sticking its tongue out at me proclaiming, "See, how could you NOT know you're eating me, the squid." Alas, how true, and that is likely why 20% of my brain always gets that eating delicious fried calamari equals eating pieces of a once squiggly, icky squid.<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
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Could be why most savvy restaurateurs in these parts call the dish fried calamari instead of fried squid. In this food blogger's opinion, that move was
a little dose of menu engineering magic on menu pages everywhere. This not-obvious word appearance on an appetizer list could even lead McNugget-eating
youngsters to try some, even if in the end it doesn't quite taste like chicken.<o:p></o:p></div>
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A while ago <a href="http://planetmarly.blogspot.com/2009/01/i-heart-carmines-and-now-you-know.html" target="_blank">I blogged about the best calamari ever</a>,
and that would be from Carmine’s in NYC. Their fried calamari isn't just a culinary delight; it's also a cultural one. As I wrote in 2009:</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_i4Jw-6qBsiYf-rxxaUtgmfX4kQf3pryK1VSiC-MqmUki2HteMe4oamv70J4UKPLaLGNCzft3mA5CtJrtEHOa7c5ZoyfmP406S4WkNXtJVQzL16XB0Y3fCOS7qQBXOdUySaDVOu76ZZ20/s1600/thumb_600.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="187" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_i4Jw-6qBsiYf-rxxaUtgmfX4kQf3pryK1VSiC-MqmUki2HteMe4oamv70J4UKPLaLGNCzft3mA5CtJrtEHOa7c5ZoyfmP406S4WkNXtJVQzL16XB0Y3fCOS7qQBXOdUySaDVOu76ZZ20/s200/thumb_600.jpeg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Carmine's, by www.foodspotting.com</td></tr>
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<o:p> </o:p>“The famous calamari appetizer arrives on a white platter measuring roughly a foot and a half long. The calamari on the platter is piled about 6 inches high, and this is why you shouldn’t be shocked that the ever-climbing price for the best calamari in the city is now topping out at $25.50 a plate. No one can finish this on their own, so the thing to do is order it, eat what you will, then pick a neighbor to your left and/or right to pass it down to when you’re through. That is what’s done, almost expected, and is all part of the homey feeling inherent in the place. The best is watching the shocked and pleased faces of newbie tourists crammed at the bar anxiously waiting for a table, when you start to pass down the calamari, look 'em in the eye and say 'Please, I’ve had enough. Enjoy.' Even when you've had your fill, the platter looks untouched! So it is a little confusing for sure. But by the time the tourists nervously utter “oh, um, that’s ok” the bartender has already moved the platter in front of them and insisted on your behalf, to which the tourists take a sigh of relief that New Yorkers are ok afterall while they start chowing down on their free calamari.”</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vinoteca</td></tr>
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It's also fun to enjoy calamari when it's co-starring in fritto
misto. Then you get other treats beyond fried squid. My new
favorite spot to get this dish is a local wine bar in the Los Feliz neighborhood
of LA called <a href="http://vinotecafarfalla.com/hhour.html" target="_blank">Vinoteca</a>. The dish there is called Frito Misto di Pesce, it costs $13 but during happy hour is only $7! This is a great deal considering the dish consists of perfectly prepared calamari, soft chucks of white
fish, shrimp and spicy zucchini. I’ve had it about three times now, and two times ago I was
halfway through eating it when I realized the shrimp were missing. I asked the
server if the kitchen changed the recipe. She checked with the kitchen and came back to my table to shrug and say something refreshingly honest: “They just forgot
to put the shrimp in this time.” That was good news on two fronts: 1) Turns out they make each batch fresh, and 2) The shrimp hadn't been removed from the dish. As I was leaving that night, the kitchen insisted they fry up some shrimp for me to take to go as a way to apologize. Not necessary, but a very nice touch.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dominick's</td></tr>
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The other place I just realized makes fine fried calamari is <a href="http://www.dominicksrestaurant.com/" target="_blank">Dominick’s</a> in Beverly Hills (it's the sister restaurant of <a href="http://www.littledoms.com/" target="_blank">Little Dom's</a> in Los Feliz). I'm usually in that neighborhood Monday evenings, so a few weeks ago I stopped by and thought it was time I try something other than <a href="http://parklabreanewsbeverlypress.com/news/2010/07/little-dom%E2%80%99s-is-delish/" target="_blank">their famous rice ball</a>. Dominick's calamari was straight-up what you would expect from a very good Italian place, and it did not disappoint. The dish also went especially well with a dirty Grey Goose martini.<o:p></o:p></div>
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From my experiences in this country, calamari is served 95% of the time with marinara sauce on
the side. With the exception of Carmine’s, I almost never dip my fried
calamari into that sauce. To me, it’s like dipping my food into thick fancy ketchup,
which in my opinion hides the true taste of food. The only reason I may use
some of that Carmine’s sauce is because there’s so much calamari on that plate,
your palate needs a little something to break up the fried monotony (not
to mention Carmine’s sauces are always amazing so it’s hard to deny them). Of course it is
never my intension to ignore that little ramekin of red sauce and hurt the chef's feelings.
It's simply that I prefer to eat calamari in the traditional Italian style: with a demure squeeze
of lemon, from the slice that is always included on the plate. The acid in the lemon
helps break up the fried monotony too, yet it doesn’t cloud any of the flavors;
it only enhances them.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It should be noted that I completely respect the fact that most people wouldn't dare eat a plate of fried calamari without marinara sauce. These same people—most people—wouldn't eat a burger and fries without ketchup either. Live and let live! I just think some things taste great as they are. Of course there are degrees and levels to everything and to some people, I'm the nut in the first place for covering up the true taste of squid with breading and deep-frying it. Hmm, I can see their point. Well, the glories of fresh grilled squid is another topic for another day, but not on my blog.<br />
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Until we eat again,</div>
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Marly</div>
<!--EndFragment-->Marlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784997998733075320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7125540994252535150.post-21103497450948995212012-08-09T16:02:00.001-07:002012-08-09T16:28:48.565-07:00Salty & Sweet<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAA1d36Nh9lODoKW4L__y5xnziAr9jZTSoMfXF71t9Gh9fo4M_q-raEfYW3rseE5cRXXJfioDow2QQbP-RnQugwK6mcm718gtLGYImFZtKEULcLDHYjyRoSCVssFmjGZzTaQ-gcmOEQub4/s1600/Choc+pretzel+tart.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="283" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAA1d36Nh9lODoKW4L__y5xnziAr9jZTSoMfXF71t9Gh9fo4M_q-raEfYW3rseE5cRXXJfioDow2QQbP-RnQugwK6mcm718gtLGYImFZtKEULcLDHYjyRoSCVssFmjGZzTaQ-gcmOEQub4/s320/Choc+pretzel+tart.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Food and Wine's</i> milk chocolate tart with pretzel crust</td></tr>
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Now that this blog's grad school hiatus is officially over, I can tell you about one of my all-time favorite pleasures. It is the taste of salty and sweet on the palate, and here are just a few of the ways to enjoy this:
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<ul>
<li>the Canadian tradition of dipping bacon into maple syrup</li>
<li>a cheese plate with wine and some salty & sweet accoutrements </li>
<li>adding plain M&Ms to movie theater popcorn (some prefer M&M peanut)</li>
<li>the trend of adding salt to caramel and other desserts: 1) here is a recipe for a caramel sea salt tart from <a href="http://www.saveur.com/article/Recipes/Chocolate-Caramel-Tart" target="_blank">Saveur magazine</a> in 2009; 2) you can buy bittersweet sea salt chocolate chip cookies online now from <a href="http://saintcupcake.com/" target="_blank">Saint Cupcake</a> in Portland, and you should! One of the best cookies I ever tasted.</li>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn78vV6YUBfB7MsT3xVmJtcJkcSbu6zC17T4adEOi0v-1p2Vr4vbg5TEfbuMQN7-OsW6ThsLP6N8ER3n0DY-9rpHe9gHsOG86ncIRQKJT8avv4wectyO6qTiDXx7CwLiZhO6u9Jn-m-vHx/s1600/choc+cov+pret.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn78vV6YUBfB7MsT3xVmJtcJkcSbu6zC17T4adEOi0v-1p2Vr4vbg5TEfbuMQN7-OsW6ThsLP6N8ER3n0DY-9rpHe9gHsOG86ncIRQKJT8avv4wectyO6qTiDXx7CwLiZhO6u9Jn-m-vHx/s200/choc+cov+pret.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
My favorite salty/sweet combo has got to be chocolate-covered pretzels. Chocolate paired with the salty crunch of a pretzel makes more sense than many things in this world. Their coming together is as relevant as the food marriages of bacon and eggs, steak and french fries, chocolate and peanut butter, and all those other popular flavor combinations we now can't live without. When people think of chocolate and pretzels, the result is often smiles and visions of old-time summer carnivals.<br />
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The combo has always been popular, and in 2004 it entered the mainstream when Hershey’s introduced its <a href="http://www.thehersheycompany.com/brands/take-5/candy-bar.aspx" target="_blank">Take Five bar</a>. This was seen by my chocolate-and-pretzel-loving family as a brilliant addition to our blasé national candy mix. Things don't change often in the candy aisle. Most "new" candies are simply adaptations of a Reese's or a Snicker's, since those are the top-selling candy bars in the country. The Take Five was refreshingly new, and it made this favorite flavor combination both accessible and reasonably priced. The addition of peanut butter and caramel fit like a glove, and people really liked the combination of silky and crunchy, salty and sweet.<br />
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So it makes perfect sense that in the last few years pretzels have become the new salt, and therefore the new darling of pastry chefs. Incorporating pretzels into desserts is the rage, and customers are as happy to find such desserts as they were in the '90s when restaurants started putting s’mores on menus. My initial exposure to pretzels in cuisine was in the '90s too, when I read about chef David Burke's unique new dishes like angry lobster and chicken with a pretzel crust. His creative use of "pretzel as menu ingredient" was definitely ahead of its time.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb7g1VJXqmGA0jMjXrVUZxdJBTYyyksiLdU24JoIEyW_y2Nif0QnLNYQvS7x4gqmhr7Nq-IlgWuiloxc0bVWXMVpA8bAznRQkSZiPEKwNlf53SxXgIWm3NZ_guSG2YFofEARzobvz0AtpO/s1600/pretzel+cookie.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb7g1VJXqmGA0jMjXrVUZxdJBTYyyksiLdU24JoIEyW_y2Nif0QnLNYQvS7x4gqmhr7Nq-IlgWuiloxc0bVWXMVpA8bAznRQkSZiPEKwNlf53SxXgIWm3NZ_guSG2YFofEARzobvz0AtpO/s200/pretzel+cookie.jpeg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sprinkles peanut butter pretzel chip</td></tr>
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The first time I noticed pretzels in pastry was while leafing through a 2009 <i>Food and Wine</i> magazine in 2011. I came across a recipe for a <a href="http://www.foodandwine.com/recipes/milk-chocolate-tart-with-pretzel-crust" target="_blank">milk chocolate tart with pretzel crust</a> (see photo above). At first I experienced a kicking-of-self moment for not making this when I read of it two years earlier, and this was followed by relief—hey, I can make this now! Which is what I did at my friend Jen’s house. (Part of this was recorded in <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_D2R9I5sE6o" target="_blank">a short video clip</a>.) It took awhile to make but it was worth it—what a tart! The only thing I noticed is that the pretzel pieces on top soon became soggy. That was also the case last Tuesday when I bought a delightfully chunky peanut butter pretzel chip cookie for $3 at the <a href="http://www.sprinklesicecream.com/" target="_blank">Sprinkles Ice Cream</a> store in Beverly Hills. That’s right America, there is fattening food for sale in La La Land. People eat what they want and then go hiking is all. Or get lipo.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoPtWfjClVBtLBd2H7601wkzMI73PAf-Uh2JI8kFKr8twRKhG1OJJjjSJzGY5550OMjuxcP5iNODT4rY7_PE_MrW-XvTByguJPb918Nwyp1-ZhWdCiNCqg_hTX5dQPptuI1mFb9t-lzBZs/s1600/mesa+grill+dessert.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="143" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoPtWfjClVBtLBd2H7601wkzMI73PAf-Uh2JI8kFKr8twRKhG1OJJjjSJzGY5550OMjuxcP5iNODT4rY7_PE_MrW-XvTByguJPb918Nwyp1-ZhWdCiNCqg_hTX5dQPptuI1mFb9t-lzBZs/s200/mesa+grill+dessert.jpeg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mesa Grill's chocolate pretzel tart</td></tr>
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So pretzels are appearing in magazine dessert recipes now. One could always buy or make chocolate-covered pretzels, and this was a welcome twist on the theme. I don’t think pretzel desserts are too far-spread yet, which is why I was thrilled in Las Vegas last month during dinner at Bobby Flay’s <a href="http://mesagrill.com/las-vegas-restaurant/" target="_blank">Mesa Grill</a>. An item from Clarisa Martino’s dessert menu was tattooed on my brain before the plane even landed in the desert, so I made it very clear to my party that this particular dessert would be my destiny that night: "chocolate pretzel tart with spicy peanut butter and chocolate swirl ice cream." Seriously, they had me at chocolate pretzel, and spicy peanut butter flirted with me too. Someone else at the table ordered the same, because the desserts seemed too small to share. The result was a dessert at the high-end of the chocolate/pretzel continuum: a chocolate brownie sitting in a buttery pretzel crust with a molten moat of chocolate sauce to soften the blow. Did I know where the spicy peanut butter part existed? Nope, and I didn't care. This was a humble yet spectacular dessert featuring various textures and temperatures, and complimentary flavors.<br />
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What I liked too about the Mesa Grill dessert is that there were pretzels in the crust, like the tart above, and the crust was crunchy. The crushed pieces of pretzel in the crust may not be crunchy as they were in their original form, but after being mixed with flour and butter and baked, the pretzel bits transform into a crust that one envisions as having the same crunch of a pretzel. Not so in the case of Sprinkles’ peanut butter pretzel chip cookie, which had a crunchy fabulousness when I ate the one half on day 1, yet on day 2 the second half lost most of its pretzel crunch! Lesson: always eat the whole cookie, heck especially if you live near mountains or plastic surgeons.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhObBQaGVJWyORajJS1u13BGj9DFXHn5qWq-iPFsWy0lZQUtP9mcmMdTeQSt8lE6iMpP68VLcPKzc3XhuhBHGRYthgneRCV8aY6OSPr5LDzP2ODTQLD80HUw7JY2ZcG12cK_4YPKvQYOCmq/s1600/pretzel+cookies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhObBQaGVJWyORajJS1u13BGj9DFXHn5qWq-iPFsWy0lZQUtP9mcmMdTeQSt8lE6iMpP68VLcPKzc3XhuhBHGRYthgneRCV8aY6OSPr5LDzP2ODTQLD80HUw7JY2ZcG12cK_4YPKvQYOCmq/s1600/pretzel+cookies.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marly's dipped pretzel cookies</td></tr>
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After making the chocolate pretzel tart in 2011, the crust tasted so good I decided to experiment and make cookies out of it. (Let me know if you'd like the recipe.) And next time I venture into the kitchen to make cookies, I'm going to try to make a version of the Sprinkles peanut butter pretzel chip, with pretzel pieces, some peanut butter and chocolate chips too. But I don't want my pretzels to get soggy, since my willpower and desire to fit in clothes will not allow me to eat all the cookies in their pretzel-crunchy state in one day. So here's an idea: instead of pretzel pieces, I'll mix in pieces of chocolate-covered pretzel. This will protect the pretzels from getting soggy and allow me to enjoy the cookies days later with no less crunch.<br />
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Until we eat again,<br />
Marly<br />
<br />Marlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784997998733075320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7125540994252535150.post-33458807136087944122012-02-09T10:58:00.000-08:002012-09-03T21:51:05.913-07:00Life is Just a Bowl of Cherries...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXNJFbniGWVEWXa-adz2fdq7riGgZAzYrjZMFdEpu7oim6356_gyv58rul_RN7Ufl0iCD8Pk28qMhYiF8H9TdB8PHohsuk-ncviGmlkAnlXQbvDKBUm8Kq7h3VYD0rnP5__f_ZTvVnDMhH/s1600/IMG_0615.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5707213211172329890" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXNJFbniGWVEWXa-adz2fdq7riGgZAzYrjZMFdEpu7oim6356_gyv58rul_RN7Ufl0iCD8Pk28qMhYiF8H9TdB8PHohsuk-ncviGmlkAnlXQbvDKBUm8Kq7h3VYD0rnP5__f_ZTvVnDMhH/s320/IMG_0615.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 320px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 239px;" /></a>“Cough," I said. "Cough cough.” It seemed natural enough to cough my lungs up at Rite Aid, where I arrived much in need of some cough syrup. Not even a week after the big spider bite (consensus says it was most likely a black widow), I had picked up my first case of bronchitis, and who knows if this was due to my body fighting off spider venom or because of several hours spent in the most crowded and poorly managed ER in Los Angeles County.<br />
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The coughs notwithstanding, at least I could still roll my eyes at the typical drug store scenario of each and every bottle of cough syrup being cherry flavored. Cherry flavored? How come the children's cough syrup is grape flavored? Adult cherry cough syrup is so vile that pharmaceutical companies must clearly only take pity on coughing children since they're the only ones given a less repulsive flavor option. As an asthmatic child, I was in need of cough syrup often and it was always cherry flavored and thankfully my parents usually bribed me to take it down with a YooHoo chaser.<br />
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I spent most of my life hating cherries by association. Which is ironic considering my sister and I spent our early years singing "Life is Just a Bowl of Cherries" <a href="http://www.oldnewark.com/memories/newark/bodiany.htm" target="_blank">at the Newark Y where my great-grandpa George ran the stage show</a>. I remember loving that song, but the lyrics suggesting a positive association with cherries was lost on me. All I knew was that cherries equaled disgusting sick medicine, a fact I've been reminded of since as my mom's favorite throat lozenge is cherry and each time I visit she inadvertently puts a cherry lozenge in her mouth and its potent perfume leaves me no choice but to leave the room (thanks Mom :P).<br />
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One of life's pleasures is that not all foods become part of an eating repertoire at once, and that can lead to a fun discovery process over time. Chicken liver was a Jewish staple that I despised growing up, so the first time I had no choice but to try seared foie gras at a business dinner in 1999 (the client ordered a round of it for the table) I truly feared for my tastebuds. To my surprise, the dish was euphoric and despite any lingering duck guilt I try to enjoy it every couple of years.</div>
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The same goes with oysters. A plate of them were put before me for the first time at a Rockefeller Center tasting meeting with management and chefs in 2000. When I winced at the plate, my new boss suggested without words that I was a miscreant. Hoping to nip his assumption in the bud, I tried one. To my surprise, those fresh oysters were so incredible that now I'm a huge fan, especially when they're served with a good <a href="http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/Oysters-with-Champagne-Vinegar-Mignonette-232602" target="_blank">mignonette</a>.</div>
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I remember the first time I tried dates, at a Brooklyn farmer’s stand around 2001. The stand's old hippie proprietor shoved a date-covered vine in my face and said, "Go ahead, try one." That first Medjool was a big slap in the face for all those years of self-inflicted date deprivation. Since then I've eaten them as a snack and made really good sticky toffee pudding with them. Which reminds me, I still need to try a <a href="http://www.shieldsdategarden.com/" target="_blank">local date shake in Indio, California</a>.</div>
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Now the experience of trying fresh cherries for the first time was different than trying other new foods, only because I'd hated the idea of cherries for so long. It probably happened in New York City during a late 1990's summer at a farmer’s market, when the abundant bounty of summer fruit was everywhere along with samples. I gingerly bit into a Bing and to my amazement it was nothing at all like that horrid syrup from youth. It was just a delicious piece of fruit!</div>
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That became the summer of cherries. My friends were perplexed as to why I was obsessing about this ubiquitous fruit they’d known and loved all their lives. But it was new to me. At the market I bought dark and robust red Bings and sometimes the tart, pale yellow and pink-tinged Queen Annes to snack on or make pies with (frozen cherries work well for that too). But like most new toys, cherries eventually were taken for granted in my life. I still like them a lot, especially with all their antioxidant health qualities, but to be honest it's hard to eat a bowl of cherries for dessert when Ben & Jerry's is lurking in the freezer.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ0A2j2BB4i0qHqATgpCnCHm1zR7F96Hd8hlnQsJPm0y2emZrYycijjgAJNRCoRVnI8oZRfTtSMs2kZAll7dhLKqtYo9fA0Mcn6SDyf5RceTVYcIjBeLSnbLwensJzh26es9HodGDRunJw/s1600/IMG_0625.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5707214919531026498" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ0A2j2BB4i0qHqATgpCnCHm1zR7F96Hd8hlnQsJPm0y2emZrYycijjgAJNRCoRVnI8oZRfTtSMs2kZAll7dhLKqtYo9fA0Mcn6SDyf5RceTVYcIjBeLSnbLwensJzh26es9HodGDRunJw/s200/IMG_0625.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 150px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 200px;" /></a> Last summer I took a day trip to the <a href="http://www.upickcherries.com/location.htm">Villa del Sol cherry farm</a> in the Leona Valley to reacquaint myself with these luscious berries. Only an hour and a half northeast of Los Angeles, having the ability to go to a cherry farm is one of the many benefits of living in Southern California. You basically just walk through the entrance, grab a bucket and start strolling the rows and rows of cherry trees and gently pluck away. I happily collected a 2/3 Bing and 1/3 Queen Anne mix. The idea was to get cherries and go home and make turnovers as if I were McDonald's. When my bucket was appropriately filled for my needs, I casually walked the rows back to the entrance. But then I saw a big tree branch hanging low due to so many ripe cherries on it, and those cherries looked different than the others I’d already picked.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje7-gAnBVpNnosPxjn_RVzl_kr5G7CH243mg81XOaD1flR1YHVbufNUu2tTbEOI4PGVT35Jd3g4NmGnrLeLQlkb0I0KyAuFnNlujzn4ZPGgZOj1bbBVxGSovaoeoHApAmRHWAwSpyc4VxN/s1600/IMG_0626.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5707213605346893858" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje7-gAnBVpNnosPxjn_RVzl_kr5G7CH243mg81XOaD1flR1YHVbufNUu2tTbEOI4PGVT35Jd3g4NmGnrLeLQlkb0I0KyAuFnNlujzn4ZPGgZOj1bbBVxGSovaoeoHApAmRHWAwSpyc4VxN/s200/IMG_0626.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 150px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 200px;" /></a> The cherries on this tree had the color and shape of little hearts. I tasted one and fell in love with it (is that why it's shaped like a heart?). It had a more refined flavor than the other varieties, like a cherry plum. And the fact that it literally looked like a heart was just kinda cool. Too bad my bucket was already brimming with cherries, but wait! I had to make room for my new favorite, this mystery cherry I'd likely never see in a market, since I'd never seen it before. (Here it is, between the Queen Anne and the Bing in this photo.)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIKoUg05Ee30LLZczw0aaK2Kwd6Xh_G60UN9SFWmQaEKdz7I19FUyEM5V8p6IcxOMkt67gOzmuxW3hIi8EzjhDgsU19qzooAvtuek__yIDQcK_cxzIig8Ez7DDTJvJFHE4PZgcUv_ss6AB/s1600/IMG_0629.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5707213820870396898" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIKoUg05Ee30LLZczw0aaK2Kwd6Xh_G60UN9SFWmQaEKdz7I19FUyEM5V8p6IcxOMkt67gOzmuxW3hIi8EzjhDgsU19qzooAvtuek__yIDQcK_cxzIig8Ez7DDTJvJFHE4PZgcUv_ss6AB/s200/IMG_0629.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 150px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 200px;" /></a> On the walk out of the farm I asked an employee what kind of cherry this was, and he said it was most likely a Brooks. Ok. The next day I made cherry turnovers using all three types of cherries. It was an important reminder that one should never judge a cherry by its incarnation as cough syrup.</div>
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Until we eat again,</div>
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Marly</div>
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Marlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784997998733075320noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7125540994252535150.post-49010588627645038742011-10-21T13:05:00.000-07:002011-11-08T12:21:12.752-08:00Toffee Love<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid5LD154QFK766qsZHtTchyphenhyphen7pG9g1L8Pf8-nl6F7he4AHUmY5Ieb7YzVLOzqv-xt6W7BxXgMAdW0_wyS339pkO0zKxKOqP-hBgSHaJORbXk6JDPa6hQCXTGOcabAdCcMon0rr5s4IE-jM0/s1600/toffee1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 162px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid5LD154QFK766qsZHtTchyphenhyphen7pG9g1L8Pf8-nl6F7he4AHUmY5Ieb7YzVLOzqv-xt6W7BxXgMAdW0_wyS339pkO0zKxKOqP-hBgSHaJORbXk6JDPa6hQCXTGOcabAdCcMon0rr5s4IE-jM0/s200/toffee1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666072611200453634" /></a>Candy lovers are people I can really relate to, ahem, because I'm one myself. One thing about candy lovers—besides their need for dental work—is as much as they get excited by all kinds of candy, there’s usually one sweet in particular that rocks their world. For instance, my sister is drawn to caramels. Another friend of mine loves sour candies. Others love licorice. Candy lovers usually have at least one must-have item in a candy store, and for me that has always been toffee.<br /><br />No, not taffy or that kind of thing; I’m talking about traditional English-style toffee, with its sunburnt golden hues, slicks of chocolate on one or both sides, and some kind of nut sparingly integrated throughout. Toffee should be lightly crunchy and even a little gritty when chewed, not sticky or gluey as can be the case with peanut brittle. A good toffee is dental-work safe! It will crunch and then soon dissolve once bitten. Overcooked toffee is a sad thing, stuck in a candy purgatory between what toffee should be and peanut brittle, and that's no good.<br /><br />The simple matter is that brittle is called brittle because… it is brittle. It gets that way because it’s cooked slightly longer and/or to a higher temperature than is needed to achieve toffee—although some recipes use the same cooking temperature for both toffee and brittle, and this fact probably confuses both of us. All I know is the butter/sugar combo of brittle has simply caramelized more than the kind of toffee I like. Great toffee lives in a place between caramel's softness and brittle’s brittleness. I can't eat brittle anymore. It’s not worth the risk and my dental hygienist would not be happy. Toffee, however, is still fair game.<br /><br />My first toffee memory is from the college years during the "chocolate overdose period," recounted in the "<a href="http://planetmarly.blogspot.com/2011/02/overdose.html" target="_blank">Overdose</a>" post. After the initial order from Nestle's International arrived, other chocolate companies sent catalogs to my address, and eventually I sent a check to Nancy’s Candies—a local candy shop in Georgia—to try what they were apparently best known for: chocolate pecan crunch.<br /><br />If a perfect toffee exists in this world, one that sets the bar and palate at a high level of expectation forever, it's Nancy’s. Why? One reason is it only has five ingredients (butter, sugar, chocolate, pecans, salt), it's DELICIOUS, it’s perishable-fresh and it’s cooked perfectly every time.<br /><br />How gratifying to know that 20 years later, even after Nancy merged her kitchen with Linda and then both were bought out by Katy, the candy shipped out today from the small city of LaGrange, Georgia (pop: 25,000) tastes exactly as amazing, exactly as toffee-perfect as it did the first time.<br /><br />I’ve tried to recreate Nancy's chocolate pecan crunch many times at home and many times succeeded. It doesn't always work. In Santa Fe I thought my friend would love it, yet the elevation was apparently too high to produce a toffee batch that didn’t curdle (this realization occurred to us after the 3rd attempt).<br /><br />Los Angeles isn’t a great place to make toffee either, or maybe just not in my kitchen. The sugar and butter never quite merge in the pot, and I wonder if this has anything to do with the dry LA air or the opposite: my apartment sits directly over the laundry room. Who knows. All this means is I stopped trying to make toffee at home—better for my waistline, better for my teeth!</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">If you like toffee, here is a short list of personal faves:<br /><ul><li><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="http://www.newnangaonline.com/businesses/katies/katies.html" target="_blank">Nancy's Candies</a> (per above) - <span class="Apple-style-span">Their website is pretty sparse, but you can call to order </span><span class="Apple-style-span">or just ask them to send a catalog. Either way, they’ll ship out a silver tin of chocolate pecan crunch (or pralines, etc.) and you will not be sorry.</span></span></li><li><a href="http://www.sees.com/index.cfm" target="_blank">See's Candies</a> – Classic California old-fashioned candy maker that offers several toffee options: the Victoria toffee, milk or dark California brittle, and white chocolate cashew brittle are all thick, crunchy toffee goodness. If you buy online, buying a 1 lb. “nuts and chews” box will net you some of the brittles (they chew closer to toffee than brittle to me), or you can buy the Victoria toffee on its own or create a custom box.</li><li><a href="http://www.littlejohnscandies.com/" target="_blank">Littlejohn's Candies</a> – Right before moving to LA, a Burbank friend shipped me a box from this homey sweets shop located at the Los Angeles Farmer's Market. Littlejohn’s makes fantastic toffee, and their fudge is really good too.</li><li><a href="http://www.thetoffeebox.com/" target="_blank">The Toffee Box</a> – Just tried this California-made toffee at a chocolate show and fell in love. Their delicious “classic dark chocolate” toffee is very close to Nancy's, just with walnuts instead of pecans. Their white chocolate macadamia nut version gives the classic kind a run for its money.</li><li><a href="http://www.valerieconfections.com/" target="_blank">Valerie's Confections</a> – While the toothsome toffees of this charming LA candy/bake shop are a bit more costly than others (except you <a href="http://www.rogerschocolates.com/" target="_blank">Roger's of Victoria</a>), it's for good reason. Each piece is a purposeful and exceptional square of the perfect height, flavor and crunch; all come with a flavor flourish of some sort and the chocolate dip couldn't be finer. They offered me a few free samples to review for this blog, so I tried their signature almond fleur de sel and it was fab. However it was their seasonal <a href="http://www.valerieconfections.com/product_info.php?products_id=129" target="_blank">pumpkin seed toffee</a> that truly blew my toffee mind. Gotta go back & get me a 6-pack of those ASAP.</li></ul>There are other well-known chocolate companies that make tasty toffee, I just happen to prefer the places above for that. And if you don't feel like buying toffee, you can always try to make some yourself! My old college roommate Nanci (I know what you're thinking, but she is not related to Nancy of Nancy's Candies) once sent me an easy toffee recipe torn from the pages of <a href="http://www.myrecipes.com/recipe/pecan-toffee-10000000410629/" target="_blank">Southern Living magazine (this version looks close)</a>, and here's a recipe from <a href="http://www.myrecipes.com/recipe/salted-chocolate-pecan-toffee-10000001683580/" target="_blank">Sunset magazine</a> that looks good too.<br /><br />Now this post isn't suggesting I only eat toffee or my sister only eats caramels (she plans to try "ghost pepper bacon toffee" at a NJ shop soon). My candy adrenaline simply shoots up higher when this favorite is in sight, in the same way my blood pressure shoots up momentarily after a dental X-ray is taken to see if there's any damage. It's a yin and yang relationship and I wouldn't have it any other way.<br /><br />Until we eat again,<br />Marly<br /></span><br /></div>Marlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784997998733075320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7125540994252535150.post-50633858832015736842011-08-18T12:51:00.000-07:002011-09-17T21:26:03.292-07:00Danish Red Pesto & Fried Bacon (or Pork?)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXZo6ZGsFjLlTxrTVRCGuEa0ESxRFdFba9bJ3iFAY6Gd1LLaqQ7zEXrOsO-TgvvXiqRsos9-VwskG9lQz4ROOUkm8WqGfFzP-jqF52hsSHaeAxP9D8D6y-gVd3YM4Oudl-4d59c5Tl4JPJ/s1600/IMG_0715.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 239px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXZo6ZGsFjLlTxrTVRCGuEa0ESxRFdFba9bJ3iFAY6Gd1LLaqQ7zEXrOsO-TgvvXiqRsos9-VwskG9lQz4ROOUkm8WqGfFzP-jqF52hsSHaeAxP9D8D6y-gVd3YM4Oudl-4d59c5Tl4JPJ/s320/IMG_0715.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5642317421397147122" /></a><br />While studying in Aarhus, Denmark for three weeks this summer I pondered the possible titles for this upcoming blog post:<br /><br />"Starving in Denmark" (so expensive to eat there, which is why the photo above is of a cheap meal I made at home), "The Land of Leggings" (de rigueur fashion element for women of all ages), "World Wide Web" (so many spiders and their webs!), or "Allergies my Allergies" (they owned me and my puffy face).<br /><br />But, since this is a food blog it made more sense for the title to refer to the two regional food items I loved most on the trip:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPpDLMDTZtTCQEgQn11-brexuhE6g49MM0b2u6t4o03Ws_qEWQRTKHqTSs14mwFGvJkZ_DmkrOnNEQ72wZGWz0Tp58KgPDAnOb58D_3bCYsP5IRblBHbdmVil2HEhD1kqFp4fIGjRB7c_d/s1600/photo.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPpDLMDTZtTCQEgQn11-brexuhE6g49MM0b2u6t4o03Ws_qEWQRTKHqTSs14mwFGvJkZ_DmkrOnNEQ72wZGWz0Tp58KgPDAnOb58D_3bCYsP5IRblBHbdmVil2HEhD1kqFp4fIGjRB7c_d/s200/photo.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5653549765900050802" /></a> <span style="font-weight:bold;">1. Red Pesto </span><br />This condiment is popular in Denmark! I found it at our school cafeteria next to the mayo and mustard. Thinking it was spicy harissa I took a bit for a burger and it sure was something else. A chef walking by seemed surprised for my red pesto lust, then kindly gave me the recipe: "It's just dried tomatoes, olive oil, salt & pepper." This thick red puree is like a Danish foodie ketchup that I never knew existed and now can't live without! Though to locals it's just "(yawn) red pesto," to me it's a new toy.<br /><br />American recipes for red pesto start as a recipe for green pesto (basil/nuts/olive oil) just with sun-dried tomato pieces added in. The Danish kind is not that at all. I attempted to make it at home using paper-towel-drained canned San Marzano plum tomatoes even though the few online Danish recipes I saw contained sun-dried tomatoes, because I imagined sun-dried would kill my food processor and when the chef said dried tomatoes he could have meant fresh tomatoes that were dried. Well I got that wrong. My resulting "red pesto" was like a thick fresh tomato sauce that kept weeping tomato water. Still good but not like what I had. I'll try sun-dried next time.<br /><br />9/17 addendum: After a month I finally figured out the red pesto recipe (see photo). Anyone interested just lemme know.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeODJTSXhWWPeIEl33Rbu5QE1i1bDcZxgx8bSaAtmaks1PgWYQJEhbFLWCqO_SfwBthJ-2w7atwqdxLynmizLi-wBKM0p8n6zwXXvxBm_kG954Lp0RYb488KreLU2ShjKB1JKu8Uf-pDkc/s1600/IMG_0790.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 146px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeODJTSXhWWPeIEl33Rbu5QE1i1bDcZxgx8bSaAtmaks1PgWYQJEhbFLWCqO_SfwBthJ-2w7atwqdxLynmizLi-wBKM0p8n6zwXXvxBm_kG954Lp0RYb488KreLU2ShjKB1JKu8Uf-pDkc/s200/IMG_0790.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5642351209306092578" /></a><span style="font-weight:bold;">2. The mysteries of stegt flæsk vs. flæskesteg</span><br />Before coming to Denmark I thought of an old food magazine article—"Danish Christmas"—in which a beautiful pork roast with a crackling top was served to a family in a modern country home. This article left an impression, so I really wanted to try this dish during my stay. Lovely Danish classmate Julie (pronounced yule-yah) said the dish I was looking for was called "stegt flæsk med persillesovs," literally translated via my laptop to "fried bacon with parsley sauce." Hmm it made sense, since the top of the pork looked fried like bacon.<br /><br />Menus across the city did not often list this dish and if they did it cost $40 which was too much (the town didn't take kindly to U.S. credit cards). One day a man giving us a media house tour said the best traditional Danish restaurant in town was the only place the Danish royal prince dines at when he visits Aarhus. Score! A plan was made, though when I mentioned this to my professor he said it was only a Monday-Friday lunch place, when we were in class. Sigh. That's when local classmate Jarle suggested Raadhuus Kaféen instead. So housemate Kami and I ended up there on my third-to-last night in town, and they served the dish I was seeking for $25.<br /><br />Everyone in Aarhus, Denmark knows English, but in spite of that our waitress had trouble translating the dish for me. I asked if it was fatty. She said yes but I can cut it off. No problem. Then just as I thought we understood each other she said, "We also have it as a roast. Would you prefer that?" (She was apparently not a big fan of stegt flæsk med persillesovs!) This confused me even more because I thought I was getting a roast in the first place. In any case, I had to get what Julie recommended, which for weeks had been living on a slip of paper in my wallet so there would be no misunderstanding.<br /><br />The dish set before me truly amazed me because it was in fact fried bacon, a big fat dish of it! I felt terribly rebellious for eating so much thick fried crunchy bacon, topped with cream sauce no less! It was glorious and made me very happy. My vegetarian dining companion was supportive even though she thought I was a little crazy. The next day I told Julie about my good fortune at Raadhuus Kaféen, plus the part that I thought I had ordered a roast. She explained, "Ah, there are two versions of the dish. One is a roast, and one is like you had it (because I showed her a picture)." Ah. All right then.<br /><br />Once home I looked for that old article about the pork roast and crackling. Couldn't find the original but <a href="http://www.clemmensen-brok.com/2010/12/danish-traditional-christmas-food.html" target="_blank">this one shows what I imagined quite well</a> if you scroll down through the photos to the recipe. The name of this dish is flæskesteg (sorta the same as stegt flæsk just reversed + "e" - "t"). Translated it means roast pork. So I translated stegt flæsk again in LA, the dish I ate, and this time it also translated to "roast pork" instead of "fried bacon." Can I get a consistent desktop translator please?? In the end I guess you have to be Danish to thoroughly understand how to order the version you want. Even though I didn't get the literal roast pork, lucking out with the fried bacon was okay by me! <a href="http://www.copenhagenet.dk/CPH-Eating.htm" target="_blank">For more info on the fried bacon version click here</a>.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">3. Additional food and beverage highlights of Aarhus</span><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiESVL-R9nm-XdqspG99oYCg5-V437CekboEPwhwdErhQvNY7E4Rp4_J2VDazx2Bw7JUEstuhyphenhyphenbAJYuK-yMmlGSeODk-WbDVzDtIAoN4fG_Jf6CIb2n6PEdxH27edbXUZatsCHTR7RfLJQS/s1600/IMG_0735.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 140px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiESVL-R9nm-XdqspG99oYCg5-V437CekboEPwhwdErhQvNY7E4Rp4_J2VDazx2Bw7JUEstuhyphenhyphenbAJYuK-yMmlGSeODk-WbDVzDtIAoN4fG_Jf6CIb2n6PEdxH27edbXUZatsCHTR7RfLJQS/s200/IMG_0735.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5642318386176418530" /></a>• <span style="font-weight:bold;">Knækbrød</span><br />These crunchy rye crackers were made at local bakery Det Gyldne Brød (not too hard to translate that one ;). Not only did this wonderful place take Amex and sell cheap coffee, they also made these satisfying regional Danish crackers blanketed with dense layers of sesame or poppy seeds (in either black or tan). These sturdy, toothsome crackers beat the pants off of dry and dull WASA bread.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB_S2z3KoXdQd4YgLubRSCPWBfg8pIWGzrm6eVz3saANtHU6YJlJzZ5MerWHIHRzS-6yG_-CImd5Pbt5Dbx4MASXY0PnwMPz5z51yFwpWOUCDBXxV5XG3ERG0SSStmufum6YjwcvBRpRuz/s1600/100_0692.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 148px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB_S2z3KoXdQd4YgLubRSCPWBfg8pIWGzrm6eVz3saANtHU6YJlJzZ5MerWHIHRzS-6yG_-CImd5Pbt5Dbx4MASXY0PnwMPz5z51yFwpWOUCDBXxV5XG3ERG0SSStmufum6YjwcvBRpRuz/s200/100_0692.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5642293549841146562" /></a>• <span style="font-weight:bold;">Danish Butter Cookies</span><br />The best I experienced here were made with brown butter, nuts and vanilla and were only offered after paying a hefty admission to <a href="http://www.dengamleby.dk/" target="_blank">Den Gamle By or The Old Town</a>. The bake shop was filled with lots of delicious cookies and just as many angry bees (they must have had good taste). The butter cookies are in the photo in front along with traditional crispy sugar pretzels in back. These cookies were soooo good I had to keep going back for more.<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSkpiX_Q3jeBRWXl5ivmY3NrM6Zd80eeUTUs9pXhl_6v4bKXA7OQLFUNiA54xDI8FAdWPFC8vN8_uX2iIrJ8BUQGedE8jpCN0lVW9DHrpevpEAjXYABNkeAQLcJzpUKrgyvp8YkJ1yoC6s/s1600/photo.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 156px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSkpiX_Q3jeBRWXl5ivmY3NrM6Zd80eeUTUs9pXhl_6v4bKXA7OQLFUNiA54xDI8FAdWPFC8vN8_uX2iIrJ8BUQGedE8jpCN0lVW9DHrpevpEAjXYABNkeAQLcJzpUKrgyvp8YkJ1yoC6s/s200/photo.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5642292551057206962" /></a>• <span style="font-weight:bold;">Nils' cookies</span><br />My German housemate Nils surprised us all one night when we discovered a tabletop full of his homemade chocolate chip cookies. Not sure what to expect from this young Ph.D. student, I was actually awed at the tasty and uniquely textured cookies he produced. With so much praise (and 2nds, 3rds and 4ths) Nils kindly gave me the recipe, which he got from a friend. I figured the simple secret must be that he made them with high-butterfat Danish butter, something I can easily buy at Whole Foods.<br /><br />8/21 addendum: Now I know why my expectations were so topsy turvy with these chocolate chip cookies... it's because they are actually an oaty shortbread cookie with chocolate chips. I figured this out while gathering the ingredients and seeing there was no egg or cup of sugar in the recipe like regular chocolate chips. The butter binds it, the oats add texture and bulk, and the chips flavor it. Wunderbar!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEMUW6fFdFhZhiyAOiIVswVTOmIAAcKuVvBQyjfjlsyOP9clqTFnCROG8GmtHAjnqw1OB4Wee83-zW9jtVcJabnIWfgpVgfs0pL4aQwpRAA477G-saJQcJPTg4zKvlVUhcS6r79EuNY5uW/s1600/IMG_0747.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEMUW6fFdFhZhiyAOiIVswVTOmIAAcKuVvBQyjfjlsyOP9clqTFnCROG8GmtHAjnqw1OB4Wee83-zW9jtVcJabnIWfgpVgfs0pL4aQwpRAA477G-saJQcJPTg4zKvlVUhcS6r79EuNY5uW/s200/IMG_0747.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5642293041893397666" /></a>• <a href="http://sigfreds.dk/" target="_blank"><span style="font-weight:bold;">Sigfred's Kaffebar</span></a><br />This is the Intelligentsia (Los Angeles) or Stumptown (Portland) of Aarhus, Denmark. Artisinal coffee beverages made with light roasted beans for SO MUCH MORE MONEY THAN STARBUCKS OMG (small latte for $7 anyone?). I couldn't afford this luxury more than twice, and they didn't take U.S. credit cards like Det Gyldne Brød, though I have to say it was one of the smoothest cups I've ever had.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnR2O0ubBHiDey0O2hfICnYQldoFt2iimO_vAkOE2P-TYefw-M5rWyPdg5s-FlRxaPb4cUIVtkZM534h16XCvCN5vx4Px9aYkNCb8kafYQrMUe3IlEUtLLtMVUIWHe24pAeW6eqejZ_00S/s1600/IMG_0817.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 149px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnR2O0ubBHiDey0O2hfICnYQldoFt2iimO_vAkOE2P-TYefw-M5rWyPdg5s-FlRxaPb4cUIVtkZM534h16XCvCN5vx4Px9aYkNCb8kafYQrMUe3IlEUtLLtMVUIWHe24pAeW6eqejZ_00S/s200/IMG_0817.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5642691923810544098" /></a><span style="font-weight:bold;">• Turc Kebab</span><br />There must be a lot of Turkish immigrants in Aarhus, because Turkish street food ran rampant in this town. On a lazy Saturday I took a chance at this place to buy a rolle kylling (chicken roll) for 35 kroner (I told you, $6.76 is a high price for street food). Had to get this chicken thing two times because it was delicious! Unlike other stands that have cold chopped chicken in a bin, this guy caramelized his chicken in a sauté pan all day until the wrap was constructed. Beyond regular toppings like lettuce, tomato and onion, you could also add fried onions, hot sauce or the magnificent green garlic sauce. Who cares if I only got one napkin and probably stained my jeans with the dripping juices...this was one great lunch!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZCqaDnlUvLIYecatRqWO1tdg_xPJJHptU55YJOqKEEkfFXpFIRT-zZFaJ2m8MfMtCQsqOGPUiTCgqbFLxQinABBApZs4isxdtDfSRVtApD_PspPl_N9SIbDuhz_z3t1s9G7R7MfTJTNAH/s1600/IMG_0777.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZCqaDnlUvLIYecatRqWO1tdg_xPJJHptU55YJOqKEEkfFXpFIRT-zZFaJ2m8MfMtCQsqOGPUiTCgqbFLxQinABBApZs4isxdtDfSRVtApD_PspPl_N9SIbDuhz_z3t1s9G7R7MfTJTNAH/s200/IMG_0777.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5642293291946835410" /></a>• <a href="http://www.summerbird.com/" target="_blank"><span style="font-weight:bold;">Summerbird Chocolates</span></a><br />A Danish chocolatier that is light on added sugar and heavy on creativity and marzipan. When a nice salesman at a department counter heard I'd never tasted Summerbird he offered a free tasting along with coffee to cleanse the palate! That was definitely a trip highlight. Summerbird highlights include their flavored coated almonds (which come in pretty colors like silver, purple and yellow), chocolate filled eggs, and especially their original chocolate tapas and chocolate sushi box collections.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtxr1zHhsI9FmVadsPjHT3ZYQgwdrqBBewdwOWcOmxhQfXBpAs2cSkhCG1E_ZelarshkCJiyAd1AXmZuDNtGjbEddB_Q2LrtJSZRJ8-onz1wfF1wOMDXVaDNsIpUlKieIi85rswJGuxMXF/s1600/IMG_0681.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtxr1zHhsI9FmVadsPjHT3ZYQgwdrqBBewdwOWcOmxhQfXBpAs2cSkhCG1E_ZelarshkCJiyAd1AXmZuDNtGjbEddB_Q2LrtJSZRJ8-onz1wfF1wOMDXVaDNsIpUlKieIi85rswJGuxMXF/s200/IMG_0681.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5642293681141660306" /></a>• <a href="http://www.dgh-aarhus.dk/" target="_blank"><span style="font-weight:bold;">Det Gronne Hjorne (The Green Corner)</span></a><br />After my first week of starving I discovered this Turkish all-you-can-eat place for only $19 per person + free water!! (a Denmark rarity). Housemate Kami and I went twice because we liked it so much. Then on my second-to-last night I attended a pre-paid school event where students go out for dinner and drinks. They announced the destination-to-be on the day of and I read it was Det Gronne Hjorne. Ugh... Good for two meals, but not the place for every restaurant meal in a city! Some school friends and I found this quite amusing.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiYrOjqjZ9Jh9WOMfZImNicBX3of7kyozD69iitD0z9V3iqPCLLBoWAxVhmuBZldIDATMEe_OoPe7bAZP8Dt7GI0t-eWijerYae8cox0HYhd9U_fA6Y97iJxlP8f4TKgdaWOuomcEMv1yf/s1600/Hazelnut+pastry.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiYrOjqjZ9Jh9WOMfZImNicBX3of7kyozD69iitD0z9V3iqPCLLBoWAxVhmuBZldIDATMEe_OoPe7bAZP8Dt7GI0t-eWijerYae8cox0HYhd9U_fA6Y97iJxlP8f4TKgdaWOuomcEMv1yf/s200/Hazelnut+pastry.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5642319877452312994" /></a>• <span style="font-weight:bold;">Danish Pastry</span><br />Sorry Aarhus, your Danish pastries were nice and so much better than the kind at home, but alas they were no match for the pastries of Copenhagen experienced in 2005. When I asked why this was, someone explained the royal family likes to live among the citizens, so they drop in at various Copenhagen eating establishments unannounced. This is why every restaurant and royal pastry shop in the country's capital must always be at their best. That's good for Copenhagen, but left my need to experience a second euphoric Danish pastry experience, per my <a href="http://planetmarly.blogspot.com/2011/02/danish-danish.html" target="_blank">Danish Danish</a> post, a little unfulfilled. The forms were similar, but the taste was not as special. Note: the marzipan hazelnut square in the photo from Fremtidensbager was distinct and delightful.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh7lnEmC5TNj8-OWs1W5tnnVjC8vGCCmaEf9ozC6TYf0yssO79YvyJCr1PTcjq5GjUrUXUEfyftX6axxg8R34UD8WT54fgrNM8OX5L1Ai6_j2tYOZlDZ_JoCoT-8T4FycVM1_jeMiwLDg7/s1600/290397_257866294231511_100000244279612_987872_6365938_o.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh7lnEmC5TNj8-OWs1W5tnnVjC8vGCCmaEf9ozC6TYf0yssO79YvyJCr1PTcjq5GjUrUXUEfyftX6axxg8R34UD8WT54fgrNM8OX5L1Ai6_j2tYOZlDZ_JoCoT-8T4FycVM1_jeMiwLDg7/s200/290397_257866294231511_100000244279612_987872_6365938_o.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5642319554598712594" /></a>• <a href="http://www.kleine-bierstube.dk/viewpage.php?page_id=5" target="_blank"><span style="font-weight:bold;">Die Kleine Bierstube</span></a><br />My only trip regret is that I went to this fantastic German beer hall and restaurant on my very last night in town and not sooner. The atmosphere was perfectly Scandinavian in blonde wood (like the original Aquavit in NYC) and homey biergarten decor. And so many kinds of fresh German beer—wheat, lager, dunkel—flowed at the right price. On my last night I went there for hefeweizen-on-tap and good conversation with housemate István. Die Kleine Bierstube was so gratifying I would be there every night if one existed at home (sorry <a href="http://www.redliontavern.net/" target="_blank">Red Lion</a>). If I had a personal trainer and chauffeur that is ;).<div><br />Until we eat again,<br />Marly<br /></div>Marlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784997998733075320noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7125540994252535150.post-58234360345693491142011-06-09T13:14:00.000-07:002011-06-09T15:17:00.621-07:00It's Time To Eat the Doughnuts!<span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHrusVRXxBrMFFlpVJnecsT3QOkntKOorRpdDrOO6sRPnuGpwg5DEJRKb2Jl8m5ilnQhTzYkiI5x6j36YIpQvymhjOZ_lFnxRrht0D5Yy0Lmzf31PcMJ3-xcu-nx7SuiyjwPrX_-dk60ZW/s1600/DSC03779.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHrusVRXxBrMFFlpVJnecsT3QOkntKOorRpdDrOO6sRPnuGpwg5DEJRKb2Jl8m5ilnQhTzYkiI5x6j36YIpQvymhjOZ_lFnxRrht0D5Yy0Lmzf31PcMJ3-xcu-nx7SuiyjwPrX_-dk60ZW/s320/DSC03779.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5616316692452348738" /></a><style type="text/css"> p.p1 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica} p.p2 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px} </style> </span><p class="p1"><span class="Apple-style-span">A "30 Rock" episode from a few years back really illustrated the show's pulse of the times when Alec Baldwin's character brought Jennifer Aniston's character up-to-date on the latest in New York. He said, "Welcome to New York. Let's see, we're using credit cards in cabs now, all the galleries have moved to Chelsea, and we're off cupcakes and we're back to doughnuts. Would you excuse me for a moment?" (He probably ran off to get some doughnuts.)</span></p> <p class="p2"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="p1"><span class="Apple-style-span">When cupcakes hit New York there was some dabbling around in it by all. When doughnuts hit, that was better. People can make a great cupcake in their kitchen, but a doughnut? Nope, when doughnuts were back in vogue Krispy Kreme was the one-stop shop. One tiny bundle of glazed "hot now" did the trick and gently wafted in memories of sugary childhood delight.</span></p> <p class="p2"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="p1"><span class="Apple-style-span">Krispy Kreme was key in this doughnut history, but the place that truly elevated New York doughnuts was Mark Israel's <a href="http://www.doughnutplant.com/">Doughnut Plant</a>. Each time I visit the city, a stop at the plant is a fixed agenda point. I've tried several flavors including their Valrhona chocolate glazed, mango glazed, lavendar glazed (below left), and on this latest trip I experienced doughnut heaven in a coconut cream-filled with coconut glaze number (below right). Yayayaya.</span></p><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-kM5XNhzmsQSMCCcViiOX4GHiXDhBZFr1H6uq6ijpQ9fpMeD1Sxtq2GnZPfUVafw-uDKXgw5oishwfNvMZNAWfF5mq0KNd_RskVKaNva9PJZlg6TqsAA5j8JhKM3xEfCYk4GupyLsS7NA/s1600/DSC03777.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-kM5XNhzmsQSMCCcViiOX4GHiXDhBZFr1H6uq6ijpQ9fpMeD1Sxtq2GnZPfUVafw-uDKXgw5oishwfNvMZNAWfF5mq0KNd_RskVKaNva9PJZlg6TqsAA5j8JhKM3xEfCYk4GupyLsS7NA/s200/DSC03777.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5616317115670242962" /></a></span><p class="p1"><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKsUDEF5QdFY0gzYcTvZ3_zAzDbLeJhb-y1yANOQ1KQ6Sn8AlsGLaAcDSZhozW2z-0-cMRUy8Nwf6NsJCSCHFa3ggz-bE060BF1ff-yRDONUogKaVmfQ2OnbC5AeEBBaN0ST72XBTGd9Vj/s1600/IMG_0580.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKsUDEF5QdFY0gzYcTvZ3_zAzDbLeJhb-y1yANOQ1KQ6Sn8AlsGLaAcDSZhozW2z-0-cMRUy8Nwf6NsJCSCHFa3ggz-bE060BF1ff-yRDONUogKaVmfQ2OnbC5AeEBBaN0ST72XBTGd9Vj/s200/IMG_0580.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5616317384130494578" /></a>(Still to try: the blackout, the tres leches, and the stellar crème brûlée doughnut.)</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p><p class="p1"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p><p class="p1"><span class="Apple-style-span">It's hard to give justice to these doughnuts, but I'll try. They're so good because they are light, spongy mostly yeast-raised puffs (they have some cake doughnuts too); everything's organic; and the toppings are seasonal, fresh and creative. The oil used for frying lingers in the dough just enough and takes the texture when you bite in to new heights. The doughnuts (except for the crème brûlée mini) are huge. The price for the quality you're getting is right too ($2.50?). And if you're dieting it's ok, you only live once.</span></p> <p class="p2"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="p1"><span class="Apple-style-span">I knew I was gonna miss the Doughnut Plant when I left NY, so imagine my surprise to discover LA has a long-standing famous doughnut culture of its own. A native resident first took me to <a href="http://www.farmersmarketla.com/directory/vendor/bobs_coffee_donuts/index.html">Bob's Coffee & Doughnuts</a> at the LA Farmer's Market. Omg these are doughnuts. Moist and fluffy, rich in flavor, with special shapes and glazes for kids. The coffee really works here too, with a bunch of varieties for $1 including a Kona blend from Hawaii (and free parking validation). Biting into a Bob's doughnut with a smooth cup of coffee while lounging outdoors in the farmer's market is pure heaven.</span></p> <p class="p2"><br /></p><p class="p1"><style type="text/css"> p.p1 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Arial} p.p2 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Arial; min-height: 15.0px} p.p3 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Arial; min-height: 15.0px} li.li1 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Arial} span.s1 {text-decoration: underline ; color: #2700ee} ul.ul1 {list-style-type: disc} </style> </p><p class="p1">When the conversation in Los Angeles turns to doughnuts, which it often does, it's good to listen:</p> <ul class="ul1"> <li class="li1">A professor introduced <a href="http://www.spudnutshop.com/"><span class="s1">Spudnuts</span></a> doughnuts to me when he brought some to a meeting. These babies are toothsome with just the right texture due to the addition of potato flour.</li> <li class="li1">I'm not sure where I heard of <a href="http://www.primosdonuts.com/"><span class="s1">Primo Doughnuts</span></a>, but they came with high praise and the day I trekked to find them their street was being repaved so I had to carry on doughnut-less.</li> <li class="li1">On mornings when I'm really lazy I'll just drive over to, that's right, a 7-11 and pick up the local-fave maple bar (long doughnut with maple glaze) or a mere glazed chocolate. Why not, it's a good doughnut! And because doughnuts are big in LA, even a measly 7-11 takes their doughnuts to better places than in other towns.</li> <li class="li1">Once after a hike (you have to hike here due to all the doughnuts), an acquaintance said the best in town is <a href="http://www.yelp.com/biz/the-donut-man-glendora"><span class="s1">The Donut Man</span></a> in Glendora. Where? This place east past Pasadena, kinda far from home but not too far for a gastronomic road trip! The praise is for The Donut Man's way of stuffing fresh glazed fruit– strawberries or peaches–into doughnut shells. A wonderful thing! A foodie friend in town last April drove all the way out there with me so we could get our doughnut on. Alas The Donut Man is not open on Easter (we happened to drive out there on Easter). So like Primo's, will have to try again. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=158C5-u6dDA"><span class="s1">Here's a little video</span></a> of The Donut Man's doughnuts (from 1:13 note the maple bars) fyi.</li></ul><p></p> <p class="p1"><span class="Apple-style-span">Why is there such an affection for doughnuts? Maybe because they're so delicious, the perfect little package of soft and sweet, a quick homestyle dessert that tastes just as good when you buy them than when you make 'em at home. Come to think of it, most people don't make doughnuts at home. Our marker for what a good doughnut is most likely comes from an authentic experience at an old diner or doughnut shop. It's one of the few times I know that the best version doesn't necessarily come out of a home kitchen, which is ideal on a Sunday morning when I'm too sleepy to bake.</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p><p class="p1"><span class="Apple-style-span">Until we eat again,</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="Apple-style-span">Marly</span></p>Marlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784997998733075320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7125540994252535150.post-92100965434067137532011-04-25T13:58:00.000-07:002011-06-27T12:54:06.265-07:00Foodie Redemption<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1myYnmOQxzeQlgFQv8klLuROMENx_6ZJXYy8itx8p54ro8wPU97YfMpZB9ZijmP-odBnG68wmrBg1vlSCSl4POt9uncFz1HOj3EOyw2ReWaD6CDkdT_eFVJs3fZdrANkTqdgXkcCXzD8F/s1600/210517_10150187282848905_596218904_6646623_2945037_o.jpeg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 224px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1myYnmOQxzeQlgFQv8klLuROMENx_6ZJXYy8itx8p54ro8wPU97YfMpZB9ZijmP-odBnG68wmrBg1vlSCSl4POt9uncFz1HOj3EOyw2ReWaD6CDkdT_eFVJs3fZdrANkTqdgXkcCXzD8F/s320/210517_10150187282848905_596218904_6646623_2945037_o.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599629240418050194" /></span></a><div>This past Friday I had the pleasure of dining at <a title="Shahnawaz Restaurant" href="http://www.yelp.com/biz/shahnawaz-restaurant-lakewood" target="_blank">Shahnawaz Restaurant</a> with a group from the <a href="http://sait.usc.edu/ois/" target="_blank">USC Office of International Services</a>. It was the last meeting of the OIS Diner's Club for the year, and also the last time one of its leaders—@MarciaonTour from Project Quinn class—would have the chance to host such an event at USC.<a name='more'></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><a href="http://projectquinn.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/207618_10150573955295164_784310163_18356787_132120_n1.jpg"><span class="Apple-style-span"><img class="alignleft size-medium wp-image-2610" style="margin-right: 15px;" src="http://projectquinn.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/207618_10150573955295164_784310163_18356787_132120_n1-300x225.jpg" alt="" width="210" height="158" /></span></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="http://projectquinn.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/207618_10150573955295164_784310163_18356787_132120_n1.jpg"></a>Seven people loaded into the campus bus for the 30-minute trek to Lakewood to enjoy a Pakistani meal. There was a student from China, two from India, two from the U.S. (Marica and me), one from Turkey (even though I first thought he was from Russian or Antarctica?) and last but not least, our cultural guide Asma from Pakistan! She was so excited to try a restaurant that served her home cuisine in LA, since she hadn't had her native food in about a year.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">The menu was filled with some familiar items I'd seen on Indian restaurant menus before. This made more sense after one of the Indian students explained that many Indian restaurants in the U.S. serve Pakistani food and customers don't realize this.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><a href="http://projectquinn.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/207295_10150573954515164_784310163_18356777_489228_n2.jpg"><span class="Apple-style-span"><img class="alignleft size-medium wp-image-2607" style="margin-right: 15px;" src="http://projectquinn.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/207295_10150573954515164_784310163_18356777_489228_n2-300x225.jpg" alt="" width="210" height="158" /></span></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="http://projectquinn.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/207295_10150573954515164_784310163_18356777_489228_n2.jpg"></a>When it comes to exotic menu items I admit there is sometimes a tendency to eat what I know and like. So the chicken tikka masala was my safe entrée choice. Others were more adventurous. They ordered chicken biryani, mutton biryani, a tandoori mixed plate, a chicken roll, and the spicy vegetarian okra dish bhindi. Our cultural guide kept mentioning her favorite dish, chicken karahi, which I admitted was not for me since there were peppers and onions in it, and I'm simply not a fan of green peppers and especially not in dishes like Mexican fajitas. Asma also ordered a pitcher of salted lassi, a yogurt drink that is either sweet (i.e. with mango) or salted.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><a href="http://projectquinn.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/222490_10150573953930164_784310163_18356771_5827423_n1.jpg"><span class="Apple-style-span"><img class="alignleft size-medium wp-image-2608" style="margin-right: 15px;" src="http://projectquinn.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/222490_10150573953930164_784310163_18356771_5827423_n1-300x225.jpg" alt="" width="210" height="158" /></span></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="http://projectquinn.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/222490_10150573953930164_784310163_18356771_5827423_n1.jpg"></a>The first dish out was the flavorful chicken tikka masala, served with the freshest naan (the garlic was great, the sesame outstanding). The mixed grill was tasty, the bhindi exotically spicy, the biryani lovely with a hint of cinnamon, the salted lassi was so refreshing. And my favorite dish? The chicken karahi! My inner dialogue went something like this: "Marly, when are you going to learn that [insert ingredient, in this case] 'peppers' can be more than what you think they are?!" There was an overwhelming richness of flavor and excitement in that dish, and I couldn't stop eating it. That's right, pre-judging dishes <em>is</em> silly, because the best ones may pass you right by!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Last night I went to another restaurant for the first time, <a href="http://www.animalrestaurant.com/" target="_blank">Animal</a>, the carnivore's dream of a restaurant next to Canter's in LA. My fellow foodie friend and I ordered two foie gras dishes (one terrine, one seared on a biscuit), a hamachi tostada and pig ears. Admittedly, the latter worried me a touch: would the pig ears be gelatinous, fatty, icky? The dish was delicious! Like crunchy fried chicken skin or even pork rinds with a briny, pickled flavor, and fried egg on top.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">As much as I am a foodie, my timidity at trying new things sometimes surprises people, as well as myself! Probably about 90% of the time the things I hesitate trying end up being wonderful, so I think it's time to turn the page on trepidation at the table and just go for it.</span></div>Marlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784997998733075320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7125540994252535150.post-86155527108229836472011-03-20T18:54:00.000-07:002011-03-20T19:05:19.301-07:00Buffalo Wings + A Poem<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGgaUM08puU1ri3P0nSnmNnk_9cszsk1cf1uxDKKwzrcYGRC95zA0SXFWoGJwbm2CzdqXRAXgNVbEMY2faRaabzk78e0kknJv6WS7Oyuu-8vbG8cKew_HQNG7rct2JPAjT-65JBFk_bpby/s1600/photo_2.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 246px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGgaUM08puU1ri3P0nSnmNnk_9cszsk1cf1uxDKKwzrcYGRC95zA0SXFWoGJwbm2CzdqXRAXgNVbEMY2faRaabzk78e0kknJv6WS7Oyuu-8vbG8cKew_HQNG7rct2JPAjT-65JBFk_bpby/s320/photo_2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586345819773320082" /></a><br /><div>Last Wednesday I had some Buffalo wings after a four-month wing time-off, which reminded me of a poem I once wrote on the subject for my de facto Buffalo wing partner-in-crime Dan. Wings were first introduced into my life at the infamous <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lyle_and_Erik_Menendez" target="_blank">Chuck's Spring Street Café</a> in NJ during undergrad. Once in NY some friends and I survived a wing road trip to Buffalo, NY. Our goal was to try four different wing places in a day, and we succeeded...our first bouts of heartburn notwithstanding. These days I still believe any food is best the closer you are to its source, yet I also admit that good wings can be found even in LA if you look around long enough (thanks <a href="http://www.yelp.com/biz/hot-wings-cafe-los-angeles" target="_blank">Hot Wings Café</a>, and ok thanks even to you Hooters). Yeah I think about wings a lot; hence the poem.<a name='more'></a></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="text-decoration: underline">But first a little clarification on:</span></div><div>1. The phrase “two singles, medium, extra crispy”:</div><div> a. "single" = an order of 10 wings at the fave place of me and Dan, <a href="http://www.atomicwings.com/" target="_blank">Atomic Wings</a>. In the early days, when our trust was thin-skinned, Dan and I would each order a single, rather than one double, so there’d be a guaranteed balance of wing distribution.</div><div> b. "Medium" = the heat level we preferred (heats @ Atomic are: for the sane -- mild, medium, hot; for the insane -- abusive, nuclear, suicidal).</div><div> c. "Extra crispy" = well that’s the best way to eat 'em... fried just a little bit longer so the skin is crispy, not fatty.</div><div>2. One more thing: Duff's, La Nova and Anchor are some of "the" wing spots in Buffalo, NY, where Dan is from.</div><div><br /></div><div>Ok I now present to you...</div><div><br /></div><div><strong>The Buffalo Wing Poem</strong></div><div>by Marly Miller © 2/22/96</div><div>(read in an exhibitionist Beatnik style)</div><div><br /></div><div>Two singles, medium, extra crispy.</div><div><br /></div><div>Their coupling, it was Fated.</div><div>The word "diet"? Oh puh-LEASE.</div><div>The antithesis to "day job"</div><div>Is some fat in arteries!</div><div><br /></div><div>Kindred pals oft take the subway</div><div>To the only truth they know:</div><div>Tastebuds only quench from flames</div><div>From our beloved Buffalo.</div><div><br /></div><div>Two singles, medium, extra crispy.</div><div><br /></div><div>Primal visions we imagine</div><div>Take the place of beaus or dates:</div><div>Orange fingers, orange faces,</div><div>Orange napkins, orange plates.</div><div><br /></div><div>If "one" is if by land,</div><div>Well then "two" is if by wings.</div><div>How about new honey-mustard</div><div>Or barbeque flavorings?</div><div><br /></div><div>Two singles, medium, extra crispy.</div><div><br /></div><div>Not a capon, nor some pheasants;</div><div>A mere chicken is our kingdom.</div><div>We'll be happy being peasants</div><div>As we revel in our wingdom!</div><div><br /></div><div>Go La Nova, or go Duff's, dear.</div><div>Too there's Anchor and Atomic.</div><div>Followed by some Ben & Jerry's?</div><div>Lesser souls would surely vomit.</div>Marlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784997998733075320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7125540994252535150.post-79651346463039469092011-03-14T09:04:00.000-07:002011-03-14T09:07:36.980-07:00The Dreaded Vegetable?<span class="Apple-style-span"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTXP3H2ueWtPOvT-bbUxxQ3G95S-kZiydMGPPNCs0NOh7CzrldD1eLQMvGp6mjNqjrx2OXINVvoCSmqRii62pqEGFTjwY7ssmpZZMWC4pk_1KQ2Sc7y4F_4jxgqwsFl0I2qjHSS5lHMzFj/s1600/2051682172_34f08076cd_b.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTXP3H2ueWtPOvT-bbUxxQ3G95S-kZiydMGPPNCs0NOh7CzrldD1eLQMvGp6mjNqjrx2OXINVvoCSmqRii62pqEGFTjwY7ssmpZZMWC4pk_1KQ2Sc7y4F_4jxgqwsFl0I2qjHSS5lHMzFj/s320/2051682172_34f08076cd_b.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583967547912791970" /></a><br />There's been a lot of fattening blogging going on around here. That's why this week I'm turning to a more healthy alternative (thanks Steph), even though it's a thing most often met with dread when mentioned. I'm referring to...Brussels sprouts!!! [<em>Sound effects: scary howling noises, people screaming!]</em><br /><br />(Something I noticed when proofreading restaurant menus was part of my job description is that the word most commonly misspelled on menus today is Brussels sprouts. I can't tell if this is in direct relation to people's dislike of it, or that it's just a weird thing to spell.)<br /><br />Like many, the first time I tasted Brussels sprouts was horrifically bad. It was in the lunchroom of a publishing company I worked for in Princeton. The company was so wealthy (and generous) that two staff chefs cooked for us minions Monday through Friday. One day lunch consisted of poached chicken breast and boiled Brussels sprouts. Yuck. The vegetable was bitter and bland at the same time. Because I don't like wasting food, I ate every bit of the big heap of sprouts they ladled onto my plate. It was many years until I'd try them again.<br /><br />But here's a fact. Once people get over their fear of their first misguided taste of this cruciferous-family (related to cabbage) vegetable, Brussels sprouts are delicious...<em>as long as they are eaten in any way other than boiled.</em><br /><br />At some point after the boiled Brussels sprouts incident, I was lucky enough to find a recipe for "Hashed Brussels Sprouts" in the cookbook of New York's famous restaurant <a href="http://www.unionsquarecafe.com/" target="_blank">Union Square Café</a>. If anyone knows how to bring out the best in vegetables, it's this place. You slice the sprouts, sauté them in olive oil, add lemon and wine and voila: a fantastic version of Brussels sprouts (<a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2006/11/15/dining/151grex.html" target="_blank">and here is the recipe</a>).<br /><br />Even more irresistible—and more findable in restaurants—is this side dish offered on most Tom Colicchio <a href="http://www.craftrestaurant.com/" target="_blank">Craft restaurant menus</a>: "Roasted Brussels Sprouts with Bacon." This is the version that created a Brussels sprouts-loving monster out of me, and I haven't doubted the vegetable since. Therefore, I strongly urge any Brussels sprouts haters to try them prepared in this way. To get you started, <a href="http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/food-network-kitchens/roasted-brussels-sprouts-with-bacon-recipe/index.html" target="_blank">here's a version of that recipe</a>.<br /><br />Finally, I read about this uncooked Brussels sprouts salad in a 2005 issue of <em>Gourmet</em> magazine. It comes from the kitchen of the famed <a href="http://www.barbutonyc.com/bios.html" target="_blank">Jonathan Waxman</a>, who was recently a contestant on "Top Chef: Masters." Mr. Waxman cooked in the 70's at Berkeley's famed <a href="http://www.chezpanisse.com/intro.php" target="_blank">Chez Panisse</a>—where they say California cuisine was born—and today he cooks at the amazing <a href="http://www.barbutonyc.com/" target="_blank">Barbuto</a> in New York City. His <a href="http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/Shaved-Brussels-Sprout-Salad-with-Fresh-Walnuts-and-Pecorino-232809" target="_blank">"Shaved Brussels Sprout Salad with Fresh Walnuts and Pecorino"</a> is now my favorite incarnation of this "dreaded" vegetable, hands down. It's a marriage of I-can-eat-this-forever and healthy, as long as you're all in for eating the good fats in olive oil and walnuts, and don't over-do the shredded cheese (which is very easy to do).<br /><br />So think about trying Brussels sprouts next time you see them on a menu, or give one of these recipes a try. If a food is <a href="http://www.healthdiaries.com/eatthis/11-health-benefits-of-brussels-sprouts.html" target="_blank">this good for you</a> <em>and</em> can be something you crave, it should be celebrated.</span>Marlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784997998733075320noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7125540994252535150.post-83797637846514499062011-03-06T22:10:00.000-08:002011-03-08T14:10:21.398-08:00Ben & Jerry's Love Affair<a href="http://projectquinn.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/03/Us+There_21.jpg"><img class="aligncenter size-medium wp-image-1716" src="http://projectquinn.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/03/Us+There_21-300x239.jpg" alt="" width="300" height="239" /></a><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://projectquinn.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/03/Us+There_21.jpg"></a>I consider myself an active consumer of <a href="http://www.benjerry.com/" target="_blank">Ben and Jerry's</a> ice cream. When I had an NYC job and commuted from NJ, on off-nights I'd sometimes turn to my "vice kit," which equated to some bad take-out, an alcoholic beverage, and a pint of Ben & Jerry's. Funny, back then I could easily eat a pint in one sitting.<br /><br />My long-time love of Ben & Jerry's—the ice cream brand with a quirky-casual attitude featuring kooky, exciting flavors—instilled a dream in me to some day visit their Vermont factory. One time after moving to Brooklyn an ex-boyfriend swept into the city the week after 9/11 to take me on a road trip. We drove to Canada for a week, and on the way back he surprised me by driving to the place I wouldn't stop talking about when we were together. So we got to visit <i>and</i> take a factory tour! (That's us at the factory eating our free samples above.)<br /><br />Throughout the company's history, when new flavors come out I get real excited, then at other times I get perplexed and sad when a flavor is discontinued, only to be sent to the <a href="http://www.benjerry.com/fun/halloween/" target="_blank">Ben & Jerry's flavor graveyard</a>. Standouts that are sorely missed include:<ol> <li><strong>Festivus </strong>(brown sugar cinnamon ice cream loaded with gingerbread cookies & a ginger caramel swirl) named for <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c8g4Ztf7hIM" target="_blank">a famous Seinfeld episode</a>. The flavor's ardent fans still mourn its demise.</li> <li><strong>Tuskegee Chunk</strong> (a rich peanut butter ice cream with chocolate chunks), named in honor of America's first black military airmen.</li> <li><strong>Rainforest Crunch</strong> (a joy-inducing jungle of vanilla ice cream with untamed chunks of cashew & brazil nut buttercrunch), where the environment popped up in a flavor. And how often do you see Brazil nuts in ice cream?</li></ol><ol><a href="http://projectquinn.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/03/IMG_0462.jpg"><img class="alignleft size-medium wp-image-1722" src="http://projectquinn.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/03/IMG_0462-300x126.jpg" alt="" width="280" height="110" /></a> </ol><ol>But enough of the past. New flavors are upon us! In fact, <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/03/03/ben-and-jerrys-jimmy-fallon-late-night-snack_n_830797.html" target="_blank">Ben and Jerry themselves appeared</a> on "Late Night with Jimmy Fallon" to announce their new flavor, Jimmy Fallon's Late Night Snack, for now only available at scoop shops. So yesterday at the mall I picked up 3 "scoop-shop"-only flavors to taste-test with my <a href="http://projectquinn.com/plain-old-wednesday-turns-into-ice-cream-shangri-la/" target="_blank">ice cream taste-tester friend.</a> We tasted:</ol><ol> <li><strong>Jimmy Fallon's Late Night Snack</strong> (vanilla bean ice cream with a salty caramel swirl & fudge-covered potato chip clusters)</li> <li>The hilariously-named <strong>Clusterfluff </strong>(peanut butter ice cream with caramel cluster pieces, marshmallow swirls & peanut buttery swirls)</li> <li>The been-around <strong>Coconut Seven Layer Bar</strong> (coconut ice cream with coconut & fudge flakes, walnuts & swirls of graham cracker & butterscotch)</li></ol>The verdict? They were all good (and after racing through a hot car to the freezer kinda looked the same). Coconut Seven Layer Bar was good but too sweet, making me miss their now-defunct Coconut Almond Fudge Chip (coconut ice cream with fudge chips & roasted almonds). Clusterfluff was tasty but the peanut butter flavor seemed to overwhelm the other things going on. Our favorite of the bunch was Late Night Snack. Sure, there's a lot of caramel availability in B&J flavors, but this time the caramel is salted. Plus, biting into crunchy chocolate-covered potato chip bits was so inventive and satisfying. When they start selling this flavor at supermarkets, you know where I'll be.</div><div><br /></div><div>Until we eat again,</div><div>Marly</div>Marlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784997998733075320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7125540994252535150.post-49753083320482115242011-02-27T14:03:00.000-08:002011-03-08T14:05:29.609-08:00Danish Danish<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://projectquinn.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/02/Danish-Display.jpg"><img class="aligncenter size-medium wp-image-1523" src="http://projectquinn.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/02/Danish-Display-300x225.jpg" alt="" width="300" height="225" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: left;">You know those little fruit-filled round morning disks called "Danish pastry" that are usually found on insipid continental breakfast buffets in this country? And you know how we eat them because of either: 1) casual passivity, 2) they’re there, 3) you’re half asleep, or 4) otherwise you’d starve? Until about 6 years ago I thought these ubiquitous pastries were one of life’s little tricks because they look and sound good—which elicits hopes of deliciousness—yet each time I bite into one I’m reminded how awful they are. Here’s the thing: what we call Danish are Americanized Danish, in the same way that Panda Express is Chinese food.</div><a name='more'></a><a href="http://projectquinn.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/02/Danish-Display.jpg"></a><br />Several years back I read an article about the real Danish of Denmark, or what I like to refer to as Danish Danish. Both croissants and Danish are said to have originated in Vienna. With 27 layers of butter-filled dough as the goal before baking, creating authentic Danish pastry is a delicate operation taken quite seriously in Denmark, and the results are almost impossible to replicate. The article’s author insisted that the Danish we know here are more closely related to cardboard wheels than to their originating pastry in Europe. Once this truth was revealed to me, it became my personal mission to visit Denmark and see for myself. It took a few years (ok ten) to get there, but get there I did.<br /><br /><a href="http://projectquinn.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/02/Danish-Crown.jpg"><img class="alignleft size-thumbnail wp-image-1524" src="http://projectquinn.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/02/Danish-Crown-150x150.jpg" alt="" width="150" height="150" /></a></div><div><a href="http://projectquinn.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/02/Danish-Crown.jpg"></a><br />If memory serves, Copenhagen bakeries are marked by a golden pretzel crown because they are regulated by the monarchy. Filled-to-the-brim pastry cases made me feel like a guest at Willy Wonka’s factory (had he specialized in pastry). My first pick: a “slice”—a flat pastry layered with cream and crushed nuts. This euphoric Danish Danish was more than I could have hoped for! And my first revelatory taste was transcendent, like waking up from a "Matrix" sleep with the realization that all my life I’d been living a lie—a Danish pastry lie—and the sadness that comes from knowing everyone I know is still asleep.<br /><br /><a href="http://projectquinn.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/02/Danish-Closeup.jpg"><img class="alignleft size-thumbnail wp-image-1525" src="http://projectquinn.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/02/Danish-Closeup-150x150.jpg" alt="" width="150" height="150" /></a></div><div><a href="http://projectquinn.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/02/Danish-Closeup.jpg"></a><br />I left the bakery in a bit of a fog, then walked through the streets of Copenhagen for hours and found myself stumbling into other royal bakeries and purchasing more pastries. First a kringle bar, then a Spandauer or round pastry with cream inside and both chocolate and vanilla icings. Before the day was out I had to eat one more “slice.” Danish Danish count for the day: 4. Believe me, you would have done the same. On later days I had two pastries a day, but that’s only because I was supplementing my diet with fresh Danish butter cookies (omg).<br /><br />This Danish feeding frenzy helped me see how much of a misnomer the word “Danish” is in the U.S. The pastries we mass-produce do look and chew like cardboard wheels and they taste only of sugar and whatever filling-from-a-can are in them. I propose we call Americanized Danish pastries by another name, one that better represents their blandness and sheer inappropriateness. For your consideration, I give you this new word: fleckdreck. At Starbucks a person could say, "Hello, may I please have one cheese fleckdreck?" It's just not right to call something a thing that it is not. Do you call a knife a fork? Do you call cardboard “pastries” from complacent <a href="http://planetmarly.blogspot.com/2008/08/proposal-abolish-continental-breakfast.html">continental breakfast buffets</a> delicious? I don’t think so. Listen, most people eat fleckdreck because it’s there and it's all they know. There’s no judgment here for that. I just think in this case ignorance is the opposite of bliss; when eating a Danish pastry, one should expect only bliss.<br /><br />If you want to try a real Danish pastry in this country, to my knowledge you have three (that I know of!) options:<br />1. <a href="http://hubpages.com/hub/How-to-Make-Danish-Pastry">Make it yourself</a> using real Danish butter (available at most <a href="http://www.wholefoodsmarket.com/index-1.php">Whole Foods</a>), but it’s an intense process and with mostly American ingredients and flour, the flavor and consistency won’t be quite right.<br />2. Visit <a href="http://www.solvangusa.com/">Solvang</a>, a Danish settlement town in California. However I personally wouldn’t recommend this option, since the Danish pastry I’ve tried at the shops there are not very flavorful nor authentic to me.<br />3. Go to <a href="http://hyggebakery.com/">Hygge Bakery</a> in downtown Los Angeles. To date this is the closest I’ve come to tasting a Danish Danish outside of Copenhagen. Oh and for those seeking fleckdreck, there's a Starbucks only one block away.</div><br />Until we eat again,<br />MarlyMarlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784997998733075320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7125540994252535150.post-82811074004984100362011-02-20T19:57:00.001-08:002011-03-08T14:06:12.581-08:00Little Chocolate Lie<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_vMHjgHpM8sqZadiP4I_1RcdmdQG0qYLD0xQ_VlATCW__uxOoZykvjyS4ecKuVvQDLrS8UwXh3lLhhD9SHBhjFOBlUObt16DyQFoEcueQdaEvvDZSR3zOAITcCWJR5kAWaoZkUaRmzOVY/s1600/244-thersday.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 246px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_vMHjgHpM8sqZadiP4I_1RcdmdQG0qYLD0xQ_VlATCW__uxOoZykvjyS4ecKuVvQDLrS8UwXh3lLhhD9SHBhjFOBlUObt16DyQFoEcueQdaEvvDZSR3zOAITcCWJR5kAWaoZkUaRmzOVY/s320/244-thersday.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5575987847021345874" /></a><br />In my last post, "Overdose," I forgot to mention something about the time when I started secretly eating chocolate behind my Mom's back (because she feared it would make me sick, which it didn't). When I was 15, my friends and I ate candy as an after-school activity and when that wasn't enough, I'd sneak some back into my room. One error in judgement—brought on by sheer teen laziness—almost ruined everything. After eating candy in my room, sometimes I'd forgot to throw away the wrappers. My Mom noticed and confronted me. (Guess I wasn't so stealth after all.) My quick reply birthed from mortification and fear was, "Oh I didn't eat those Mom. They're my friends' candy bars...they ate 'em and gave the wrappers to me because...I'm starting to collect them." If my Mom didn't believe me (who would?) she never let on. But because I felt so awful about lying, I figured the best way to fix it was to make the lie true, and that's how my chocolate wrapper collection began.<div><a name='more'></a><br />This all must have gone down in the spring, since my first wrapper was a <a href="http://www.twix.com/">Twix Bar</a>, my second a <a href="http://www.cadburyeaster.com/">Cadbury Easter Egg</a> (after 3 tries, that's really thin foil!), and my third a <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Reeses-Peanut-Butter-Easter-Candy/dp/B0013KKOF2/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1298239759&sr=8-2">Reese's Peanut Butter Cup Easter Egg</a>. You probably think this is all very silly, but after five years of collecting I had 3000 wrappers from all over the world. Many arrived in the mail after I built relationships with other collectors, strangers who thought to be generous with a young starter like me.</div><br /><div>After I ran an ad in the <em>Chocolate News</em> for a Milk Chocolate Mounds Bar—not sold for long and when it was I forgot to buy one—a man in Wisconsin mailed one of those to me and also threw in the prize of my collection: <a href="http://www.hersheyarchives.org/essay/details.aspx?EssayId=26">a Hershey's Bar from World War II</a>.</div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi83PQsd8apfO3NwoI3bZ858ZACIqPlptwVaR3lNz_Zod6MEbCTrR3sOfIMWVpU9oEw_m1vBjsPsrrz-_0FoXf5Fu-qB_mjWvXtbLihXZPhGekev4uQAW-E6eYLl6kqi3RLrx-x0ksEnYfL/s1600/DSCN0845.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 98px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi83PQsd8apfO3NwoI3bZ858ZACIqPlptwVaR3lNz_Zod6MEbCTrR3sOfIMWVpU9oEw_m1vBjsPsrrz-_0FoXf5Fu-qB_mjWvXtbLihXZPhGekev4uQAW-E6eYLl6kqi3RLrx-x0ksEnYfL/s200/DSCN0845.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5575988907769651762" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>Then the motherlode arrived. Unbelievably, a baker from Prague saw my ad and started sending me wrappers from his inherited collection in exchange for American wrappers! I think at the time he had about 56,000 of them, and he not only sent dozens of mint-condition, printed-yet-never-used wrappers to me from Prague, he also sent some amazing Russian wrappers from the Cold War era that boasted military art (e.g., fighter planes, and children wearing uniforms from each military division). One time he even went into East Berlin before the wall came down and snuck a package of candy to the post office for me to try. Though the candy wasn't too delicious, it was a marvel for a college kid. I shouldn't be too surprised that once the baker realized my American bars were limited in scope (words printed on wrappers instead of art, and not too exciting in design or variety), he claimed his English was getting poorer and stopped writing.</div><br /><div>Years later I received wrappers from a soldier in the Gulf War I'd been corresponding with, which for the life of me I can't find. And eventually my hobby was discovered by the <em>New York Daily News</em>, who printed my story <a href="http://www.nydailynews.com/archives/lifestyle/2002/10/03/2002-10-03__treasure_hunt__for_a_true_c.html">in a lifestyle piece on collectors</a> (see original article photo at top). These days there are wrappers flattening in books around my home, and I can only imagine how many are in my collection now. It's kind of an odd hobby to have but one that seems to give people an odd pleasure, especially friends who enjoy picking up wrappers when they're on vacation. To me it's still kind of funny that this hobby all started because of a little chocolate lie.</div><br />Until we eat again,<br />MarlyMarlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784997998733075320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7125540994252535150.post-44571732443703722112011-02-13T21:13:00.000-08:002011-12-15T23:16:26.072-08:00Overdose<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwf6TLQUiLqdmKms6qLO12T5bQw0nqSuVgFRMMgTPOsSfVSCvVywgQ2axQbXQM1-x3MZ-m8gYHTFhzuEPBvoaWAguXYn5FCXfjgLTNHug2iMci7gkLCJQY7gnSlarEL_m60qjilQP4rYWC/s1600/chocolate.jpeg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 253px; height: 199px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwf6TLQUiLqdmKms6qLO12T5bQw0nqSuVgFRMMgTPOsSfVSCvVywgQ2axQbXQM1-x3MZ-m8gYHTFhzuEPBvoaWAguXYn5FCXfjgLTNHug2iMci7gkLCJQY7gnSlarEL_m60qjilQP4rYWC/s320/chocolate.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5573409697532311346" /></a><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span">An emergency-room doctor told my parents I had a chocolate allergy when I was five years old, meaning I became one of those kids whose Halloween bounty was stored far from reach. During junior high I joyfully discovered at a slumber party that I was no longer (or ever had been) allergic to chocolate, due to the giant bowl of <a href="http://mms.com/us/">M&M's</a> that slept by my sleeping bag, and my not having to be rushed to the hospital. From sixteen years and on, my small disposable income from working at <a href="http://www.mcdonalds.com/us/en/home.html">McDonald's</a> couldn't be used to feed my secret chocolate habit, only because my Mom was still worried that chocolate could upset my asthma. When college started a few years later, I came into a small inheritance. With no adult supervision and money rotting in the bank, my immediate goal was to get my hands on some chocolate, and lots of it. And not just any deli counter chocolate; the good stuff. In the pre-internet days, it's a miracle that something like the amazing "<a href="http://www.nestle.com/Brands/ChocolateConfectionery/Pages/ChocolateConfectioneryCatalogue.aspx">Nestlé's</a> International Collection" catalog fell into my greedy little hands, so I ordered up about $150 worth.</span><div><a name='more'></a><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">When the chocolate arrived I threw caution to the wind regarding my freshman ten turning into a freshman 25. The big box of exotic chocolate that was delivered—candy bars from Switzerland, bonbons from France and Belgium—made me the happiest kid in that New Jersey dorm. There was so much stash that I even didn't mind sharing with my suite mates. Hey no worries, that still left pounds of chocolate for me. So I ate it. At every meal. For three days. No other food was consumed, and I was extremely happy. Was it the beauty of chocolate indulgence after a childhood without chocolate, or the three different amphetamines and sugar that naturally occur in chocolate that made me so happy... probably both! I remember writhing on the dorm room floor with the shakes on the third day from all the chocolate. It was great—even with people standing over me calling me crazy—and I have no regrets.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Except one. On the last day of the choco-marathon, I noticed a certain similarity to the taste of all the chocolate. Most of this international stuff contained hazelnuts in some form or another. That's a thing in Europe, I learned, putting hazelnuts in chocolate more often than other nuts. A decade ago I wrote a research paper on this, asking why American-made candies contain nuts that aren't usually hazelnuts, yet the majority of European candies I've seen or tasted contain a proliferation of hazelnuts. The answer comes down to a simple matter of crop. While hazelnuts do grow in the U.S. now, peanuts and pecans were the early stars. Therefore, hazelnuts are still a secondary chocolate candy nut in this country (over-the-counter imported <a href="http://www.storck.us/en/brand/toffifay/">Toffifay</a> notwithstanding).</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">In Europe, hazelnuts are put into fine chocolate as a whole nut, chopped, or most often as paste. People love this. The whole point of this is to say, to this day I cannot eat a hazelnut, and especially not when combined with chocolate. As a demure coffee flavoring, yes. As a finely chopped and toasted coating to a cookie, maybe though probably not. And forget about <a href="http://www.ferrero.com/">Nutella</a>, a statement that yields freakish looks of horror from all who hear it. The reason is because Nutella has the consistency of all those fillings I consumed during my magical three-day European chocolate binge. I overdosed, and only have myself to blame.</span></div><br />Until we eat again,<br />MarlyMarlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784997998733075320noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7125540994252535150.post-41534556086799418872011-02-10T11:29:00.000-08:002011-02-10T15:22:03.568-08:00Food Magazine Recipes for Dinner<span class="Apple-style-span">Last weekend I did one of my favorite things, which btw is why I keep having to go to the gym... I went to my friend Jen’s house to whip up some dinner magic using recipes from a few food magazines I had in the house! The meal was delicious, especially the tart.</span><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"></span>The video below is a "vlog," or video blog, created for my Digital/Social Media Lab class. Got me thinking about how fun it would be to be on TV doing something like this. I know, should have thought of this 10 years ago.<div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(17, 17, 17); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px; "><br /></span></div></div><div><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_D2R9I5sE6o">Click here to watch!</a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px; ">Until we eat again,<br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px; ">Marly</span></span></div></div></div></div>Marlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784997998733075320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7125540994252535150.post-20861401495734338162011-02-01T10:33:00.000-08:002011-03-08T14:10:38.054-08:00Sub-Size Me!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrYIMk9UgxkJgwH5E2DxEe5LDBwlXTqOZ0vYhiB_NODoOHtfN1bonbFIRqapI6Mv8kYonPXabd-xBLqkyBAdfsDGHXOZwVQMIoaDEi9NduiEXQ1AAgd21laePbxSV46E0P-Gv0OS3Mh2j0/s1600/western-omelet.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrYIMk9UgxkJgwH5E2DxEe5LDBwlXTqOZ0vYhiB_NODoOHtfN1bonbFIRqapI6Mv8kYonPXabd-xBLqkyBAdfsDGHXOZwVQMIoaDEi9NduiEXQ1AAgd21laePbxSV46E0P-Gv0OS3Mh2j0/s320/western-omelet.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568791302431518994" /></a><div>As much as I talk about food, I admit there’s more talking going on than eating. With a fairly small appetite, my goal is to experience and taste food, not eat as much as possible per the American stereotype.</div><br /><div>For the past several years, McDonald’s has been trying to erase their <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0390521/">“Super-Size Me”</a> reputation by going in the opposite direction. First came the dainty little Snack Wrap, a nice Marly-sized portion of protein and starch. Recently they also created a mini-Chicken McNugget meal, since four McNuggets with fries is just enough food to satisfy someone in need of a quick and nutritionally unsound snack.</div><a name='more'></a><br /><div>At a time when soaring food costs challenge the possibility of profits for restaurants, I find the amount of food many sit-down restaurants put on plates to be discomforting and often unnecessary. The assumption is that all entrée-ordering patrons have the same desire to over-consume, and that’s not always the case. Some leftovers are fine for taking home, while others, not so much. For instance, take the excessive 3- or 4-egg omelet, a mainstay on most breakfast menus across the country, at diners and fancy brunch spots and even vegetarian restaurants. Eggs are quite filling, and a plate-sized omelet can make a person feel like a sunken ship for the rest of the day. Combine all those eggs with a fistful of onions, meat and cheese—along with the hash browns and toast that come with—and you’ve created something that should be feeding two to three people instead of just one.</div><br /><div>The omelets served at restaurants are nothing like the ones I make at home, with only 1 or 2 eggs. Even Julia Child’s <a href="http://www.savory.tv/2009/07/29/julia-child-omelette/">famous French omelet</a> contains only two eggs. That’s why I wish it was more acceptable to go out and say “Sub-size me!” I have tried, and get dirty looks. When I’ve ordered egg sandwiches and asked for only one egg instead of two, the server will say awkwardly, “It’ll cost the same,” and I never care. I’m not sure why this is so horrible a request for some, whether regarding a sandwich or an omelet, as it would avoid so much wasting of food, calories and even food costs. Plus I don’t know many people who take home leftover eggs.</div><br /><div>However, there is one food item I like that is already sub-sized, yet because I'm not supposed to buy it, ordering it is somewhat embarrassing. I’m referring to the “kid’s pack” at movie theaters, the brilliant sub-sized $5.50 tray of popcorn, candy, and a tiny soda. Movie theaters should co-brand this item as the “Eats Like a Bird pack.” I’m pretty sure many women who order the “kid’s pack” aren’t ordering it for any kids. Don’t believe me? How many little kids prefer <a href="http://www.dietcoke.com/">Diet Coke</a> with their popcorn? At first I got nervous ordering this snack for myself, but after hearing <a href="http://www.webmd.com/food-recipes/news/20091119/movie-theater-popcorn-a-calorie-bomb">how much fat is in a small movie theater popcorn bag</a>, I figured why shouldn’t I be able to better control my intake of a favorite movie snack by ordering a teensy size that comes with a soda and candy for the same price as a small bag of popcorn?</div><br /><div>People should be able to order the portion they want at a nice restaurant or at the movies. As a society we should stop assuming everyone wants to gorge themselves with food just because we can.</div>Marlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784997998733075320noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7125540994252535150.post-14110534516258425412011-01-23T17:08:00.000-08:002011-03-08T14:09:51.315-08:00Plain Old Wednesday Turns Into Ice Cream Shangri-La<span class="Apple-style-span"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMNv-Tjq3EbWa5vSQuHXdJ4smAiYqKIKwUW48riVmKUEpMmlJpfwMGN23-ZwQI14IrxQ2KgbsUWYWUQHWFfJx_2Tm1iLEado6Wc65BhTkrgOE2YAT-vlsEO4uZK9b2PBCzTwgoH6kQQjAp/s1600/IMG_03571.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 222px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMNv-Tjq3EbWa5vSQuHXdJ4smAiYqKIKwUW48riVmKUEpMmlJpfwMGN23-ZwQI14IrxQ2KgbsUWYWUQHWFfJx_2Tm1iLEado6Wc65BhTkrgOE2YAT-vlsEO4uZK9b2PBCzTwgoH6kQQjAp/s320/IMG_03571.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5565553530711157682" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px; "><p>[Reader note: One of my classes this semester is a Social Media Lab. We blog for class, and this is my first class post. It's still about the best topic ever (um, food) so belongs here too! More to come through the spring...]</p><p>It was a plain old, regular Wednesday when a very special <a href="http://tastingtable.com/entry_detail/la/2582/Eat_the_frozen_flavors_of_the_season.htm" mce_href="http://tastingtable.com/entry_detail/la/2582/Eat_the_frozen_flavors_of_the_season.htm">Tasting Table: LA</a> email arrived about <a href="http://www.carmelaicecream.com/" mce_href="http://www.carmelaicecream.com/">Carmela Ice Cream</a>, a company known for selling organic ice cream only at local farmer’s markets. The news? They opened a store! I’d heard of this elusive ice cream, but I’m the type that goes to IKEA over a garage sale because I don’t want to hunt for the things on my list, I just want to buy them! The company website listed <a href="http://www.carmelaicecream.com/ice-cream-locations.php" mce_href="http://www.carmelaicecream.com/ice-cream-locations.php">retail locations</a> for a quick pint pick-up, though why do that when you can simply visit their week-old “artisan creamery” in Pasadena?? Life on Wednesday suddenly brightened, so I sent a friend the news and she replied, “Wanna go tonight?” We calculated the timing—it was more Sierra Madre than Pasadena—and as they were only open until 8:00 p.m., any thoughts of dinner would have to wait until after our ice cream appetizer.</p><a name='more'></a><p>With a clear mission and instincts on high alert, we arrived at Carmela’s around 7:00 p.m. with an hour to spare. There was no line, just a couple and their small son eating the ice cream I wanted immediately. The mother and son were wearing USC jerseys. I said a discreet “Fight on!” to them and the kid almost looked peeved that I distracted him from his tasty bounty, however once he realized I was a friendly he flashed me a Trojan smile.</p><p>There are many things that inspired me to visit Carmela’s. One is their use of farmer's market produce and <a href="http://www.cloverorganicfarms.com/" mce_href="http://www.cloverorganicfarms.com/">Clover Organic Farms</a> dairy. But the real draw was their flavor list, which I have recreated here from my food-obsessed memory: salted caramel, strawberry buttermilk, Meyer lemon olive oil, lemon verbena vanilla, fresh mint & cacao nib, cucumber sorbet, lavender honey, cardamom, brown sugar vanilla, dark chocolate cacao nib, and more! Of course they had me at salted caramel. That was the true draw for this mission, since my introductory taste of salted caramel ice cream was at <a href="http://www.izzysicecream.com/" mce_href="http://www.izzysicecream.com/">Izzy’s</a> last summer in St. Paul, and I really had to have it again. One cup of Carmela’s, which you can split between two flavors that you’ve tasted pre-commitment, is only $3.50. And that is an extremely small price to pay for such an outstanding ice cream experience.</p><p>Until we eat again,<br />Marly</p></span></span>Marlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784997998733075320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7125540994252535150.post-63820699086885290372011-01-05T12:27:00.001-08:002011-01-06T13:45:41.135-08:00Aloha! Hawaii Food Adventure<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoBFXDDc5Ov0bMKhM0k5ZZsFmM6soQRSiEnU8bcpUlD0AYhfEV8q-ZwPW-GQqEPBltDn-6QUfX1jx94jzsIUkrXBxC0PeoiX3T2IoNrRtyZfHmm6J3yJctzRmcFky6of1CHDgbxHexFkCl/s1600/Hanalei_Kayaker_Kauai_Hawaii.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoBFXDDc5Ov0bMKhM0k5ZZsFmM6soQRSiEnU8bcpUlD0AYhfEV8q-ZwPW-GQqEPBltDn-6QUfX1jx94jzsIUkrXBxC0PeoiX3T2IoNrRtyZfHmm6J3yJctzRmcFky6of1CHDgbxHexFkCl/s320/Hanalei_Kayaker_Kauai_Hawaii.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558810890432405506" /></a><div>Aloha!</div><div><br /></div><div>So here I am, back from my first visit to Hawaii & posting my first blog entry in five months (!). All that writing for school in an enforced "less casual way" hopefully didn't supplant my blog voice, at least not in the long term. We shall see :)</div><div><br /></div><div>School starts up again in a few days, so let's get crackin'. First up, a quiz question:</div><div><br /></div><div><i><b>Which of the following three things did I NOT eat in Hawaii: </b></i></div><div>A.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Crab</div><div>B.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Pineapple</div><div>C.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>SPAM</div><div><br /></div><div>Hint: One of these things I didn't eat at all, and the other things I ate twice. What is your guess? The answer will be revealed as you read of my various food finds on the islands of Oahu and Big:</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4QdpWkGLmNtkb7BRrOj6yKvGOlnh2-9C93c4jdKMO5RW3NARiJhEJGASnk6xpNlPxZHM8XLI9m34ct82NwqWBrGFIa8wqZBKCZCp6tLrzOVgQjXJDVGkEOe6uLZNqhqk-cxugyPkNnHKx/s1600/index.png"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 135px; height: 164px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4QdpWkGLmNtkb7BRrOj6yKvGOlnh2-9C93c4jdKMO5RW3NARiJhEJGASnk6xpNlPxZHM8XLI9m34ct82NwqWBrGFIa8wqZBKCZCp6tLrzOVgQjXJDVGkEOe6uLZNqhqk-cxugyPkNnHKx/s200/index.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558817946728048146" /></a><b>Coffee</b> – Trying Kona coffee was big on my list, and there were two general kinds: 100% Kona and 10% Kona. The cheaper kind is what many restaurants serve. Hey why not, it’s cheaper. The best Kona I experienced then, the 100% kind, was from the local swanky coffee shop <a href="http://www.islandvintagecoffee.com/">Island Vintage Coffee</a>. That Kona sang in a smooth, lusty baritone. The town of Kona is on the Big Island, and the town of Hilo is too. I visited Hilo yet found no Kona for sale. However, a person on my island tour received a gift of Hilo coffee from the <a href="http://hilocoffeemill.com/">Hilo Coffee Mill</a>, and the smell emanating from those coffee bags hinted at the glories of coffee dreams. Sadly there was none for sale at the airport, but thankfully they do mail order.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipwOHyzPkvdSBhGDAR9Ah4dtHFqMfktXVkzRIVksOuiRIVwmMJVneOnWfrx-KmGtxGO4dyvW77wkKRTJTAybXHZdmQbQ82NOkRRrOP9eX_wtEA9BM2nTJdX19o1do068uRM59U_b26Kogq/s1600/croissant.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipwOHyzPkvdSBhGDAR9Ah4dtHFqMfktXVkzRIVksOuiRIVwmMJVneOnWfrx-KmGtxGO4dyvW77wkKRTJTAybXHZdmQbQ82NOkRRrOP9eX_wtEA9BM2nTJdX19o1do068uRM59U_b26Kogq/s200/croissant.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558820073091143362" /></a><b>Croissants</b> – Ok sure, this is not an item indigenous to Hawaii. But, the croissant I had with my Island Vintage Kona coffee was 20x better than the "you-claim-this-is-a-croissant" croissant I get once a week in Los Angeles at Starbucks (their croissant is the only pastry they sell without sugar painted all over it). Dear Los Angeles, you are closer in distance to France than Hawaii. Maybe you should visit Hawaii to learn a thing or two about making good croissants. Thanks for listening.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguMUvcrdUDOUCNsz7vKmtBIQ3aN86AGSKZqShvlw75KwQGrbK4PDKeKBSSNx-TPeI9WzzCHAOXGvyO3w1-KP0h9WjVZ0gz1oRdVFh8BhxgrQY5Hiqtl7BXaDOterwMMH8IzYFT_OVPgbk1/s1600/coconut+pie.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 148px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguMUvcrdUDOUCNsz7vKmtBIQ3aN86AGSKZqShvlw75KwQGrbK4PDKeKBSSNx-TPeI9WzzCHAOXGvyO3w1-KP0h9WjVZ0gz1oRdVFh8BhxgrQY5Hiqtl7BXaDOterwMMH8IzYFT_OVPgbk1/s200/coconut+pie.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558811897294508338" /></a><b>McDonald’s!</b></div><div><b></b>As you may know, whenever I visit a new town/city/country I always check out the McDonald’s to see what's unique. In Hawaii there were two such things:</div><div>1. The haupia pie is a standard hot pie like our apple and cherry, filled instead with a coconut-style cream. Interestingly, the flavor wasn’t very coconutty. Who cares though, it was pretty addictive, like a faintly tropical white pudding fried pie and I meant to stop eating halfway in but before you know it, all gone.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEZ5FHnYSjmgWWlhjLeN9ZFSRtPIxc_Cb2dRcqiHrmntPP_x2dVbwBC1oJwdzzzSzd1w6BrygKIjyjZBDT64HTG9vzbRlNryndCB8YKbvAFMybRA5_H-TszZo7qRee7s15WD3AvO77M7GL/s1600/spam+breakfast.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 148px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEZ5FHnYSjmgWWlhjLeN9ZFSRtPIxc_Cb2dRcqiHrmntPP_x2dVbwBC1oJwdzzzSzd1w6BrygKIjyjZBDT64HTG9vzbRlNryndCB8YKbvAFMybRA5_H-TszZo7qRee7s15WD3AvO77M7GL/s200/spam+breakfast.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558812443025317042" /></a>2. I never made it to the second unique thing. That would be their kind of "big breakfast." They replace the standard starches of English muffin, pancakes and/or hash browns with white rice (the starring starch of a Hawaiian "plate lunch"), then add scrambled eggs and either <a href="http://www.spam.com/">SPAM</a>, Portuguese sausage or a combo of both. I did have a Portuguese sausage with egg and rice at this <a href="http://www.zippys.com/">Zippy’s</a> chain on the way to the airport. It was fine except I couldn't eat all the sausage: too many fat pieces in it (on purpose). As for SPAM, you’ll soon see I did experience that a few times during the trip...just not at McD’s.</div><div><br /></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga2q8rO7nYAjelma-LfoDp7HPZKf8SwjnDKi2w-BE6r9pnIx0sWRjvvwwVlNLjhH3SQ87t5LBuDHf1FdPPGGHMqwXDBs_ncNX8_J4MVWzoZ6tcvH8Z6Yb9SR31KtpOTsvrtuNa8sMRR3hP/s1600/longan+7.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 165px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga2q8rO7nYAjelma-LfoDp7HPZKf8SwjnDKi2w-BE6r9pnIx0sWRjvvwwVlNLjhH3SQ87t5LBuDHf1FdPPGGHMqwXDBs_ncNX8_J4MVWzoZ6tcvH8Z6Yb9SR31KtpOTsvrtuNa8sMRR3hP/s200/longan+7.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558821539947268626" /></a><b>Longans</b> – After my tour group left the top of a live volcano (with real magma flowing in the distance!), our tour guide passed around a bag of “dragon eyes,” or longans. This translucent golf ball-sized fruit contains a lone black seed in the middle about the size of, um, a pupil actually, so the fruit in its entirety does kind of look like an eyeball. You eat them by lightly breaking the thin beige skin with your teeth, peeling off the skin, and popping the fruit into your mouth (just don't eat the pit). The fruit felt like eating a litchi/cherry combo, just without any extreme sweet or tart flavor. Or it was like eating a more exciting green grape.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKJBVw8AqTuc3Wp-bC4pwtXq9lvrgQJsU-D5o1EIDwsQ6c4IwI7Exc0ShT9axwXA2GDOrbZzLo2djulWwvdSphxbj_a2E8dVj33RkwkVqR9vpOVvOSP1I-rJUM1p20sEnxDdtCfhUZE54t/s1600/coconut+wine.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKJBVw8AqTuc3Wp-bC4pwtXq9lvrgQJsU-D5o1EIDwsQ6c4IwI7Exc0ShT9axwXA2GDOrbZzLo2djulWwvdSphxbj_a2E8dVj33RkwkVqR9vpOVvOSP1I-rJUM1p20sEnxDdtCfhUZE54t/s200/coconut+wine.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558813681071531714" /></a><b>Coconut Wine</b> – This is something I saw in shops but didn't try and have no regrets! Would you try something so scary sounding for $20? I tried to taste it in my imagination and that's all it took for my superego to say no (thanks for watching my back, SE). Here's my thinking: besides a cost to my palate, the coconut "wine" would really cost $45 to purchase... $20 for the wine and an additional $25 for the bag check to fly it home for sharing. By the way, a recent Tweet on the subject said: “I can't commit to it but I'm relatively sure this Royal Chief Coconut Wine is the worst wine I've ever tasted.” All right!</div><div><br /></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnJONrzxAqUJLpAQJUtt8PMa08qHRKEO7dRLQhuUIKY1T1iJ11dsNY6HYJdGAjkeWQa3aV41bWtqA97eZLNnTzwhwy22aDuiF1EFdl_zq_ugvMBkIQYuGTnhzQkiogv4_QLq78qAsOPSxU/s1600/IMG_0184.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 149px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnJONrzxAqUJLpAQJUtt8PMa08qHRKEO7dRLQhuUIKY1T1iJ11dsNY6HYJdGAjkeWQa3aV41bWtqA97eZLNnTzwhwy22aDuiF1EFdl_zq_ugvMBkIQYuGTnhzQkiogv4_QLq78qAsOPSxU/s200/IMG_0184.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558817158912248882" /></a><b>Pineapple</b> – This is the answer to the quiz question: I did not eat any pineapple in Hawaii. Why? It was never really offered. But wait, didn’t I visit the Dole Plantation? Why yes I did. The tour guide told us they don’t really grow pineapples much these days (thanks South America). If I’d wanted some pineapple—besides buying the cute Hello Kitty pineapple marshmallows which I didn't buy because I really only do marshmallows in S'mores—all I had to do during my 30-minute Dole tour stop was wait in a very long line and get me some Dole Whip, a.k.a. pineapple soft-serve ice cream. Ha to THAT! If I want to stand in a line for my Dole Whip then I’ll just go to Disneyland and stand in line there, as I have done many, many times. It's my favorite way to eat pineapple.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_7qNQY6pe7bGuR5umrfBmltETy2Yoe-Uejb94juCWAaR7mWPB_AHyySNdxbm2XIn0bHT1T5Yuppzp98C5kO88buHFx9_1mUpZhv8a0ys6zBxqIVXqrxFFF96FaK7ku0E0zACsemapvE8z/s1600/10CRAB_WEB.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_7qNQY6pe7bGuR5umrfBmltETy2Yoe-Uejb94juCWAaR7mWPB_AHyySNdxbm2XIn0bHT1T5Yuppzp98C5kO88buHFx9_1mUpZhv8a0ys6zBxqIVXqrxFFF96FaK7ku0E0zACsemapvE8z/s200/10CRAB_WEB.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558822541799717922" /></a><b>Crab</b> – I ate crab on two occasions, but both were at chain restaurants. So as not to be judged by readers, I will only say that the crab was decent but not on par with crab enjoyed at other places, i.e., at a certain wonderful seafood place on a dock in San Francisco.</div><div>So yes, Hawaii does serve crab but from my recent experience best to stick with its local specialties, like…</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUuvx9svAA9yVObQYCvPGt7TJQA33cnIKmsB1ShcQskhjbhcjKOViQDtQ24g2NFKMu9WWUkJjBbPxakGGPjZNPrxlqGkloS27zYbKeVrR-9kNUg1-CMSHoGWNVEbMuazP7utQlB3A6OBtS/s1600/locomoco.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUuvx9svAA9yVObQYCvPGt7TJQA33cnIKmsB1ShcQskhjbhcjKOViQDtQ24g2NFKMu9WWUkJjBbPxakGGPjZNPrxlqGkloS27zYbKeVrR-9kNUg1-CMSHoGWNVEbMuazP7utQlB3A6OBtS/s200/locomoco.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558813872985156578" /></a><b>The Loco Moco</b> – This is an island favorite of a burger patty on rice topped with gravy and an egg. It was touted as a true national dish of Hawaii, sort of like the “plate lunch.” Ok, the plate lunch is some kind of fried meat (your choice) with two scoops of white rice and one scoop of macaroni salad. I like meat and rice, but not macaroni salad so sorry there, I never tried a plate lunch in Hawaii. The loco moco, to me, is better! (No macaroni salad.) If a place is fancy they may top all that decadent loco-moco-ness with fried onion strips too. As much as I would have enjoyed onion strips, my loco moco lunch in the picture was just fine without. This is a once every two years dish…delicious but not at all healthy!</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkWJA-LxvVVPSYFuh87o_Zvhl5NF2Z-GzJmwX8xr215qYfyDhaGDqqk6YXRgU1dldo6RV1ektYc0XKqWSgVJjmyN0DcZzvo_qAnZ-P54E9PWbciqX8vkOMV6JSKNtQRC3t3aCrLEIBct6Z/s1600/coconut+juice.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 148px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkWJA-LxvVVPSYFuh87o_Zvhl5NF2Z-GzJmwX8xr215qYfyDhaGDqqk6YXRgU1dldo6RV1ektYc0XKqWSgVJjmyN0DcZzvo_qAnZ-P54E9PWbciqX8vkOMV6JSKNtQRC3t3aCrLEIBct6Z/s200/coconut+juice.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558814067143487842" /></a><b>Fresh Coconut Juice</b> – Picture it…we just left the black sand beach with new coconut tree plantings and had a half hour before leaving for the volcano visit. Found a little area walking back with a café and farm stands. And then, I spotted the coconut lady. “Pick a coconut!” she said, surely high on life from living in Hawaii. I picked the smallest young coconut she had since I wasn’t too thirsty, and for $2 the husks were hacked off and a straw poked through. Good deal. The only down side was the juice was a bit ripe for its own good. They call this phenomenon “the champagne,” where the juice is fizzy and not quite fresh-tasting. Can't complain, the experience itself trumps any taste expectations. When the juice was gone (and I had help from a friend), the coconut lady scooped out the remaining young, almost jelly-like coconut meat for my late afternoon snack, which I didn't realize at the time was an early dinner.</div><div><br /></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJVXgmROVlBu1PFVRWDHlLS-YUV2ujOYQnAaJLbiTm5n10a8IRk2MHINdnUoyLg0F30MK_dxiSEW2YENdbGZ3NFLt00KfByIF85oAUH0-P90vG8GhldXVb1BRH4YCHsxeHqz3abgWgR6cq/s1600/musubi.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJVXgmROVlBu1PFVRWDHlLS-YUV2ujOYQnAaJLbiTm5n10a8IRk2MHINdnUoyLg0F30MK_dxiSEW2YENdbGZ3NFLt00KfByIF85oAUH0-P90vG8GhldXVb1BRH4YCHsxeHqz3abgWgR6cq/s200/musubi.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558814288684137458" /></a><b>Spam & Egg Musubi</b> – What? Why? Because at the end of the day of black sand beaches and visits to steaming craters and live volcanoes, my tour boarded a plane going from one island to another at 10:00 p.m., and it occurred to me I hadn’t eaten dinner yet! (Young coconut meat and juice notwithstanding.) Hey, I do not like not having dinner! Nothing available at the airport, and back in Waikiki the only place nearby and open was the ABC Store (what would be the offspring of a 7-11 store and a rabbit, as there are so many and they are everywhere). For $1.89 I grabbed this Hawaiian bite for my better-late-than-never dinner. It is a hunk of rice topped with a scrambled egg square and then SPAM, wrapped in some sushi-style nori and sealed in cellophane for storage in a heat box. Apparently SPAM became popular in Hawaii during WWII, as soldiers had it as a part of their meal rations and it somehow stuck. The SPAM on top of my egg musubi tasted, how you say, just as old as that fact. Back at my hotel room with my "dinner," I did not quite delight in the musubi's SPAM element but of course ate it. It did the trick, that's what really matters (and that I didn't get sick). I probably won’t eat it again.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiutf6YLujKAUWlEKvkmnUUFimgC51AdyOIKSMI1ob_3krCxVqIeuXOwaZSrSC2S0OKt2DY1m9eDZamUttrwoBSNCa8YO1R6c9jN-VWS5Dp5CoHc_SEL-OzHxnNsK76rSpZlgf70knhpw6k/s1600/waffle.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiutf6YLujKAUWlEKvkmnUUFimgC51AdyOIKSMI1ob_3krCxVqIeuXOwaZSrSC2S0OKt2DY1m9eDZamUttrwoBSNCa8YO1R6c9jN-VWS5Dp5CoHc_SEL-OzHxnNsK76rSpZlgf70knhpw6k/s200/waffle.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558865258860943730" /></a><b>Macadamia Nuts</b> – We know that Hawaii grows macadamia nuts, but who knew they came in flavors other than salted and chocolate covered? I didn't. Lucky for me one of my tour groups visited the source, a place called <a href="http://www.macnutfarm.com/">Tropical Farms</a> that grows and flavors their own macadamia nuts. And they give out free samples!!! (You know I like that.) Flavor options include Kona coffee glazed, honey glazed, cinnamon, and my favorites were the caramel and maui onion & garlic. Many restaurants chop em up to add to things like meat breading or pancake batter, but my fave is when they're chopped up on top of waffles. Macadamia nut waffles with coconut syrup are especially scrumptious (thanks <a href="http://www.yelp.com/biz/vits-hawaiian-steak-house-honolulu">Vit's Hawaiian Steakhouse</a>). Mmmm, so simple yet my best meal on Oahu. Yum!</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVAeVhReej7OvFbq3lVknSj_qXpR9UtCHCganwj8bLqkEEy4NuE1Ru2zzepRjMyHW5YNrddeAihxmi6h8QUOgib_sn1NoBAHme8DsOX7B1DKkuWhyphenhyphenIchLKPmuoHab-V0uYdzhPTnX43NFz/s1600/spam+nuts.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 149px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVAeVhReej7OvFbq3lVknSj_qXpR9UtCHCganwj8bLqkEEy4NuE1Ru2zzepRjMyHW5YNrddeAihxmi6h8QUOgib_sn1NoBAHme8DsOX7B1DKkuWhyphenhyphenIchLKPmuoHab-V0uYdzhPTnX43NFz/s200/spam+nuts.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558815195921328210" /></a><b>Spam & Macadamia Nuts</b> – You're probably thinking, if she didn't eat pineapple that means she ate both crab and SPAM twice. But why?? I'll tell ya why. Because sometimes two completely opposite foods—one not edible, the other extremely delicious—can be joined together successfully. Such is the case with the illustrious SPAM-flavored macadamia nuts. It was against my instincts when a lady at the <a href="http://www.hilohattie.com/">Hilo Hattie</a> souvenir store offered a free sample. I ADMIT IT ... I tried it and I liked it. The thing is, it really didn’t taste like various pig parts and fat when done up as a powder coating on a nut. It only tasted of smokey salt. And what's wrong with that? It was good. Just in the end not $4.95-per-can or ridicule-for-life good.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXTRrIJ9wZgq2qHMUwOM0O2DuvoH48ht4m_IwVP0HJUQHDX1j36qPsHCqFmxc4VLbZpolq56t-qgdOCC2ILhVfhcv9VCXT1ndgTYlUKg3355pajPNgvNMG3sGi7jEYigMxXc-2-O-tQrhI/s1600/dim+sum.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXTRrIJ9wZgq2qHMUwOM0O2DuvoH48ht4m_IwVP0HJUQHDX1j36qPsHCqFmxc4VLbZpolq56t-qgdOCC2ILhVfhcv9VCXT1ndgTYlUKg3355pajPNgvNMG3sGi7jEYigMxXc-2-O-tQrhI/s200/dim+sum.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558815345982801490" /></a><b>Dim Sum</b> – <a href="http://jadedynastyhawaii.com/">Jade Dynasty Seafood Restaurant</a> from Hong Kong opened their first and only U.S. location in Honolulu two days before I got there. This would explain the very low chairs at the bar—I didn't want a big dim sum table for myself—and that's why the bar was level with my neck. The bartender explained that the wrong chairs were ordered and new ones were coming, but in any case this explains why I was the only person sitting there. On to the food: either this restaurant is really good, or dim sum improves exponentially the closer you get to Hong Kong. Either way, my mochi rice, red bean & coconut mochi balls, and shrimp look fun rolls were some of the best I’ve had. So if you ever happen to be in Honolulu and on a rainy day make a stop at the Ala Moana mall, go ahead and skip Romano’s Macaroni Grill and Bubba Gumps to go to this place.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4kgBdF8hxbrN3VWje5T0pFhGOd1xXZynpIhEkGWqLblHNCO1_ZgbAoyvM28BHB6eV2iB126dNoFOaVjpxiP1LNaZwjhm0-E_5O2ExViG7gQd40EyhTzX8Y9JrLx8wJu1oLmY4OP4I1RkA/s1600/kalua+pork.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4kgBdF8hxbrN3VWje5T0pFhGOd1xXZynpIhEkGWqLblHNCO1_ZgbAoyvM28BHB6eV2iB126dNoFOaVjpxiP1LNaZwjhm0-E_5O2ExViG7gQd40EyhTzX8Y9JrLx8wJu1oLmY4OP4I1RkA/s200/kalua+pork.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558815966431295426" /></a><b>Kalua Pork</b> – Besides the waffles, another new favorite thing I was lucky to try is kalua pork. What is it? It’s pretty much just pulled pork, and what happens when a pig is roasted at a luau and shreds of tender salty meat are pulled out. Not that I would know since my luau was rained out. But it's ok, kalua pork is served everywhere and I tried it first at a restaurant during a day tour (really good), and again on my last night in Hawaii at <a href="http://www.dukeswaikiki.com/">Duke’s Waikiki</a> (super good). At Duke's, BBQ sauce was added, making it taste like a high-end pulled pork, and it was ingeniously served on a taro bun. That’s right, a soft and purpley taro bun. Delicious. A pilot on layover who was sitting next to me let me try his kalua pork nachos, but eh, all the other stuff on there blocked the pure, rich flavor of the meat. That's why in my opinion it's best to eat this specialty straight up or in a sandwich, and not covered up with other gunk.</div><div><br /></div><div>In summary, I adored being in Hawaii—SPAM encounters notwithstanding—and hopefully I'll get a chance to visit again soon. In the meantime, there are a bunch of casual Hawaiian places in L.A., including <a href="http://www.kingshawaiianrestaurants.com/">King's Hawaiian Restaurant & Bakery</a> in Torrance. Kalua pork and loco moco, here I come!</div><div><br /></div><div>Until we eat again,</div><div>Marly</div>Marlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784997998733075320noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7125540994252535150.post-87809816165670601982010-08-30T15:10:00.001-07:002010-08-30T16:25:51.788-07:00Graduate School<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi74q55MRJdlXZFs6kU6LrwBPYyPczJDpPBzadsE9kBc7C5H2gyO2iH4t9jDvKbge-XqHfviOaNj-2xkRkB3kwzYOMax-JbuVJ547-z9jSsXiF6YhWUJUElWcjI8flkcphSF3uNdqrkqEY-/s1600/usc_ariel.gif"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 233px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi74q55MRJdlXZFs6kU6LrwBPYyPczJDpPBzadsE9kBc7C5H2gyO2iH4t9jDvKbge-XqHfviOaNj-2xkRkB3kwzYOMax-JbuVJ547-z9jSsXiF6YhWUJUElWcjI8flkcphSF3uNdqrkqEY-/s320/usc_ariel.gif" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5511339586407768146" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">My how time keeps flying by. You'll have to forgive me for not posting a real post in some time now. It seems a real post may not happen in the near future, for I have just started graduate school (again).</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">Last time graduate school was related to the topic of food. This time graduate school is not specifically targeted to food but if I get my way it eventually will be. Kinda like this blog post...</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">What I'm hinting at is that there are readings to do. And papers to WRITE. And I'm here to tell ya this woman can only write so much :). I fear that school—and the return of the prime time television season—will hinder my allocation of time for blogging. Instead, I offer excuses and ideas for the future.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">But first, a quick digression to my employer and school's official mascot, Tommy Trojan. His statue is located on campus and looks like this:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR8_-U_qFN-USkKIi04Thhe9Co9mCtKSkuHZybT8IHym84RBJvjHbUm9snoa_dzzPyK71ltO1yFiavIZqheSURy3xUGjgmAaYLUoKl_IA4imO2UOMdS-YoO5P0u6aqNamqWInusy4m39eM/s1600/imgres-2.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 151px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR8_-U_qFN-USkKIi04Thhe9Co9mCtKSkuHZybT8IHym84RBJvjHbUm9snoa_dzzPyK71ltO1yFiavIZqheSURy3xUGjgmAaYLUoKl_IA4imO2UOMdS-YoO5P0u6aqNamqWInusy4m39eM/s200/imgres-2.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5511339993469688274" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">During the big enemy, I mean, rivalry game of USC vs. UCLA each year, Tommy gets covered up with garbage bags and tape while couches are set up on all sides so young students can watch guard. This is so the UCLA students don't ravage Tommy. Last year we (when I say we, I mean a USC student I am not associated with) spray-painted the Bruin Bear statue across town with red paint. It was a big deal. Thankfully, there was no revenge taken on Tommy. He still looks like this. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">What is cool is when Tommy is at a football game, he magically comes to life! And he looks something like this:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiavi2YH1jKHKBXl1sTVlhdIfyNrH5343019BhhojbS5QY7uJX5beNM8VVy3vuEqiLdxt1dh_cPMwjENIUMx-L2_vWfPjZAMV7JPVUNUu_0zGIYe8_hQ-xhjXEPKE4E8xF1_EbnYmK-q_3q/s1600/imgres-3.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 145px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiavi2YH1jKHKBXl1sTVlhdIfyNrH5343019BhhojbS5QY7uJX5beNM8VVy3vuEqiLdxt1dh_cPMwjENIUMx-L2_vWfPjZAMV7JPVUNUu_0zGIYe8_hQ-xhjXEPKE4E8xF1_EbnYmK-q_3q/s200/imgres-3.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5511340293013153842" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">I love when Tommy stabs the field ceremoniously before kick-off. It's one of the most exciting times of the game! Missing this part of the game because you're waiting in line for a turkey dog really stinks. Last year Tommy had a goatee, which I thought worked, yet Tommy himself posted an online poll for students to vote whether or not he was misrepresenting USC tradition by having a goatee. I voted "keep it!" however the majority voted "shave it!" And he did.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">Now there are other Tommy's in Los Angeles, specifically this one (see I told you we'd eventually get around to food again):</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM6F46u7ch6l5aD6ysrNaZK9HVmrDhaPdKxgbXM2AX6g_CFWr2ipsmwLJ2l_w8vURgkxkv5pD5KcThlJyt_PBtFoWW_7s027R6ZC0PFnHN8H4gLCmJca_8GDw_8XLoEYQhMGJRIGnFFfSH/s1600/imgres-4.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 187px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM6F46u7ch6l5aD6ysrNaZK9HVmrDhaPdKxgbXM2AX6g_CFWr2ipsmwLJ2l_w8vURgkxkv5pD5KcThlJyt_PBtFoWW_7s027R6ZC0PFnHN8H4gLCmJca_8GDw_8XLoEYQhMGJRIGnFFfSH/s200/imgres-4.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5511341668237509778" /></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">The original Tommy chili burger is aMAZing. The fries are great too! When you're in Los Angeles, don't be fooled by any Tommy's restaurant that doesn't look like this. Because there are MANY imitations and you have been warned!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">See, it's not as if there aren't things to talk about in the days and months before another real blog post occurs! Here are some ideas for future posts:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">1. "The new mysteries of soy milk!" </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">You know, this would be about my recent discovery of soy milk and the differences of the brands and flavors and what about almond milk... Eh, that sounds dull, yeah?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">What about...</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">2. "Why I still love McDonald's!"</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">A true story, and one that I've been longing to tell, about how working at McD's as a teen influenced my love of food and friends (and Chicken McNuggets).</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">There is also this one I've been meaning to write for at least four years:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">3. "Danish Danish"</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">This one would be about the time I once read how incredibly different Denmark's real Danish pastries are from what we call Danish pastries here in the states. The reading of the article spurred on a pilgrimage to Copenhagen in 2005 and life hasn't been the same since. It's as if you lived your whole life without Santa Claus, then one day as an adult you found out there is a Santa Claus! (Does that analogy work at all?)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">And there's so much more! But for now my hands are tied and tired from typing a public relations paper due tonight and from the words I've written here (don't say I never did anything for you).</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">Until we eat again,</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">Marly</span></div><div><br /></div>Marlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784997998733075320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7125540994252535150.post-13739778433385084382010-08-03T15:43:00.000-07:002010-08-03T22:32:31.253-07:00Chicken Scarpiello Recipe Redux!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg93F4HKvCptGcVuy3Upbam80nrwoq9IGGOL89VX9H9fEztc7ffM1-dPw1d9ReYaf64NkQ6hXVAms_BksMj3nCksjFBTgAFmVDeEm1S-RERIpjY-nEXdyo4uP15bJQtK0rZMxxBzl3eTEgV/s1600/carmine_book_photo.jpeg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 133px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg93F4HKvCptGcVuy3Upbam80nrwoq9IGGOL89VX9H9fEztc7ffM1-dPw1d9ReYaf64NkQ6hXVAms_BksMj3nCksjFBTgAFmVDeEm1S-RERIpjY-nEXdyo4uP15bJQtK0rZMxxBzl3eTEgV/s200/carmine_book_photo.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501321044502113410" border="0" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);">It's here! Per my last post, the fabulous reworked Carmine's chicken scarpiello recipe has arrived. My sister, D, had to do some serious detective-like reworks to get the recipe just so. Why? Because some important steps and ingredients were left out of the cookbook version, and now with the mystery solved we can all sleep again at night.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"><br /></span></span><div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);">Chicken Scarpariello</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);">(from the Kitchen of Michael Ronis, with D's moderations)<br /><br />Servings: 4-6<br />Difficulty: Moderate<br />Cook Time: 30-60 min<br /><br /></span><u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);">Ingredients</span></u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"><br />1 3-4 lb. fryer chicken, cut into 12 pieces (2 wings, 2 legs, 2 thighs, each breast cut into thirds)<br />3 large lemons<br />1 tablespoon kosher salt<br />2 teaspoons fresh rosemary leaves<br />2 large heads of garlic<br />2 teaspoons fresh sage<br />1/2 teaspoon black pepper<br />2 teaspoons fresh oregano leaves<br />2 tablespoons olive oil<br />2 tablespoons butter<br />Splash white wine<br />1 cup vegetable oil<br />1 tablespoon shallots, finely chopped<br />1 cup of chicken stock<br />Salt and pepper, to taste<br />Cooked linguine and/or a loaf of thickly sliced Italian rustic bread<br /><br /></span><u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);">Directions</span></u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"><br />Begin by washing and patting dry the 12 pieces of chicken. Place the chicken pieces into a large bowl that will both hold it and allow for mixing. Chop half of the herbs and mix with the chicken. Cut two of the lemons in half, squeeze out all of the juice, and throw the squeezed lemons in with the chicken and herbs. Add olive oil, kosher salt, black pepper, garlic cloves and mix well.<br /><br />Cover at least 24 hours although 48 hours will make it even better. Between two and three times a day, unwrap the chicken and toss thoroughly; return plastic wrap to cover.<br /><br />Take a 12" saute pan and add the vegetable oil. While the oil is heating up over medium heat, take the chicken out of the marinade and shake off as much of the herbs and liquid as possible. These herbs will burn during cooking. Reserve the garlic cloves for later. When the oil is just about smoking, add each piece of chicken slowly, sliding them into the oil and cooking all of the pieces of chicken at one time. Squeeze the remaining lemon’s juice and reserve for later.<br /><br />Make sure to use a pan large enough so that the chicken can sit in the oil without overlapping another piece. Do not turn the chicken over until it is very brown and crusty; this can take at least 10 minutes to 12 minutes. Once the chicken is very brown and crusty, turn the pieces over and continue cooking the other side until once again, all sides are all very brown and crusty. While the chicken is browning, throw at least eight cloves of the marinated garlic with the chicken into the oil, cooking them until they are brown and tender. Take out the garlic pieces and reserve. Remove the chicken pieces and place onto a bake-proof dish. Once the chicken is very brown and crusty, place into an oven and either continue cooking or keep warm on a low heat. With the saute pan that was used for browning the chicken, empty the oil or discard. Toss in one tablespoon of butter and slowly cook the chopped shallots.<br /><br />Next, add the roasted browned whole garlic cloves, previously reserved, and add the remaining chopped herbs; lightly saute for one minute over low heat. Add a splash of white wine and cook for 30 seconds over high heat. Add the chicken stock and reduce until the liquid becomes dark and the taste is strong. At this point, on low heat, add the remaining butter, lemon salt and pepper to taste. Add more lemon according your palate.<br /><br />Place the chicken onto a platter one piece at a time and then pour the sauce over the chicken. Recommend serving over linguine along with Italian rustic bread for dunking up the sauce.<br /><br />Voila! I hope you try this corrected recipe, because this version of chicken scarpiello is one of the best chicken dishes out there! Thanks Carmine's and D.<br /><br />Until we eat again,<br />Marly</span><br /></div></div>Marlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784997998733075320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7125540994252535150.post-67554904873559793422010-07-06T09:28:00.000-07:002010-07-06T19:27:25.561-07:00Tidbits: A few recent food adventures<span style="font-weight:bold;">1. Minneapolis/St. Paul visit</span><br /><br /><strong>Izzy's Ice Cream</strong><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU6YuLbXqz-25uRV4DfrFp4DgDL3_8czw8w70JD6kn9WsIFeoQQ4u8SMiclVUxhDWS8I5BA-I6gNCcv24RzMw2ztc3L3Q6kBOglkNTYWvPOzNelmdSp38fegRkQ4oYn_Qxzc8EcMVljK6t/s1600/whatizzy.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 166px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU6YuLbXqz-25uRV4DfrFp4DgDL3_8czw8w70JD6kn9WsIFeoQQ4u8SMiclVUxhDWS8I5BA-I6gNCcv24RzMw2ztc3L3Q6kBOglkNTYWvPOzNelmdSp38fegRkQ4oYn_Qxzc8EcMVljK6t/s200/whatizzy.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490900406280565922" /></a>The "Izzy Scoop" is a baby scoop of ice cream on top of a regular scoop, and to me it's kinda like an alien scoop. And not only that! Their flavors are modern and experimental, for example they had five types of strawberry the night we were there plus a few exotic chocolates, including Umeshu Chocolate made with Japanese plum wine. I couldn’t decide, so ordered a 5-Izzy scoop sampler of Mexican chocolate fiesta, cream cheese, coconut, graham cracker and the amaaazing salted caramel. When I was done with my 5 Izzy’s I did indeed want another scoop of salted caramel and my local friends (bless them for taking me here) talked me out of it. Balderdash! Not to torture you but here, <a href="http://flavorup.izzysicecream.com/flavor-grid">take a look at the current flavor list</a> and next time you're in the Minneapolis area run, don't walk, to Izzy's.<br /><b><br /></b><div><strong>The Juicy Lucy</strong><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_hjMRuGcbN8avT-C_c3RSFY6kze6_p-oysffVtD73udYo5cdFmFP3UFBVh_LKm_DyAp9MUG9MzS9Sj3MffHKiQ89dAFKipiZag28l1hzXleK0Z6fhZyunz-StNuozNm9C1zje7F93wiTu/s1600/jucylucy.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 165px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_hjMRuGcbN8avT-C_c3RSFY6kze6_p-oysffVtD73udYo5cdFmFP3UFBVh_LKm_DyAp9MUG9MzS9Sj3MffHKiQ89dAFKipiZag28l1hzXleK0Z6fhZyunz-StNuozNm9C1zje7F93wiTu/s200/jucylucy.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490900574083208530" /></a>Another fantastic thing in St. Paul was the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jucy_Lucy">Juicy Lucy</a> (a.k.a. Jucy Lucy) burger at Matt's bar. This discovery shared by a local friend made me pretty happy. It's basically two McDonald's-sized burgers sandwiched around a liquidy cheese sauce. No, not a gloppy Cheddar ooze as some photos suggest, but a nice mellow cheese sauce. The servers and the menus both warn to let the burger cool before chomping down, since that cheese sauce is molten and it wants to spurt all over your face! We waited a few and blew on our burgers then took a bite. Sure as heck if that cheese sauce wasn't dying to come out! It had a bonefide lava-like propulsion factor, and it was really yummy. Thank goodness the burgers weren't too big either, since too much meat-to-cheese ratio would have made the Juicy Lucy less humble, obnoxious even, in my opinion. This way was just right.<br /><br /><strong>2. Carmine’s Chicken Scarpiello – cookbook vs. restaurant showdown</strong></div><div><b></b><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUBD-GkzoKdo3g02gQjtPUA18xPRZYMDmlGJI6ygqk9DOQt5NmWt8csppY4KwRjIVUdbUQguuBE4Yo7psc0CzRWc7XsqncAeYUXDbqKi_xmSpTuisapznPSGn0zZHzoeCiDy5PMrp9Syc4/s1600/DSCN5799.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 281px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUBD-GkzoKdo3g02gQjtPUA18xPRZYMDmlGJI6ygqk9DOQt5NmWt8csppY4KwRjIVUdbUQguuBE4Yo7psc0CzRWc7XsqncAeYUXDbqKi_xmSpTuisapznPSGn0zZHzoeCiDy5PMrp9Syc4/s320/DSCN5799.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490899426728679810" /></a>In my January 8, 2009 blog post “I heart Carmine's, and now you know,” I wrote about one of my favorite NYC restaurants and a fantastic dish there that I order all the time, chicken scarpiello. Many Italian restaurants make this but at Carmine's it is very unique and outrageously delicious. In my blog entry I described it as “heavenly, different from any other, with a sweet & sour brown lemon rosemary garlic sauce and caramelized garlic cloves.”<br /><br />The reason this was written about in January 2010 is because my family and I had visited the Atlantic City Carmine's in December 2009, and there lo and behold I noticed the new Carmine's cookbook for sale. Celebration! Now the chance to make chicken scarpiello at home was mine!, especially necessary since Carmine's, for me, was no longer just a subway ride away.<br /><br />A month later my friends came over for the recipe unveiling. Well it didn't turn out well at all :(, though my friends were pretty polite about it. The official planetmarly blog rating was, on a 1-3 scale: “1: bad recipe”. In the history of this blog, nothing's ever turned out THAT bad. Frustrated over wasted money – this was the main reason for my purchase of the cookbook – I slid my new Benedict Arnold hardcover onto the cookbook shelf and there is has remained. Until last week.<br /><br />See my sister -- another fan of the chix scarpiello magic -- recently discovered an online recipe for the dish associated with the restaurant's chef. She made it and wanted to compare the recipe in my cookbook with hers to see if a match. Turns out my sister's version came out just fine, but that's only after she improvised. And when she sent me her online version of the recipe with notes, it became clear that the cookbook’s version was filled with errors:<br /><ol><li>Garlic – Cookbook said crushed garlic, which was awful on the finished dish and covered the chicken like little balls of soft tapioca. In the restaurant, the dish is known for its browned garlic cloves. No garlic cloves in the cookbook's recipe, a major faux pas which honestly I should have caught.</li><li>Recipe Liquid – This dish is also known for its lovely brown gravy. My cookbooked dish had none. My sister decided to up the wine quotient a little and also add a cup of chicken stock. Genius. There was only a 1/4 cup of wine in her recipe and no stock. This is why I’m more of a baker. I follow directions to a T and this recipe really needed some intuitive (and obvious) improvisation.</li><li>Laziness – My sister felt the recipe I emailed her from the cookbook was lazy. It often said to use the “remaining” of this and that (lemon, herbs and butter), without being clear of how much that would be, which would have helped out the home cook tremendously.</li></ol>All in all, this episode reminded me that we shouldn’t automatically trust cookbooks just because they're published, since some of them are simply not good. I recently finished reading Julia Child’s “My Life in France,” and that chef took great pride and many years in the proofreading and testing of her recipes. I probably won’t make any other dish from the Carmine’s cookbook. But the Ghirardelli or Tom Douglas cookbooks? Oh yes indeed I will go to them over and over again.<br /><br />By the way, the photo of the dish above is from “www.twofatbellies.com,” and the authors had <a href="http://www.twofatbellies.com/2010/03/pre-theater-dining-at-carmines/">a pre-theater dinner at Carmine’s</a>. They wrote why this is a special version of the dish too, and I agree because it’s why I only order this dish at Carmine's and no where else. “The chicken is covered in a lemony, garlicky sauce that is flavored with rosemary. It’s different from other versions of scarpariello, which usually feature sausage and peppers, but I vastly prefer this version.” Exactly! So after my sister puts the final touches on her recipe redux, I’ll try again and also post it on the blog if everyone wants it.<br /><br />That's it for now blog peeps. Next week I'm off to Orlando for a conference and will be dining at the<a href="http://disneyworld.disney.go.com/dining/san-angel-inn/"> San Angel Inn in EPCOT Mexico</a>. This beautiful "Mexican village at night" pavilion within an Aztec pyramid is one of my favorite places to visit, cheasy like a Juicy Lucy and oh so festive. I ate my first molé there during a college spring break road trip. Let's see if the restaurant stands up to the test of time.</div><div><br /></div><div>Until we eat again,<br />Marly</div><div><br /></div>Marlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784997998733075320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7125540994252535150.post-80900451981805854772010-05-27T14:52:00.000-07:002010-05-28T11:09:28.304-07:00Food Friend or Foe<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfMNDfhkCPltRYqnPfSiHdUjjwLljeDYjhy542vmFeR6G4DtWvoSKXPjcC8aW_nOOHtvuURYGVgvkTwDNZNfJ1EJUNEDKAOx9sEzDfH0E3yGuF9Rbh9WQIQMyAtYiK8CUzy5rFwNWJgUU-/s1600/zunichix2_2.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 211px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfMNDfhkCPltRYqnPfSiHdUjjwLljeDYjhy542vmFeR6G4DtWvoSKXPjcC8aW_nOOHtvuURYGVgvkTwDNZNfJ1EJUNEDKAOx9sEzDfH0E3yGuF9Rbh9WQIQMyAtYiK8CUzy5rFwNWJgUU-/s320/zunichix2_2.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476071660277536514" /></a><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">Rather than Italian or Sushi, my favorite cuisine has long been New American. Ever since my first time at </span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.gramercytavern.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">Gramercy Tavern</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"> (or maybe even earlier), enjoying simply prepared, homestyle food from local sources has become a dining priority for me. In my opinion, restaurant items prepared in this style simply sing brighter.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">Several chefs adhere to this type of cooking, including the now TV-star Tom Colicchio (who was the original chef at Gramercy), my favorite </span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">Seattle chef </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">Tom Douglas, and Chef Judy Rodgers of the </span><a href="http://www.zunicafe.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">Zuni Café</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"> in San Francisco. According to her website, Chef Judy “has been a pioneer of simple and casual American fare...” She once worked as lunch chef at Chez Panisse in Berkeley (an excellent thing), and in 2004 she was named outstanding chef by the James Beard Foundation for her impressive Zuni Café cookbook. So it shouldn't be a surprise that Zuni was a place I wanted to dine at for ages, especially to try the chef’s acclaimed raison d'être, the roast chicken with bread salad (pictured above, oh and </span><a href="http://www.saveur.com/article/Recipes/Roasted-Chicken-with-Bread-Salad"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">here's the recipe</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">).</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">Probably around 2002, I visited San Francisco for a reason I can’t recall (oh well!). A few weeks before the trip I set up a night to see my pal Ed, formerly of Park Slope, Brooklyn. Ed and I met ten years earlier in NYC, where he was one of my clients during the Broadway days and we became friends. He’d recently moved to San Francisco so I looked him up.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">Back in the day, Ed and I always had a grand time hanging around "the slope" and the city and going to parties with our mutual friends. He and his friend Dan were even the only two people to complete my last New York City clue hunt, “The Subway Hunt,” in its original form. These hunts usually took place above ground whenever I moved to a new neighborhood, but I hadn't moved in awhile so this one was in and around the subway system in two boroughs. Ed and Dan gave it a dry run for me on September 8th in 2001 since they’d be busy on the official hunt date of September 15th. The test went really well, they had fun, however since one quarter of The Subway Hunt was in the World Trade Center, the official hunt on September 15 was of course canceled; the route was reworked and occurred the following spring. But Ed and his friend Dan did run the hunt in the World Trade Center on September 8th three days before its demise, which we all thought was pretty interesting.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">So when I flew out for a visit to San Fran about a year after Ed moved there he seemed quite happy to make a plan with me for dinner with his new California boyfriend. When we spoke I made one request: since they live in San Francisco, can we possibly have dinner at the Zuni Café because they have this chicken dish I really want to try….? Sure!, Ed said. Excellent, I replied.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">We met at Zuni and had lots of long-lost hellos and hugs. The restaurant was lovely too, very inviting and open, modern yet homey. They sat us in one of the small rooms tucked away up some stairs so it felt like we were dining in someone’s </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">House Beautiful</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"> beach house. The menus were dropped and there it was, the roast chicken with bread salad… for two? Oh. It’s a whole chicken for two people, hmm. And $45, woop! So I casually asked if Ed or his boyfriend would possibly be interested in splitting the dish with me, since it's for two, and since it’s amazing and the restaurant's signature dish and I’d heard about it forever, and I don’t live here and didn’t realize it was for two people. Ed looked at his boyfriend without missing a beat and said, “I’m going to have the halibut.” The boyfriend looked at Ed and said, “I’m going to have the halibut too!”</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">My incredulousness suppressed to a tic, I responded gently, “Really? If you both want halibut can’t you split one halibut entrée and then someone also share the chicken with me? I won’t have a chance to come to this restaurant again because I live in New York…” Ed's facial expression looked sort of like one of Cinderella's evil stepsisters when he said, “Why don’t you order the chicken for yourself and take home the leftovers? You can eat it on the plane tomorrow (chuckle).” “But I’m staying at a hotel. I don’t have a refrigerator.” He looked at the menu again and said regally, “Well I’M going to have the HALibut.” Ed’s boyfriend agreed.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">This lead to some quick contemplation on etiquette and friendship and kindness. If the situation had been reversed, I would have automatically assumed that a friend of mine is also a food friend. However, if that friend turns out to be a food foe, doesn’t that mean that person isn’t your friend so much after all? I mean, without any explanation or attempts at trying for a middle ground. For instance, </span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">was the dish I wanted to share liver and onions, was it pickled pigs feet? No. Were these people vegetarians, vegans, pescetarians? Not at all. Did they just not like chicken, or me? Maybe all I needed was a little compassion or explanation, which did not come. Or c</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">ould I have ordered that dish on my own for $45? I suppose, but I don't believe in egregious food wasting. Plus $45 for an entrée was a bit extravagant too.</span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">I saw Ed with new eyes that night while eating some other entrée I don't remember. He must have stopped being my friend somewhere along the line, perhaps before that night--then why meet at all?--and I’ll never know why.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">Even a year or so later back on Broadway at the end of the the Patti LuPone "Sweeney Todd" revival, guess who filtered out onto the street behind me: Ed and his boyfriend! How weird is that? In a happy sort of shock I introduced my friend to them, chatted away and oh no it took too long to realize that both Ed and his boyfriend wanted nothing to do with me. They seemed almost offended I talked to them at all! Once the new truth became obvious I said bye (which was ignored) and left promptly, promising myself to never make the same error in judgment again.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">A few months after that I moved to Los Angeles, where I started working at USC. Four years after that, or last month in April, I flew up to San Mateo, CA to attend a conference with a colleague. We decided to take an evening train trip north to San Francisco one night. During the conference my colleague said, “I don’t know what you had in mind for dinner in San Francisco, but there’s a place you might like called Zuni Café…” Do you know I hadn’t thought about Zuni since; probably blocked it out to keep some internal peace. I was thrilled to hear the suggestion, said as much to my colleague and set the record straight! “If we go, there’s this menu item I need to try, but it’s for two, the roast chicken and bread salad. Would you be open to splitting that with me?” He said yes. We booked a reservation.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">At the restaurant, the official menu item is written as thus: “Chicken for two roasted in the brick oven; warm bread salad with red mustard greens, scallions, currants, and pine nuts</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">48.00 (approximately 1 hour).”</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">Bring it ON! We ordered the moment we sat down in that lovely space on Market Street, you know because it takes an hour. What to do while awaiting our masterpiece? Eat. Yes I ordered some oysters and we each had a salad. And what a big and filling salad! My scrumptious Caesar was much bulkier than my colleague’s delicate micro-greens since several long and garlicy crouton planks were not included in his.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">I’m mentioning this only because when the chicken came, I was full. It was a lot of food yet, no surprise, it turned out to be better than I could have hoped for. This famous restaurant dish not only looked great, it tasted like your Mom's best chicken </span><a href="http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://fineartamerica.com/images-medium/cobblestone-bridge-thomas-kinkade.jpg&imgrefurl=http://fineartamerica.com/featured/cobblestone-bridge-thomas-kinkade.html&h=378&w=566&sz=45&tbnid=XYBbruMbeQmdPM:&tbnh=89&tbnw=134&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dthomas%2Bkinkade%2Bcobblestone%2Bbridge&usg=__tZqEganax6SUiVyxKRURP_DuK3A=&ei=2v__S_qAOZiyMqPwxPQO&sa=X&oi=image_result&resnum=6&ct=image&ved=0CDYQ9QEwBQ"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">in a Thomas Kinkade painting</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"> on a cloud-train express to where all food dreams come true. The chicken was extra flavorful and tender due to brining, and the skin was crisp and sprinkled with herbs. The warm bread salad soaked up all the chicken’s savory juices, and tasting that soft artisanal bread with chicken gravy and greens mingled with the other accoutrements, I can’t tell you how good it was. Let’s just say it was definitely worth the wait.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">Now at first when the dish arrived I believe my colleague took a chicken thigh, and I started with a piece of breast and a leg. Me already full does not compute! But post-chicken thigh and a bite of bread salad later my colleague announced HE was full! Ok see I am the Energizer Bunny of food-in-front-of-me-</span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">deliciousness-</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">cannot-be-denied and can keep on going. But to him, full means full. Done! Done? With "the chicken”?! Hey dude that just means more for me, so I forged on, eating more chicken and more bread salad on and on. I wished my little glass of white wine would have magically broken down the proteins in my stomach quicker, but it didn’t do that, it just tasted good and lent a nice tough of acidity to the meal.</span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">Ok, ok after a few more pieces I was done too. We sat, we smiled. There were two small pieces of chicken left, along with a big dab of sultry bread salad. We sighed. I felt guilty looking at the leftover chicken. I encouraged my counterpart to eat more, but he wouldn’t. Then the flashback came, the burning memory of my first visit to Zuni with Ed, that OTHER visit. It moved me to feel a bit petulant, that I had to wait all that time for this grand fabulous wunderbar chicken meal. All this time, all this travel. Well I couldn't stand it and refused to leave a piece of chicken, especially not two pieces of chicken, behind. And with that, I finished it. Every bite. We confirmed later that my colleague really did only enjoy one piece of that bird, which means I in effect ate the whole chicken (and warm bread salad, and a Caesar salad, and oysters, ok and a little bit of chocolate pots de creme). And I would do it again, damn it!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">Second chances are interesting things. The weird part? The colleague who dined with me at Zuni last month was named Ed too. So I went to this restaurant twice with two different Ed’s, and with two very different results. This year the universe gave me a replay. It’s funny how life works out sometimes.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">Until we eat again,</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">Marly</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div>Marlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784997998733075320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7125540994252535150.post-51195396760513617792010-04-12T15:16:00.000-07:002010-04-15T11:14:41.856-07:00It's Tiki Time!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXSndb1sk17md-U4zjjyzixcOOGrpboIAuIVe95sMmfFD62mF1ELCGOJGYqk3SOZKVW8WgBfVcgVKL15QY_VnpKCM-8jzautx611kMLTp-yi39WWXZCfhYmXmltXC6D9pglDUjvup9gjZZ/s1600/bobtiki.gif"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 361px; height: 361px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXSndb1sk17md-U4zjjyzixcOOGrpboIAuIVe95sMmfFD62mF1ELCGOJGYqk3SOZKVW8WgBfVcgVKL15QY_VnpKCM-8jzautx611kMLTp-yi39WWXZCfhYmXmltXC6D9pglDUjvup9gjZZ/s400/bobtiki.gif" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459388993271702994" /></a><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">Hello!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">This June I will be celebrating four years in Los Angeles. Wow! Time really does fly. Turns out sometime last year I stopped feeling the zing of being out here, until a dose of summery spring weather mixed with a box of See's chocolates and Saveur magazine’s “</span><a href="http://www.saveur.com/article/Travels/An-Eaters-Guide-To-LA"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">Special Edition: Los Angeles</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">” reignited the spirit of this town for me and my excitement to live here was revived.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">Sure, one of the coolest parts of being in LA is the weather (right by cool I didn't mean cold ;). That's only one of the joys. The west coast, particularly southern California, is also home to a slew of all things tiki.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">Within the last ten days I've had the pleasure of revisiting the first bar I went to as a native Angelino: the Tiki-Ti, LA's most awesome tiki bar on Sunset Blvd. An ex-pat colleague in NY sent me and then how about that, the people I became friends with out here were already loyal "Ti" fans. A few nights after a recent visit there, I dined at a new Trader Vic’s up the street from my apartment in downtown LA. It's true, any time I have a chance to visit a tiki-themed place – with its exotic retro vibe, gigantic (and potent!) tropical drinks and enchanting music – I go.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">According to Wikipedia, “Tiki culture refers to a 20th-century theme used in Polynesian-style restaurants and clubs originally in the United States and then, to a lesser degree, around the world...inspired in part by tiki carvings and mythology.”</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">Well for some reason I’ve always been tickled by Polynesian Pop culture. This may have started as a kid while excitedly sharing a pupu platter at a loosely-Asian NJ restaurant with my family. But I know it especially gained steam when my dad took my sister and I to Disney World for a stay at the still-awesome Polynesian Resort hotel. That über-themed fortress is listed as one of the top tiki destinations in the country, complete with authentic luau dinners on the lovely artificial lake's shores. However, for the purposes of this blog – and selfishly because I live out here – the listing of top tiki places to eat, drink and shop contained in this post are well, all out west too. The destinations are listed in order of proximity to downtown LA (timed without traffic), and each place is linked to its own website.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><br /></span></div><div> </div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">So please enjoy this list, and feel free to add comments if I’ve missed any important place in the vicinity. Then I invite you to try one of these gems or try them all. Some serve food but all serve drinks. Some are better than others. I’ve tried a few as noted below, but certainly not many. And heck, discovering that "Don the Beachcomber" is still alive and well (even if not a true original location), and that it's only 36 minutes from home, means that particular stop on my tiki trail will soon be checked off that list.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><br /></span></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">1. GET YOUR TIKI DRINK ON ... and sometimes food too</span></b></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">(All locations are in California unless otherwise noted, distance is from downtown LA)</span></i></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><br /></span></div><div><a href="http://www.tradervics.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><b>Trader Vics</b></span></a></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">Location: Downtown at LA Live, our pre-fab Times Square • Distance: 0 min.</span></div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">Great atmosphere. Food and drink are hit and miss, with the hits being very good. Now a nationwide chain, the music piped into the dining room is more Applebee's and less Tahiti.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><br /></span></div><div><a href="http://www.tiki-ti.com/pages/home.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><b>Tiki Ti</b></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">Location: Hollywood (per them; I say they're in Los Feliz or Silverlake) • Distance: 10 min.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">Open Wednesday thru Saturday only, cash only, smoking allowed. No wine or beer. </span><a href="http://www.saveur.com/article/Wine-and-Drink/Spirits-of-Polynesia"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">Profiled in the Saveur March issue</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">. Don't let the rules scare you, it's a treat and an honor! The original proprietor, Ray Buhen, was one of the original bartenders at Don the Beachcomber. His son Michael and his grandsons Mike and Mark run the Tiki-Ti in Ray's memory today.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><br /></span></div><div><a href="http://www.damonsglendale.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><b>Damon’s Steak House</b></span></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">Location: Glendale • Distance: 15 min.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">I was quite psyched to visit this restaurant in sleepy Glendale for its reputation of tiki decor and steak. Both were just okay.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><br /></span></div><div><a href="http://www.bahooka.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><b>Bahooka Ribs & Grog</b></span></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">Location: Rosemead • Distance: 22 min.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">With a name like that, how can you not visit! A real trooper since 1967, when I visited two years ago their bar was cozy small, their decor looked a little worse for wear, and my friends as usual adored their baked ham steak.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><br /></span></div><div><a href="http://www.myspace.com/pukabar"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><b>Puka Bar</b></span></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">Location: Long Beach • Distance: 22 min.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><br /></span></div><div><a href="http://donthebeachcomber.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><b>Don the Beachcomber</b></span></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">Location: Huntington Beach (a.k.a. Sunset Beach) • Distance: 36 min.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">"If you can't get to paradise, I'll bring it to you," Donn Beach – the founding father of tiki restaurants, bars and nightclubs – always said to his customers. His first venture was a bar in Hollywood in 1934. After an expansion of 16 locations, the original restaurants all closed and this lone location was repurposed in 2009 from an unrelated seafood restaurant. It serves only a handful of the 84 tropical drinks Donn Beach invented.<br /><br /></span></div><div><a href="http://www.tongahut.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><b>The Tonga Hut</b></span></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">Location: North Hollywood • Distance: 22 min.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><br /></span></div><div><a href="http://www.frankiestikiroom.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><b>Frankie’s Tiki Room</b></span></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">Location: Las Vegas, NV • Distance: 4.5 hours</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><br /></span></div><div><a href="http://www.hulastiki.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><b>Hula’s Island Grill & Tiki Room</b></span></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">2 Locations: Santa Cruz + Monterey</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">2 Distances: 6 hours, 2 min. + 5 hours, 51 min.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><br /></span></div><div><a href="http://www.forbiddenislandalameda.com/fi/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><b>Forbidden Island Tiki Lounge</b></span></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">Location: Alameda • Distance: 6 hours, 6 min.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><br /></span></div><div><a href="http://www.konaclub.net/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><b>Kona Club</b></span></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">Location: Oakland, CA • Distance: 6 hours, 5 min.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><br /></span></div><div><a href="http://www.tongaroom.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><b>The Tonga Room & Hurricane Bar</b></span></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">Location: San Francisco • Distance: 6 hours, 18 min.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">Not your average tiki bar, this place is fancy and located in a Fairmont Hotel. It's practically Disney-esque! And that's okay, because the Tonga Room was one of the nation's first tiki palaces. It opened in 1945 and has since been refurbished. It looks amazing, and I definitely need to go there!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><br /></span></div><div><a href="http://www.kontikitucson.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><b>Kon Tiki Lounge</b></span></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">Location: Tuscon, AZ • Distance: 8 hours</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><br /></span></div><div><a href="http://portland.citysearch.com/profile/44696190/portland_or/thatch_tiki_bar.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><b>Thatch</b></span></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">Location: Portland, OR • Distance: 16 hours</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">Looks like a place I would visit once and never leave! Next trip north, I am there. Oh and I'd be flying there, btw, not driving.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><br /></span></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">2. BUY TIKI STUFF!</span></b></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><div><a href="http://www.soapplant.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><b>Wacko</b></span></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">Location: Hollywood • Distance: 11 min.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">This is a very fun store! Besides random tiki items, other wares include art books, crazy handbags and bacon-scented band-aids.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><div><a href="http://losangeles.citysearch.com/profile/101546/west_hollywood_ca/lemon_tree_bungalow.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><b>Lemon Tree Bungalow</b></span></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">Location: Santa Monica • Distance: 16 min.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><br /></span></div></span></span></div></span></span></div><div><a href="http://www.oceanicarts.net/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><b>Oceanic Arts</b></span></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">Location: Whittier • Distance: 25 min.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><br /></span></div><div><a href="http://www.yelp.com/biz/bamboo-ben-huntington-beach"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><b>Bamboo Ben</b></span></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">Location: Huntington Beach • Distance: 43 min.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></b></span></div><div><a href="http://www.tikifarm.com/index.asp"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><b>The Tiki Farm</b></span></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">Location: San Clemente • Distance: 1 hour, 14 min.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><div><a href="http://www.shagthestore.com/#"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><b><br />Shag the Store!</b></span></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">Location: Palm Springs • Distance: 1 hour, 50 min.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">Opening May 8, 2010! This is great news for fans (like me) of this retro tiki-inspired art master.</span></div></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">All right now, that’s a lot of tiki! Enjoy it responsibly.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">Until we eat again,</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">Marly</span></div>Marlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784997998733075320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7125540994252535150.post-87156619096480178382010-03-09T13:12:00.000-08:002010-03-10T10:12:33.725-08:00Europe Food!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4BwlPwqt2xc13hDo56JfxvB6oICwTCEyp_mAEVBz5pOBPpWYK-Kk-yvjsfYIwS9Wh-QOOMvTbyNreCulHi80qiGfUQ9i5NM2YNmsHn2rKNAGRL-mABUrD0gAlYH19NrtsWw5FazrMfm4J/s1600-h/yogurt+top.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4BwlPwqt2xc13hDo56JfxvB6oICwTCEyp_mAEVBz5pOBPpWYK-Kk-yvjsfYIwS9Wh-QOOMvTbyNreCulHi80qiGfUQ9i5NM2YNmsHn2rKNAGRL-mABUrD0gAlYH19NrtsWw5FazrMfm4J/s400/yogurt+top.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446758972120104242" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br />Bonjour and Hallo!</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">Last week I returned from my 8th trip to Europe, and I wondered... Why do I keep going back to that part of the world? Well, it is awesome, but one of the main reasons is I’ve always had amazing experiences and discoveries centering around the food. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">While I think my next trip may be to some new place, it’s always a treat to be in Europe, where the food is so fresh and less processed that it simply tastes better than food I experience day-to-day here.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">So here is a list of some of the cool food we recently ate in Europe. If something is available in the U.S. I’ll mention it, otherwise you’ll just have to book a flight soon!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-weight:bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">The List (with matching photos!):</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfk39KRpW2q7sVypzZ6Ba0CSMaoO-aumkmc-ruLcal19OowhDe6tnu12K5W-77GN_czHAHMfvHf2lUVcqg0a8rd4TW4arnXKtE_Yeue03DO90EKlyfF4dDhtaQoZ66C04TM2BCCjpIS6si/s1600-h/haggis.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfk39KRpW2q7sVypzZ6Ba0CSMaoO-aumkmc-ruLcal19OowhDe6tnu12K5W-77GN_czHAHMfvHf2lUVcqg0a8rd4TW4arnXKtE_Yeue03DO90EKlyfF4dDhtaQoZ66C04TM2BCCjpIS6si/s200/haggis.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446748783687692482" /></a></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">1. Haggis</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"> – Pork parts, potatoes and spices finely mashed up like corned beef hash. Tastier than expected, my brain still couldn’t fully release the reality of my consumption, so I ate only a little. Or maybe I wasn't feeling too bad about it until the LAX customs guys forced me to a read the ingredients from a souvenir can of haggis brought back for a friend. That I could definitely have done without. Yes, ignorance is bliss!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsesen4uWd6vvtczbNoAzpMRLs7UnOUdVoIWVqZdTXCytWBcJgX5fsTpw1Yi0zXd5KljU8sBtmj8trEEDKmPXgKagsn0IExtnKjfGJvJTEjKGBdkoek1DVAtVx5MNZuKphWJ-GY14cD7U5/s1600-h/kouign+amman.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsesen4uWd6vvtczbNoAzpMRLs7UnOUdVoIWVqZdTXCytWBcJgX5fsTpw1Yi0zXd5KljU8sBtmj8trEEDKmPXgKagsn0IExtnKjfGJvJTEjKGBdkoek1DVAtVx5MNZuKphWJ-GY14cD7U5/s200/kouign+amman.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446748925390363490" /></a></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">2. Kouign Amann</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"> – The reputation of this Breton butter cake entered my consciousness before I even tasted it. How could a cake made with mainly sugar, butter and pastry baked into a caramelized crunchy buttery mass not have that effect on the human brain? Now I’ve had the pleasure of eating this twice. Once at </span><a href="http://bldrestaurant.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">BLD</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"> in Los Angeles, where it’s offered at brunch (I got it to go and ate it cold, not smart) and then in Paris again last week (hallelujah!). I found it peering out from behind more aggressive treats in a bake shop window and whirled in with my Euros. It took me three days to eat it due to its sultry artery-hardening richness. Yes, it was worth the wait. If you buy one at BLD, make sure to eat it there and ask for it warmed.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhtWcVhOMZG5mLPymAXtZPSTDSegXyTw-8stNOwBz8tB4zZds3PiIg7ZLEB8mAnOIi-rN_l2re8sKcN9ut37gch2YLxIWnx6A0djbbsFpz1i5v_Zpfr4zpRWRhVYjfNSYu_YhkZqvwyXUh/s1600-h/breakfast.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhtWcVhOMZG5mLPymAXtZPSTDSegXyTw-8stNOwBz8tB4zZds3PiIg7ZLEB8mAnOIi-rN_l2re8sKcN9ut37gch2YLxIWnx6A0djbbsFpz1i5v_Zpfr4zpRWRhVYjfNSYu_YhkZqvwyXUh/s200/breakfast.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446749185012953266" /></a></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">3. A non-continental complimentary hotel breakfast</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"> – That’s right, the breakfast that is included has serious meats and cheeses, soft-boiled eggs, country breads and apricot juice to go with the standard orange and grapefruit. This is what I want for my country! Real food in this scenario, with less crappy carbs and more protein deliciousness. Thank you.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga-WafKtsVNIulGf1crvEpBa-MBnOCbc7PkIJtwIUsdimXs7oMJhEpy0m9Qev8piKYnDXaErg6Nnvl50VqEgyO_PuOdqk7WfHUG98UZcxlg2XB6GnSIMHwBA-gHB3JinM_0fLzN7UHf_wh/s1600-h/crepe.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga-WafKtsVNIulGf1crvEpBa-MBnOCbc7PkIJtwIUsdimXs7oMJhEpy0m9Qev8piKYnDXaErg6Nnvl50VqEgyO_PuOdqk7WfHUG98UZcxlg2XB6GnSIMHwBA-gHB3JinM_0fLzN7UHf_wh/s200/crepe.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446752913102427058" /></a></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">4. Classic, simple French crepes</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"> – Made to order from a street vendor and handed over soft and steamy, the minimal additions of butter and sugar are the way to go here. Forget the Nutella or ham and cheese options (or save that for your second one). As a first taste, the most true to form is having it this way. It's all you need in the crepe department.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJgDWCn2Epun7iRn4C2N__lGgy7zCrq-2QjsUv_lrIxrF6vFHqSidK7TMMGXHi4riOff1K7oys0brn33v3NFw0i73fhuqbz-M9Bs74LUbKfUAR030lpBSh-ZsyljF4rupLVd9elA-MJcsr/s1600-h/eggs+benedict.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJgDWCn2Epun7iRn4C2N__lGgy7zCrq-2QjsUv_lrIxrF6vFHqSidK7TMMGXHi4riOff1K7oys0brn33v3NFw0i73fhuqbz-M9Bs74LUbKfUAR030lpBSh-ZsyljF4rupLVd9elA-MJcsr/s200/eggs+benedict.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446750202046672738" /></a></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">5. Eggs Benedict sandwich</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"> – Imagine an English muffin of sorts with herbed hollandaise-infused scrambled eggs and an unprocessed, fantastic slab of country ham. This was only $4 and didn't contain a tower of eggs to over-fill me before a flight. Original in flavor with great ingredients, this was a big fat yes.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivkuf-cIt_UG8znN_NEenSDziF3eLNyzMIARE9yGJ2a5wZrMDr_RF0ZWG6aH6hsKyxrRcUVZrgU1Pi1IKAXw9d-q6HcP3ylprT3y8h-upBpQufYfnae5320-rfOD5hmmFg_SgJPxfSklL4/s1600-h/crisps.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 148px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivkuf-cIt_UG8znN_NEenSDziF3eLNyzMIARE9yGJ2a5wZrMDr_RF0ZWG6aH6hsKyxrRcUVZrgU1Pi1IKAXw9d-q6HcP3ylprT3y8h-upBpQufYfnae5320-rfOD5hmmFg_SgJPxfSklL4/s200/crisps.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446750347232186898" /></a></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">6. Fun-flavored potato chips!</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"> – The people from Great Britain have always had it right. Instead of the typical BBQ, cheddar, and sour cream and chive, flavors include lamb with mint sauce, roast beef with mustard, smoked ham and pickle, prawn cocktail and the hysterical haggis.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZuu09YMGPzULrl0QL6j6Kxk24fpGRyKblkYH-dGY-MoggpPGRTjWkonD3v5_oumucSfWNeLMj1laFL-G6iaiG0h_YqiuJvndmHH_IkC2gotxZgybVhKYQNcAsnN8lrBkJm6hUCaAonIUM/s1600-h/laderach.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZuu09YMGPzULrl0QL6j6Kxk24fpGRyKblkYH-dGY-MoggpPGRTjWkonD3v5_oumucSfWNeLMj1laFL-G6iaiG0h_YqiuJvndmHH_IkC2gotxZgybVhKYQNcAsnN8lrBkJm6hUCaAonIUM/s200/laderach.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446750460571536162" /></a></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">7. Amazing chocolate</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"> – Beyond the Swiss brands of Cailler, Lindt and Frey selling specialty bars at the supermarket, the fresh chocolate from Läderach is saturated with whole caramelized almonds or hazelnuts. The Zurich-bought stash hidden in my desk is almost gone and I may have to wear black tomorrow to mourn it.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQyrIrk65Qkpr6atwIDPTDjr5HtPNGdT4gl0u5vxmv-LlunYIvrICvTShOF7uFwhj5lY6MqXjSI46P4a_ayNW0dm42A8DCtyxapk7vTv8qsmAI1y1YRmrrn8kzWkfup2PrS4H-nD5i9n0T/s1600-h/Indian+takeaway.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQyrIrk65Qkpr6atwIDPTDjr5HtPNGdT4gl0u5vxmv-LlunYIvrICvTShOF7uFwhj5lY6MqXjSI46P4a_ayNW0dm42A8DCtyxapk7vTv8qsmAI1y1YRmrrn8kzWkfup2PrS4H-nD5i9n0T/s200/Indian+takeaway.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446750567005229330" /></a></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">8. Interesting foods at the market</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"> – At M&S Market in Edinburgh, they had pretty ingenious fresh meals to go. They also had some frozen items I’d never seen, specifically international take out dinner kits. You could pick Chinese Favourites or Indian Takeaway, all filled with six different items from appetizers to mains, for about $15. Talk about a dinner time saver! Why didn’t we think of that?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisQNo3YCNpvaKyQQ5WCm_-17Dt8I8D2OQjQpX7LmksG0Do7lXOcT2bxwn5jJuOLLCxmz08Y3peJtXD3ZeDDxDuSB1zp21yjX57L2Mxq7Y1UqZl8pBuSJI3sigE-x0MtsQUW33TiHcVZZew/s1600-h/FR+yogurt.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisQNo3YCNpvaKyQQ5WCm_-17Dt8I8D2OQjQpX7LmksG0Do7lXOcT2bxwn5jJuOLLCxmz08Y3peJtXD3ZeDDxDuSB1zp21yjX57L2Mxq7Y1UqZl8pBuSJI3sigE-x0MtsQUW33TiHcVZZew/s200/FR+yogurt.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446750756208463570" /></a></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">9. Better tasting, more natural yogurt</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"> – Oh my in Switzerland and France you cannot imagine how much good yogurt is available. There are tons of flavors to choose from, with less processed sugar and more purposeful probiotics. At the Basel train station I picked up a cup of Nestle passion fruit<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"> yogurt, which was so tasty when finished I had no choice but to get every bit off the lid (see top photo). Christy said the vanilla yogurt made by Emmi tasted like custard. Emmi yogurt is for sale in Los Angeles at </span><a href="http://www.cheesestoresl.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">The Cheese Store of Silverlake</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"> at Sunset Junction.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk9yIJ8V7SEGNEqZh2I1vD_WLwPruAaaTUZlh2QViBx43ok6nA-pdY7Fz39ek2nxC9mnlsr0PRFCH8FrfpIK29BDUviDSZBgR7ZqJ-0arVauX_sVcFMuvPhQTgqs1HpDCQH8v0hWYczCbP/s1600-h/macarons.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk9yIJ8V7SEGNEqZh2I1vD_WLwPruAaaTUZlh2QViBx43ok6nA-pdY7Fz39ek2nxC9mnlsr0PRFCH8FrfpIK29BDUviDSZBgR7ZqJ-0arVauX_sVcFMuvPhQTgqs1HpDCQH8v0hWYczCbP/s200/macarons.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446751052319146946" /></a></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">10. French macarons from the source</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"> – When I first tasted a chocolate-passion fruit macaron by Pierre Hermé in 2005 (check out his new book, </span><a href="http://www.thegastronomersbookshelf.com/489_macaron-pierre-herme-2008-fr-full"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">Macaron</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">), I had no idea that every macaron-maker in the world would be copying his flavor combos and selling them off as their own. French macarons have become known in the U.S., but you have to be careful of bakers over here who use too much sugar. Plus, the flavors are often the same: chocolate, lemon, raspberry, pistachio, vanilla, coffee, strawberry. In fact, macarons have become so ubiquitous here that I even noticed my local Starbucks selling a pack of them for $10. Well, at Pierre Hermé this year they sadly didn’t have my favorites from 2005: the apricot or the olive oil. But they did have the rose and the chocolate-passion fruit, AND they had weird new flavors which boggled the mind: wasabi and balsamic vinegar. I feared these macarons, but I shouldn’t have. Where was all that Pierre Hermé trust? The new macaron flavors were phenomenal. The wasabi was subtle and had a dab of a mysterious red in the middle (see photo). It was divine. And the balsamic vinegar was just as subdued. This man is the master and I hope more area bakers will start mixing up the flavors to be a little more exotic, too.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlvTSVu2c0RQL2ZTxKv0TpE7M7fWyIj5kI_m_ycuXow__qQcQIkqGWTifJM_3gu4YxCHCZ8O3kokJw7MmxmuDZ01fUlOB3VtI11kyVY1GH5HWDwGtrXAo4HI1o_P81umum0W2cIGIljx25/s1600-h/rosti.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlvTSVu2c0RQL2ZTxKv0TpE7M7fWyIj5kI_m_ycuXow__qQcQIkqGWTifJM_3gu4YxCHCZ8O3kokJw7MmxmuDZ01fUlOB3VtI11kyVY1GH5HWDwGtrXAo4HI1o_P81umum0W2cIGIljx25/s200/rosti.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446751225878881522" /></a></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">11. Rösti with fried egg</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"> – This Swiss specialty is basically just shredded potatoes sautéed into a cake, and in this version topped with two fried eggs. We ate it as an appetizer to cheese fondue and it is always a simple, delicious treat.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdXakFsqWa9lI6W3HD-pVaO_Qc_Acdhu3DEU6zdS7NH0N5Cf4exZCW_hODsXhOqYtHe8ZvQjjOGShax7GC_aFrHbSmDqjNT5OFvNLtXkbC903nVt_fSz0fdSh6rAcwHk5Q55vUgWkKVqbR/s1600-h/pretzel+sand.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdXakFsqWa9lI6W3HD-pVaO_Qc_Acdhu3DEU6zdS7NH0N5Cf4exZCW_hODsXhOqYtHe8ZvQjjOGShax7GC_aFrHbSmDqjNT5OFvNLtXkbC903nVt_fSz0fdSh6rAcwHk5Q55vUgWkKVqbR/s200/pretzel+sand.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446751896468104322" /></a></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">12. Ham and cheese sandwich</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"> (on baguette or pretzel roll) – This is tasty simplicity at its finest. Why? Because here is what’s on the bread: butter, ham and cheese. That’s it! Who needs tomato, lettuce, mayo, onions, peppers and some sort of globby dressing. You don’t need all that on a European sandwich. Why? Because the main ingredients are of such a high quality and taste so good, that’s why! And don’t you forget it!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL0OiO9iVaug-ndRgCY5bHeZlA03knx9J2tnRspxU87d8T6LoyI_mQgYftJ_5N58AcDQgXybOtn0GhqNtXkkW1xyq8jSd1Z4WYUzzdL73s38v3QZM-4ZfklEQCgmwhN-07rec7vPvVHX-P/s1600-h/fondue.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL0OiO9iVaug-ndRgCY5bHeZlA03knx9J2tnRspxU87d8T6LoyI_mQgYftJ_5N58AcDQgXybOtn0GhqNtXkkW1xyq8jSd1Z4WYUzzdL73s38v3QZM-4ZfklEQCgmwhN-07rec7vPvVHX-P/s200/fondue.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446751995691532898" /></a></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">13. Fondue</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"> – Yes you can get this in LA (</span><a href="http://www.opentable.com/rest_profile.aspx?rid=12040"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">Morels @ the Grove</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">), though the perfect fusing of cheeses along with the right kirsch vs. white wine ratio is too important to ignore. Fondue in Switzerland tastes amazing, with a smooth (not gummy), somewhat gritty consistency. It’s solely served with day old rustic bread. And it was worth the cholesterol, trust me, which is probably why I inadvertently ate this twice and have dreamed of it ever since. Enjoy it with some hoppy beer, or with a local Swiss white wine like a Fendant.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWRnQFmroMWTB7cdRoZrK6cvtuG4WQWEnpvlCjlaBIdyXyLXlKf6FsilP0u_yOcsOwdRlXfOdQq54yo-2uaB8sDuXShP3pMNglPZLM8y52poEKA9PkQJFDmNrwtNcTU1HLn9rPYPsBTmrq/s1600-h/raclette+spatzle.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWRnQFmroMWTB7cdRoZrK6cvtuG4WQWEnpvlCjlaBIdyXyLXlKf6FsilP0u_yOcsOwdRlXfOdQq54yo-2uaB8sDuXShP3pMNglPZLM8y52poEKA9PkQJFDmNrwtNcTU1HLn9rPYPsBTmrq/s200/raclette+spatzle.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446751339224181746" /></a></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">14. Raclette</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"> – You can buy this cheese at Trader Joe’s, or be invited to a Swiss person’s house for a Raclette party (this has happened to me). It’s sort of like fondue but more straight-up: there are no ingredients except CHEESE. It’s tasty. You eat it with something sturdy like potatoes or cornichons.</span></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">15. Spätzle</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"> - Literally translated from German as "little sparrow," this is a dish of tiny dumplings forced through a sieve and boiled before being tossed with butter and sometimes sautéed. (Appears in the right background in Raclette photo.)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQEOpv8jxhYzyNwY7G-CGadvxzfLEn_6mGj1P8MWMqgP1hlRHu5G0WVD8HWmxbuSnFfMWrvrO4LlV6ZGDwvKGAiInPr5wFlsbGALF91_pjOOi7LBwewSlCHVieYSj2y54pmUdEdqgdCvR2/s1600-h/shrimps.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQEOpv8jxhYzyNwY7G-CGadvxzfLEn_6mGj1P8MWMqgP1hlRHu5G0WVD8HWmxbuSnFfMWrvrO4LlV6ZGDwvKGAiInPr5wFlsbGALF91_pjOOi7LBwewSlCHVieYSj2y54pmUdEdqgdCvR2/s200/shrimps.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446751754778141762" /></a><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">16. International McDonald's</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"> – Whenever I’m overseas, I always stop into a local McDonald’s. Some things are the same, and almost always some things are different. Years ago in Vienna I remember a McPork sandwich, which was like a grilled chicken sandwich made with pork. Why do we have the need to cover up our pork in the U.S. with fried breading or McRib sauce? Over there you get the real deal. Now a few years ago in France I noticed more international flavors and breads brought in, with for instance an Italian burger on a ciabatta roll, and an Indian burger on a naan-like roll. Speaking of which, in Edinburgh I found an Indian twist on the snack wrap: the chicken tikka snack wrap. And in Zurich I had the pleasure of buying 6 whole, large fried “shrimps” with a mayo-based cocktail sauce and it was a nice addition.
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRcDVb5LvnSXLEjV4ZSJAam7sg4enur7MvDtse0kFtVuMX9Pxc5IKXHGT34eWJX4vDGDUFOH0GzaDIPqLjzkOr2tkNJM-8BfG171NYtq4XGvSxsUS_Sb2fXvNtlaapH5ziwodramCMDkO4/s1600-h/Tattie.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRcDVb5LvnSXLEjV4ZSJAam7sg4enur7MvDtse0kFtVuMX9Pxc5IKXHGT34eWJX4vDGDUFOH0GzaDIPqLjzkOr2tkNJM-8BfG171NYtq4XGvSxsUS_Sb2fXvNtlaapH5ziwodramCMDkO4/s200/Tattie.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446752167708986562" /></a><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">17. Tattie scones</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"> – OMG, I’ve been dreaming of this breakfast wonder since first trying it in Belfast in 2000. As part of any respectable Irish or Scottish full breakfast, the tattie scone is simply a potato scone, looks like a pita but is heartier (at 12:00 on the plate), and is sautéed in the pan. I have no idea where to get this in Los Angeles, so I guess I’ll just have to make some myself. It sure won’t be the same, though, as enjoying it as part of a full Scottish breakfast in a sleepy pub on a chilly Edinburgh morning.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">Until we eat again,</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">Marly</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div>Marlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784997998733075320noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7125540994252535150.post-28004393171774661052010-01-13T13:22:00.000-08:002010-01-15T15:47:23.966-08:00Road Trip<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOOWVtaiBxsOVIF5LrnGy8JA73x3h_KsYGkfFaKfOHK8oEjih_g2sH5nKQaCDq4kz6DFrM-AEPIXHg6ktSXFOoDaLTc0tsqfvHY6SgkTHrf91CvLdc1FEYmcOzcmNVL9y2iyyRlJVQjg-I/s1600-h/Pie+shot.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 217px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOOWVtaiBxsOVIF5LrnGy8JA73x3h_KsYGkfFaKfOHK8oEjih_g2sH5nKQaCDq4kz6DFrM-AEPIXHg6ktSXFOoDaLTc0tsqfvHY6SgkTHrf91CvLdc1FEYmcOzcmNVL9y2iyyRlJVQjg-I/s320/Pie+shot.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426337950038824994" /></a><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Ever since my first trip to Seattle I’ve been inspired by local foods, as unique menu treasures from non-ubiquitous local restaurants are hard to come by in the urban centers I’ve long lived in.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Right now I’m thinking about Seattle chef Tom Douglas’s triple coconut cream pie, from Dahlia Lounge, a dessert epiphany that I was lucky enough to experience for the first time years ago while exploring that fine food city.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">The small successes you encounter in faraway restaurants are the parts you take home. Once you get back to your roost you’ll very likely share those discoveries with friends and colleagues, and if anyone hits the road themselves, if they don’t track down that wonderful place or menu item you found it’s easy to want to hurt them!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">These thoughts have come to pass because a few weekends ago to ring in the new year I had the pleasure of driving up the California coast with Christy. What a wonderful reminder of why I moved to this great state. There is so much beauty to see, and it’s all so accessible.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">We started in Pismo Beach with a pre-“Avatar” dinner at a local seafood spot called <a href="http://www.steamerspismobeach.com/">Steamers</a>. My shrimp scampi was quite good, refined and flavorful and for the right price. Christy’s linguini with clams tasted great, although it took her a good 20 minutes to dig 100 tiny clams out of their shells before digging in.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">The next day we couldn’t get into a sold-out Hearst Castle, so instead – since there were two full days left in the holiday weekend – we set our compass north. I imagined the map of the state in my mind, searching for a fun locale due north. Suddenly the Napa Valley exploded into my consciousness. It’s so close! And I’d wanted for a long time to visit the <a href="http://www.oxbowpublicmarket.com/">Oxbow Public Market</a>, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">a fairly new food hall similar to the luminous </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><a href="http://www.ferrybuildingmarketplace.com/">Ferry Building</a> in San Francisco.</span></div><div><a href="http://www.ferrybuildingmarketplace.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">We called en route and found out the market closed at 7:00pm, so we hauled ass. Even though we got there at 6:45pm, most of the food stalls were already closed, but that's okay. At least we got to see the place. It's nice! And this was very cool too, right next door to the market was a new branch of </span><a href="http://taylorsautomaticrefresher.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Taylor's Automatic Refresher</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">—also in the Ferry Building, also in St. Helena—that fantastic local retro hamburger stand.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Next up, it was time to finally check out the <a href="http://www.bountyhunterwine.com/">Bounty Hunter</a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">, a hot wine bar that had just opened in downtown Napa back when I was taking a one-week course at the <a href="http://www.ciachef.edu/california/">Culinary Institute of America at Greystone</a>. That was in 2004, and the course was called the Professional Business of Wine. I went with the intention of seeing if this was a career path I should consider more seriously, and also thought it would be a fun way to explore Napa with my classmates.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">No such luck, on both fronts:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">1) I enjoyed the class, yet couldn’t wrap my head around the growing principles of vines and grapes. Then in the tasting portion of class, I couldn't shake my <a href="http://www.windowswineschool.com/">Kevin Zraly's Windows on the World Wine School</a> training, which taught me to lose all pretention about wine and simply know what I like vs. what I don’t in the most general terms. Here, my classmates imagined tasting things I couldn’t imagine! They took a sip and in one wine tasted McIntosh apple and Greengage plum. They tasted fancy things in other wines like lemongrass, papaya and black pepper, even hybrid fruit like pluots. Poppycock! I tasted… grapes! Rich, jammy, bitter, tannic, dry, berry, smoky, apple, lemon, butter, caramel… in the wine. I was not able to taste Greengage plum in the wine. Come on!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">2) My class was very small, with about seven people, and they didn’t care to have group activities after class. Except one lady said I could join her cadre at the then new Bounty Hunter, but it felt like a pity invite only, so I declined.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Instead I did my own thing and wandered into <a href="http://www.cindysbackstreetkitchen.com/">Cindy's Backstreet Kitchen</a>, located, um, actually on a backstreet parallel to the main street of St. Helena. This place was wonderful, in a converted two-story house, and I grabbed a seat at the bar. The bartender was a fantasy version of a man, a guy you'd want to talk to every day from now until forever, although an hour on that evening was good enough for me. All the food I ordered tasted perfectly amazing, yet the wine business not being for me really hit home that night when my appetizer order of a pan-sautéed artichoke with a glass of </span><a href="http://www.maison-trimbach.com/gb/-gewurztraminer.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Trimbach Gewurtraminer</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"> to start was rejected by the bartender because “the artichoke is going to kill that wine.” I love sautéed artichokes, I adore Trimbach’s Gewurtraminer which is rarely on a restaurant menu by the glass, and I did not want to annoy this handsome bartender. But I held my ground and ordered it anyway. Of course he was right, as were the teenage weaned-on-wine busboys who giggled when I went ahead with the order and painfully realized my mistake. It’s ok though, my basic grilled chicken BLT with spiced fries was the best sandwich I’d had in years and years. So flavorful! And the campfire pie for dessert was so original, so incredible. Sure I lived in the great restaurant town of New York then, but finding a place like Cindy’s there was next to impossible because restaurants like that are only found on the road.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">The next day after class I was invited by a cute blonde classmate to join him in Calistoga, up Rt. 29 by bus, to kick around a bit before he headed off to a softball game with his Calistoga friends. We perused a market in that town while discussing cheeses and local potato chips, bought fun sodas and finally walked to his friend’s place after openly dreaming of owning our own wine stores. This was the kind of post-class day I’d been looking for, though it ended too soon. He and his friends had to go! They told me to hop in the jeep and they’d drive me back to St. Helena, I could have dinner while they practiced, then they told me where to find them later to watch the game.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">We hopped into the jeep with the top down and sailed south on the Silverado Trail, passing field after gorgeous field of grapes, where they and their vines lived in peace. The sun was shining on pretty green landscape as I’d never seen. When the guys dropped me off at Taylor’s Automatic Refresher I was pretty happy since they’d talked it up a lot and I’d never heard of it. Turns out the jeep driver used to work there, and he went up to the counter and ordered for me before waving goodbye and driving off with my classmate. My cheeseburger with sweet potato fries and a glass of red wine were not only of the highest quality, they were also on the house. I wandered over to the softball game about an hour later, and the experience was right out of a Norman Rockwell painting. This world was so serene and strange. I loved it, but it was also a bit lonely since I was there on my own and at this point doubted my ability to make a living there in the Napa Valley wine world (Greengage plum??).</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">So a few weeks ago, I was taken back to all this as Christy and I drove to dinner at the Bounty Hunter, although we didn't end up eating there and that's okay with me. See our trip to the wine country was an impulse and we never expected to find ourselves up there dressed in jeans and sweatshirts. From the moment we entered the Bounty Hunter bar there were looks and stares from the help, and it wasn't pleasant. We left without sitting down and drove up Rt. 29 to find another place, anything, and we drove past the Oakville Grocery, past the standby restaurants Brix and Mustards, past the flagship Dean & Deluca, and past all the wineries with their trees still wrapped in tiny glowing Christmas lights. We passed a new place I hadn’t seen before called the </span><a href="http://www.hillstone.com/#/restaurants/rutherfordGrill/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Rutherford Grill</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">, from the Houston’s folks which I will plan to visit some time in the future. And finally we came upon the original Taylor’s Automatic Refresher, at which I’d had that delicious gourmet burger meal in 2004, and once you hit that you know you’re in St. Helena.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">St. Helena was a bit too sleepy at 9:00pm on a Saturday night, so we decided to keep driving for our dinner. In the car I pointed out where Cindy’s was, along with the expansive Beringer winery, and finally we drove through the line of old oak trees that lead up to the majestic Culinary Institute of America. Five minutes later we arrived in the quaint western-style town of Calistoga, and it looked so charming at night that we decided to dine at the lovely </span><a href="http://www.calistogainn.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Calistoga Inn</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Our repast complete, we drove through Healdsburg at around 10:30pm, home of the </span><a href="http://www.kj.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Kendall Jackson Winery</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"> tasting room. What an amazing town this was! Hadn’t been that north before. It was late, so we decided to come back the next day to walk around. The next morning we drove through California’s southernmost redwood forest park. We proceded south along the foggy Pacific coast winding down through Mendocino. The coastline sure is a sight to see.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Back in Healdsburg we ventured into the Kendall Jackson tasting room because KJ's Vintner's Reserve Chardonnay was the first wine I tasted and loved as an adult. We sampled some interesting wines not available in Los Angeles stores, served to us by "Uncle Bill." Throughout the tasting I threw out some wine facts from my wine school days and Uncle Bill was impressed. Maybe I was too hard on myself in 2004. Maybe it was a matter of simple intimidation, since the people in Napa seemed to know so much more than me. Now I realize I know enough to get by in that world; the key is to forget all pretention and just keep on tasting.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Now it was Sunday early afternoon and time to head back to Los Angeles. We drove south and decided to have lunch in Hayward, California, just south of Oakland, to hit up </span><a href="http://www.buffalobillsbrewery.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Buffalo Bill’s Brewery</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">. I've had their excellent beer in LA, and imagined lunch at the brewery would be an amazing foodie adventure. Actually the food was kinda bleh, but let’s face it, we were there for the beer. Pity they were out of their fantastic orange blossom cream ale. Instead we ordered the renowned pumpkin ale (still have some bottles in my fridge from October) and that was good yet it was the unfiltered </span><a href="http://www.buffalobillsbrewery.com/beers_tap.asp"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Hayward Hefe</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"> on tap that rocked our world. For a repeat of that experience, we will indeed have to drive back up to Hayward.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Which we may get to do this weekend. We’re heading up to Oakland to explore the foodie-dom of that little gem of a town. Ok, it’s a big and sometimes rough city, however its growing food offerings should not be ignored, and there are little restaurants popping up that I'm fairly confident don’t exist in Los Angeles. Yep in order to find those, we’ll have to hit the road again.</span></div>Marlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784997998733075320noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7125540994252535150.post-26886137138658796862009-10-01T11:07:00.001-07:002012-03-24T15:57:39.634-07:00Chocolate Show<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7uxp3dJ4UDjWWMKib3RrtsIf8_ssd_rkaQ6BEeCsokzZTYd2NaAWIAfVXJpCEyAOcBzWteY46cksZmKMklrkcQT83TBRXkwDyGscGI45X4Ic1exlPZDcav-9CETy2ULjZB-2GdEvnhT4l/s1600-h/nyborgnelson_2074_792190.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 125px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7uxp3dJ4UDjWWMKib3RrtsIf8_ssd_rkaQ6BEeCsokzZTYd2NaAWIAfVXJpCEyAOcBzWteY46cksZmKMklrkcQT83TBRXkwDyGscGI45X4Ic1exlPZDcav-9CETy2ULjZB-2GdEvnhT4l/s320/nyborgnelson_2074_792190.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387706237828705682" border="0" /></a> A chocolate show is a wonderful thing. Imagine your favorite thing to eat in the whole world and there's a convention about it, with every booth offering free samples of that thing. All people should go to a show featuring their favorite food once in their lives, yet unfortunately not all foods get their own show. Bacon probably wouldn't have its own show. Candy gets its own show sometimes. Chocolate has been getting its own show for years now. My first chocolate show was in November 1998 in New York, when I was a grad student in the Food Studies Master's degree program at NYU.<br /><br />The Food Studies department posted a notice for volunteers to help out at the popular New York Chocolate Show at Soho's regal Puck Building. The time required to serve was a full Saturday, and we put on white coats and assisted a certain famous French pastry chef during his live chocolate demonstrations. His desserts and cakes are always impressive, however this chef treated us volunteers with disdain that day. I think that's when I learned it's definitely fun to volunteer at a chocolate show, but it's even more fun to be a patron.<br /><br />Years later I received a complimentary ticket for the same show through the restaurant company I worked at, since one of our pastry chefs was a featured guest. Seeing the show as a human instead of a volunteer led to a higher level of satisfaction all around, as I was no longer chained to one corner of the room and could now explore freely. This was all good with the exception that I did not heed this warning:<br /><br />**Warning: Taste samples sporadically, not constantly, at a chocolate show or you will have extreme headaches**<br /><br />(Heck I still wouldn't take that advice. Never ask me to.)<br /><br />There was another chocolate show I attended with my old friend Chris probably around 2002 after we returned from a trip to Paris. But before I talk about that, let me mention that good chocolate is easy to find in Paris! Chris took me to <a href="http://www.groupe-bertrand.com/gb/angelina.php">Angelina’s</a> for their luxe hot chocolate poured from a porcelain pot, and we visited Michael Chaundon’s shop near the Eiffel Tower for cream-filled chocolates so fresh they must always be refrigerated.<br /><br />Right, so it was after Paris that Chris and I visited a New York chocolate show in a more intimate setting than the Puck Building, in some big gallery in Chelsea. There were some marvelous products at this show, including white chocolate bark with cherries, apricots and pistachios from France, painted artisinal bon bons from Japan and new flavors of Van Gogh chocolate vodka from The Netherlands. And yes, samples were plentiful!<br /><br />Now the weirdest chocolate show experience I ever had was in October 2005 in Sweden. I happened upon a crazy coincidence one day while researching an upcoming visit to Scandinavia. The purpose of the visit was two-fold: to taste real Danish pastries in Copenhagen, and to visit my Catherine-Deneuve-look-alike friend Kirsten in Oslo (we met at a New York barbecue when she offered me a piece of the lovely Swedish candy called Daim).<br /><br />After the flights were booked, I did a random online search for chocolate in Sweden. No, Sweden wasn't on the itinerary per se, but I planned to visit the Swedish town of Malmo for a few hours since it was the most accessible Swedish city near Copenhagen and I couldn’t eat Danish ALL the time so a short train trip to the most accessible part of Sweden made sense! So, the online search for "Sweden chocolate" resulted in a wonderful coincidence. During the time of my visit, there was going to be a CHOCOLATE SHOW IN MALMO, SWEDEN!<br /><br />The 30-minute train ride to Malmo went quickly and in the train station I bought a few Swedish chocolate bars for the wrappers (including the exquisitely wrapped Japonais bar), and promptly ignored the tons of licorice for sale (it’s a thing in Scandinavia, that licorice). Then with purpose and anticipation I walked, a good 30-minute walk, down the cold streets of Malmo to the old brick factory where the chocolate show would be. I found it! That felt awesome.<br /><br />There was a short line at the door, and the ticket taker was a very attractive Swedish man. (Did I ever tell you about the inherent attractiveness of Scandinavian people? It’s amazing, and as I would soon find out in Oslo, the Norwegians are just as attractive as the Swedes!) The Swedish man was in jeans and a big burly gray sweater, the kind of sweater that belongs at a cozy lodge with you and your (plural) hot toddies by the fire. He was blond, J Crew model-like but without a drip of pretention, and he smiled at me when I asked him if he spoke English.<br /><br />He nicely explained that the chocolate show ticket price was something like 25 euros. Ack! True I did come to Malmo for this chocolate show (as well as to visit Malmo's "famous International Market Square" down the street), but 25 euros compared to the $15 or even free admission I was used to for larger shows in New York felt like too much here. I mean, it’s not that I needed to go this show. I wanted to, if possible.<br /><br />I explained my situation to the handsome Swede, that I worked for a restaurant company and loved chocolate and went to many food shows and didn’t really need to see this one after all, thanks anyway. "Where did you travel from?" he asked. I said "Besides Copenhagen? I'm from New York City." Well that’s all it took for him to melt like a big piece of white chocolate in the sun. He lived in New York City once too! And he really wanted to talk to me about that. But what can you do, people kept interrupting, you know, to buy tickets for the chocolate show.<br /><br />This man graciously decided, under the circumstances, that I should be able to go to the show for free. Really? Wow thank you so much...I accepted the offer and went upstairs. The chocolate show was 1/30th the size of any show I’d been to. It was extremely intimate and lovely, and I deftly walked around the three little rooms in food-show-grazing style, popping through people and accepting the few samples offered. That said, I think I finished the show in 10 minutes. A little embarrassing, yes, but stalling was difficult due to the crowds so all I could really do was leave.<br /><br />Back downstairs he was surprised to see me so soon! I sincerely thanked him and then he wanted to hear what I thought about the show and wished to continue talking. So did I, then the admission line suddenly grew and he had to take tickets, even though he was flustered that this meant we had to stop chatting. I said “Listen I’m going to walk to the International Market Square which should be a few blocks that way and then will come back.” Relieved, he said okay. I walked a few blocks to that famous square, and immediately noticed that whoever wrote the promotional benefits of visiting Malmo and included the International Market Square as one of those benefits was high on aquavit. There was absolutely nothing to see, no special shops or restaurants or takeout places. The square was desolate, depressing, and kinda closed. Maybe because it was a Sunday? Anyway my little side trip to the square lasted about 30 seconds and then I turned back.<br /><br />On the walk back to the chocolate show I started to imagine what would happen if I lingered to chat up the chocolate show man. Well, we could have an adventure...he clearly wanted to talk more, so I could invite him to visit me in Copenhagen where I was staying for three more days and he would take the 30-minute train ride from Malmo and meet me for dinner and we would enjoy each other’s company and have drinks and then because I was a single female traveler alone in Scandinavia with a hotel room he might expect more and that might be too risky so..., so, hmm. Boy was he a lovely, intelligent and generous man, however my mind raced in über-precautionary mode. I had no idea what to do.<br /><br />When I got back to the old brick factory I stopped on the sidewalk and waved hello to him while he was exchanging money frantically with customers. He was very happy to see that I returned. I stood and waited. I got nervous. I imagined a conversation about meeting up later but with no expectations. I decided it was too weird to explain my vulnerabilities to a total stranger. Resolved to eat my dinner alone that night, I got his attention, pointed towards the train station and mouthed the words “I have to go,” then walked away watching him watch me, his frustration clear as he tried to catch me but in the end was trapped taking chocolate show money.<br /><br />I regret that I did not stay to get to know this person, who only knew me for a few minutes before sneaking me into his chocolate show. What had I been so worried about? He wanted to talk to someone from New York, to reminisce about his old home. Who knows what else, but that at least was real. It’s one of those things where in this day-and-age of Facebook I wish I knew his name because then I could “friend” him and explain why I up and left without a word that day in October 2005 when he worked at the Malmo chocolate show. Nah, I don't think people remember things like I do.<br /><br />Soon after I was reminded of some lessons: 1) Don't make assumptions about or decisions for other people because you have no idea what they're thinking, and 2) Don't think so much all the time, just go with life when it happens. At least right after seeing the show I had a moment to thank the man for his generosity and tell him how much I enjoyed it.<br /><br />I haven’t been to a chocolate show since, unless you call the visions of chocolate dancing around my mind each day a chocolate show.<br /><br />Until we eat again,<br />MarlyMarlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784997998733075320noreply@blogger.com6