I heart Carmine's, and now you know

Carmine’s is and always has been one of my favorite New York restaurants, and that’s surprising, since I’m not a person who particularly cares for “red sauce” Italian cuisine. As one of the city's busiest and most profitable dining establishments, this convivial family-style Southern Italian simply does it right. And as happy as I am out west, it’s a place I think about and miss quite a bit.

Owned by small restaurant group Alicart, Carmine’s has two Manhattan locations, my favorite being the newer, grander Times Square/Theater District one. Carmine’s had its following on the upper west side all along, but opening the second location in the early 90's in heavily trafficked real estate truly stoked their reputation. My office happened to be across the street at 1515 Broadway, so those were the years I fell in love with the place, and learned a few things about Carmine’s too:

1. Never attempt to dine there after a Wednesday or Saturday matinee, nor any time between Thanksgiving and New Year’s.
I say this because it’s just too dang crowded, though it should be noted: when you walk in the door and it's crowded – because it always is – that’s part of the charm. If you walk in feeling blah, you will soon feel un-blah. Walk in feeling dead, you will soon feel undead (hmm, metaphor doesn't really work here)...you will soon feel alive!

2. You can make new friends while waiting for a table at the bar if you order the calamari.
This is where “family-style” makes its first appearance. 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.

3. The bigger the group the better: try for more than two, and never go alone.
It’s more fun and more economical to go with a party of at least 3 or 4, or more. See, you may think $25.50 is crazy for an appetizer. But this feeds 8 people! In most city restaurants these days, entrees run $20-$40 and up per person. At Carmine’s most dishes cost somewhere in the mid-$20’s, the cost of a cheap NY entrée if you’re lucky, but these entrées serve 5. In fact, I once took some visiting friends from Norway with terrible jet lag who therefore only ate one piece each of my favorite chicken scarpiello. The leftovers fortuitously became all mine (no refrigerator in their hotel room) and I had lunch for 5 straight days. If you want leftovers, sure, go with one other person, but otherwise it really is fun to go with a group and get so much for so little.

4. Garlic is king.
Every dish has tons of it with no apologies, yet the kitchen never makes it overpowering. So even if you think you don’t have garlic breath, take advantage of the free mouthwash in the bathrooms and do your dining companions and yourself a favor.

5. The service is bawdy, which is part of the schtick.
The servers aren’t rude, just a little gruff and commanding. Go with it. They’ll take charge and you can relax. Hallelujah!

6. The atmosphere is alive.
Your psuedo-Italian family just invited you to dinner, and Sinatra is playing. Wine is poured into traditional tumblers instead of frou-frou glasses. The room is huge and dimly lit, old-world style. The décor warm, the energy electric. It's fabulous. If you'd rather have a quiet romantic dinner, take a short walk to restaurant row on 46th Street (between 8th & 9th Avenues).

7. The food is great, no matter what the food snobs say.
Between 2000-2006 I worked at a restaurant company, also near Carmine's, and my colleagues respected my taste as a foodie, but not after they heard that as a Zagat voter I consistently chose Carmine’s as one of my top 5 restaurants in the city. Yes, there are almost too many bastions of fine Italian dining in NY – Lattanzi, Il Mulino, Del Posto, even Da Silvano – but whatever, you can also have a casual Italian restaurant be just as good in its own way.

8. The menu never changes – what a relief!
Also when at the restaurant company, we had weekly meetings that included talks on how to increase food sales. It was here that I'd remind my colleagues – who liked to change our restaurants’ menus frequently – that Carmine’s is great because their menu is always the same, year after year, with the same dishes posted on the wall so you always know what to expect and can order your favorites again and again. Now to be fair, while Carmine's menu never changes, the prices have to every now and then, though I don't judge. Rent is high in Times Square.

9. You always leave with fond memories.
This is a big one. I have so many wonderful memories of dining at Carmine’s through the years. I could list them all for you, but that's ok. Instead, I'll tell you that whenever I’ve been there, for whatever the occasion and no matter whom I was with, I have always felt happy. My first time set this expectation up, perhaps, as I was a last-minute guest in a big group with a generous host and the big food platters kept coming. I grinned ear-to-ear for hours and thought in awe, "how did I get here?" The times after that, there was laughter and kinship and a feeling of total satisfaction I can't really explain. Maybe just seeing the shocked, joyful faces of guests in the restaurant when they see their first Carmine’s platter of food come to the table sums it up. It’s a big party that you’re a part of, and it won’t break the bank. And you can come back whenever you want! So whether at a table for two (which is not recommended) or a group of 8 or more, when you walk in the door at Carmine's you usually feel right at home...and if home also means getting drunk at the bar for an hour while you wait for a table, even better.

10. The food is consistently consistent, delicious and flavorful.
Why is this important item #10? Because as you can see, there are many reasons to love Carmine's besides the food, so it’s an added bonus that everything tastes great too. My favorite dishes have not changed much through the years, and here they are:
* Hot antipasto platter – many morsels sitting in a platter the size of a garbage can lid
* Carmine’s salad or special salad – when Caesar is not your mood
* Stuffed artichoke – huge, bread-crumby, lemony
* Spiedini a la romana – a loaf of bread with slices of melted mozzarella in between covered in a lemon butter caper sauce
* Chicken scarpiello – heavenly, different from any other, with a sweet & sour brown lemon rosemary garlic sauce and caramelized garlic cloves
* Chicken saltimbocca – my first saltimbocca experience, perfectly executed
* Sunday pasta special – 4 different homemade pastas in 4 scrumptious sauces
*Strawberry shortcake – the size of a small planet, or perhaps I exaggerate :)

11. As of this past December, people not in NY can try Carmine’s food too!
So after all that, the reason for this post today is that when I was in NY last month for Christmas, no I did not get to dine at Carmine’s. However when I walked by the Theater District location past their giant holiday crowd, in the window was this amazingly good news: “On Sale: Carmine’s Family Style Cookbook.” This means I can now make…You can now make...Carmine’s food at HOME! In LA or anywhere! Ahhhhh! :D

Can you tell this makes me happy? I am de-lir-i-ous. The one thing I fear in recommending the cookbook, though, is that regular home stovetops don’t give off the high heat level of a restaurant stovetop, so my chicken scarpiello chicken pieces may not achieve the same golden level of luscious caramelization needed to thrill. However now that I have the recipe for that ultimate favorite brown lemon rosemary garlic sauce, and all of their other recipes, 2009 promises to be the best year yet.

Until we eat again,
Marly

Yes I am REALLY surprised

Ok, so I am really surprised that there are things that I like, even love, in the food world that I thought I would never like, accept, or do. And some things I’m surprised about in general, that’s here too. So let's roll it.

1. I do not like home fries at breakfast, or ever. The only potato I tend to eat at breakfast is the McDonald’s hash brown. Flavorless, oily home fries on my breakfast egg plate are always ignored. Not the same at The Red Lion in Silver Lake. Their home fries, listed on the menu as German potatoes, are a steaming, glistening pile of flavor: sliced potatoes sautéed in some magic fat with onions and bacon. What you say? Most home fries are sautéed in fat with onions? Pah! You have no idea what you're talking about. The flavor on these is stupendous. I highly recommend, along with a low cholesterol exercise and diet plan after.

And while on the subject of breakfast…

2. I thought arriving at a local cult breakfast spot when the doors opened would guarantee an empty restaurant. Not so at Griddle Café in Hollywood, home of the 10”-larger-than-the-plate-it’s-served-on pancake stack (yes I measured). Getting up early one Saturday and driving to the corner of Sunset & Fairfax by 8:45am still resulted in a PACKED restaurant. Sure I’d heard about weekend waits if you arrive after 9:30-10am, but 8:45am?? These people weren’t partiers who never slept, they had bedhead and sweatshirts on. This was very surprising. And more about those pancakes, they look like they come in a stack of five, sometimes filled with pumpkin pie filling (or butterscotch chip/coconut/oat/pecans filling, or strawberry and frosted flakes filling, or many others) and everyone, including macho men, get their uneaten pancakes to go. If you saw these frisbees you’d get it. Which is probably why my waiter gave ME a hard time for not finishing my delicious only-one-on-the-plate gingerbread waffle. So I didn't cut it like the resident lumberjacks, so what. I prefer sleeping in anyway.

3. I love beer, and have had exquisite brew sensations in various corners of Europe: Munich, Paris, Copenhagen, Belfast, Berlin (see delicious photo of such above). And my favorite beer on local soil is a Blue Moon on tap or the occasional Hitachino Nest White Ale from Japan. Though sometimes, I actually prefer a nice cold pint of Miller Lite. Not because Miller is my last name, and not because I am white trash like some of you judgers are thinkin'! It's because at a recent happy hour at the 901 on Fig they had a decent selection of 2-for-1 pints and for some reason I went with the path of least resistance, the Miller Lite. That’s right, 2 pints for $4 (plus tip, every day, 4-8pm, you heard it here). Drinking it was easygoing, light and refreshing. Yes I love good beer and especially love a swell Belgian white ale or Hef, but sometimes the non-gourmet choice wins. No, not if that beer is say, a non-alcoholic Bitburger that's been sitting in a basement at a Berlin McDonald's for eternity, but yes when you're talking about a good old pint o' swill, which sometimes is a-okay.

Also on the subject of imbibing…

4. For some reason I didn’t realize this til recently… Who knew that cheap wine by the glass at one place can be leaps and bounds better than at another place. It’s true. I had no idea. Let's just say that my Chardonnay at Honda-Ya was drivel (their thing in all fairness is sake and ice cold beer), while the Chardonnay at Golden Gopher consistently pleases. In addition, the recently sampled Chardonnay at the 901 Bar & Grill was even better than at the Gopher. So don't continue on thinking all cheap wine at non-wine-ish restaurants is bad (hmm, maybe you never thought this; maybe it's just me), because seriously, some of it is pretty good.

5. As much as I hate eating peppers, it has been recently discovered that when they are grilled I can and do enjoy them. I still hate them raw, or when still in every frozen entrée item you make Lean Cuisine! But now this “hold the peppers” person is reconsidering that closed-minded habit.

6. If you eat a dish one time at a restaurant and don’t like it at all, if you go there again and try something different you may become a raging fan! This happened to me at Chano’s. The first time there I had some steak thing with cubed meat and it was a straight-up “eh.” (Note: if you didn’t know this about me, my preferred style of Mexican cuisine meat is shredded, never cubed. This also holds true at Chinese restaurants, where I will never order Kung Pao chicken for this very reason, as well as for that dish's inclusion of, uh...peppers.)

Sure it’s possible the cubed meat wasn’t the only issue with my first Chano’s visit. Turns out I was also stone-cold sober. See Chano’s is the place every college town has, that late-night spot where the food becomes more delicious the later it is and the drunker you get. Well a few weeks ago Neil and I went back to Chano’s after I’d had two fat glasses of Chardonnay in me. I quickly declined ordering anything at the drive-thru, while Neil ordered his standard carne asada burrito. It smelled so good in the car and he offered me a taste. I took a bite and was wa-wowed with a capital W-W. Intrigued by this now, I started to peek inside the bitten burrito when Neil exclaimed, "Don't look! Don't look inside!" "Why not?" I asked. He wouldn't say, but later confessed he didn't want me to discover any fat on the meat, a highly probable thing in a Chano's burrito, and a known verboten thing on Planet Marly. It's true, seeing any fat in the burrito would have negated the whole damn experience. So I didn't look, and Neil took his late-night snack back and then for some silly reason (perhaps it’s called trust?) he left me in the car alone with the burrito for a moment and there I was sans witnesses with a miracle of shredded beef strips and cilantro and tomatoes. Yum! (My bites were small enough so he wouldn’t notice how much I ate, and then I sadly gave it back to him.) Was it the wine that changed my Chano’s tune or was it the menu item selected by a true Chano’s patron? Whatever the case, I’ll be going back, and if I get the carne asade burrito I will take Neil’s advice to never look inside it and just eat it.

7. Who doesn’t love brownies! Well I love them too, and making them, especially from scratch. So would you believe that Smart & Final, that mini-Costco marketplace around LA, sells a brownie tray that is very tasty. This shocked me last week, when I had a brownie at a meeting and thought someone in the room made it at home (from a box mix, but still). No, she said, it was from Smart & Final. Well mustn’t I take my brownie ego down a notch now!

8. On a similar note, I feared moving to LA would mean I could no longer eat a respectable Buffalo wing or Philly cheesesteak, due to my personal theory that regional foods taste best when eaten as close to that region as possible. With Buffalo, NY sitting 2540 miles away from Los Angeles, and Philadelphia, PA 2714 miles away, this had me justifiably worried. BUT... it turns out that passionate foodie ex-pats can be anywhere, and there are some great ones in this city. The best just-like-home traditional hot wings I’ve had here are at the Hot Wings Café. The best cheesesteak I’ve had is from either Phil’s at the Farmer’s Market or South Street in Burbank. Now I try not to eat these favorite snacks o' the east too often after Sunday brunches of German potatoes at the Red Lion, though it's still comforting to know they're around whenever I want them.

And speaking of wings, there are even more places out here to get great ones, including a place that is so surprising to me, I've tucked it down here at the end of the list since I still feel a little weird shouting its praises from the rafters...

9. As an egalitarian urban-raised woman, I am now a new shocked fan of...Hooters restaurants. You heard me. For my entire life I – and as I just found out, my Mom too – would not step into a Hooters for fear it was an objectifying place of business. Thing is, I love Buffalo wings right, and friends (Mark) have always insisted I give the place a try. My answer was always "No! Never!" Sure enough, a few months ago I went along with a group decision to go to the Pasadena location. And the wings were good! They weren't great but they were definitely good (specifically the "naked hot wings," in this case naked simply refers to an unbreaded chicken wing, so take your mind out of the gutter!). The Blue Moon on tap was a pleasure of course, and the football games on TV fun to watch, however the service was just ok. So I thought, it's just ok at Hooters, I'm not going to run back because it's just ok.

Then a few Sundays later Neil and I went to watch football in the Burbank location. This time the experience was excellent. The staff was friendly, and the waitresses took away all my preconceived notions by being really friendly and talking as much to me as to Neil. And the added bonus this time was in my trying the boneless hot wings, which were outta this world. I said outta this world! A group of us went again last weekend and there was even more magical food goodness! I can't stop thinking about it -- had to order those boneless hot wings again, and the table ordered a new special treat called Lots-a-Tots, an addictive pile of fresh fried tater tots topped like a baked potato with bacon, cheese, sour cream and chives. In addition the Blue Moon on tap kept on coming, and a newly tried item, the naked cajun wings, turned me into a practical wing werewolf. Those wings weren't what I ordered, so I am very thankful for Neil's wing magnanimity. Now not only do I like Hooters, I'm a fan! This is the biggest surprise of all.

All in all these are a bunch of things, pre-conceived food and drink notions really, that were toppled before my eyes. So I'm thinking the next time I'm about to form a closed-minded foodie opinion, it would be better to sit back and give the thing, the wing, or whatever it is, at least an open-minded try.

Until we eat again,
Marly

"I'd like my burger rarebit, please."

I may never have mentioned this to you but I have been on an unofficial food Quest for a long time. So long that it was forgotten! To bring you up to speed on the specifics, here's an inquiry I wrote to Gourmet Magazine four years ago.

My note to them

To: Gourmet, Feedback
Sent: Friday, September 17, 2004 3:53 PM
Subject: in search of a great cheddar sauce

Hi,
When I was a teenager, my mother brought me to a local low-down restaurant for dinner one night in town. The town = Cranford, NJ; the place = Dunn's Garage.

I was thrilled to eat their cheddar burger and haven't forgotten it. You would walk up to the bar and order, and the bar man took the bare, juicy burger and ladled on a heap of warm, thick and gritty cheddar cheese sauce. To this day this is my favorite burger memory. Since Dunn's Garage has been closed for ages, do you at Gourmet know of a recipe for a similar type of pourable, thick real cheddar cheese sauce for topping burgers? I have tried to recreate this at home with no luck.
Regards, Marly

Their initial response was sent an hour later!

From: Gourmet, Feedback
Sent: Friday, September 17, 2004 4:46 PM

I'll send your note around, but I think it's a long shot. I did notice the following listing: Dunn's Garage Automotive (908) 245-0108 601 W Westfield Ave Roselle Park, NJ 07204. It sounds like an actual garage, but perhaps someone there can help you. If I get anything back from anyone on staff I'll let you know.
Best, James
Gourmet

On the following business day they wrote again...

From: Gourmet, Feedback
Sent: Monday, September 20, 2004 5:01pm

I just heard back from one of our food editors:
"I don't see why the Welsh Rabbit sauce wouldn't work. We did it in the Dec. 2003 issue, p. 206*. As for the gritty part, I don’t know exactly what that means, but I'm wondering if it is an indication of overcooked cheddar-- where the cheese has broken down from being heated for too long. If you do the Welsh Rabbit rabbit, you can always increase the amount of cheese to taste."

Hope that helps.
Best, James
Gourmet

(*see recipe from Dec. 2003 issue, p. 206 here)

Well. I was very pleased with their quick response, even though I don’t eat rabbit. (Welsh Rabbit rabbit?) Although I’d heard of rarebit, is that what they meant? Perhaps I heard it first as a child when watching the Bugs Bunny show. There was an episode with a play on words--rabbit vs. rarebit--with reference to when someone wanted to cook Bugs, they told him he would be served with "wish-te-shish-te-shire sauce.”

Anyhow, in later foodie days, I came to know rarebit as some old British Isles recipe where you take a Cheddar cheese sauce and pour it over toast. Sorta a grilled cheese, though with no pan since the cheese is already melted. Imagine this on a burger. Instead of a stiff, separatist slice of cheese that merely half melts, I’m talking about a cloud of oozy cheesiness that dominates the burger and slides down its sides like lava. Yes I believe we understand each other now.

For some reason unknown to me, after the Gourmet letters I dismantled the Quest. Ok really, I just forgot about it. Until two nights ago. I met up with Neil at Tam O’Shanter’s, a delightful old Scottish pub and restaurant near Glendale that's a part of the Lawry’s Prime Rib chain, yet not a chain itself, and it's been operated by the same family since 1922. It is cozy and has a charm all its own--a great place to go!

The unofficial plan then two nights ago was to order a drink and a snack. Neil’s plan was to order a drink and dinner. His plan was better. After almost ordering a French onion soup and salad, an item called the “1922 Tam Burger” jumped off the page at me. This is its menu description:

1922 Tam Burger
Certified Angus chuck served open-faced on toasted sourdough bread with Neuske's smoked bacon and Thousand Island dressing topped with Scotch Rarebit.

Did that say “Scotch Rarebit”?? OMG could it be? Hmm, I also saw they had this appetizer on the menu, which pretty much confirmed it:

Scotch Rarebit
An authentic Scottish recipe of cheddar cheese, beer, cayenne and nutmeg. Served with buttery sourdough toast.

OK. Wow. So there was no question. I ordered the 1922 Tam Burger. It…was…the Quest! A burger on toast (not part of the Quest but who cares), with crispy high-end bacon (which is always a Quest), plus a molten heap of thick Cheddar sauce on top and dripping down the sides. The Quest! It tasted just like the Cheddar burger of my youth. And there were bonuses!... 1) enough cheese sauce to use as a dunk for the crispy fries, and 2) the smokiest bacon ever. I’m talking campfire smokey, lapsang souchong tea smokey. Looove it!

Now that my Quest has been fulfilled, I must start exercising far more (More x Zero = Zero?) in order to eat enough of these 1922 Tam Burgers to make up for the lost years. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Until we eat again,
Marly

Bagels & Some Lox

Writing about bagels & lox was not an immediate idea. I was thinking about salmon really, and have lots to talk about there. Then I remembered how the arrival at the perfect bagel & lox experience is not automatic, nor obvious. I arrived at it only through the guidance of others, though living near great bagel shops and markets helped too.

Even though I come from a secular Jewish household, family gatherings – from my memory at least – did not include the ubiquitous bagel & lox platter. Oh I’m sure there was lots of lox, and white fish, but I suppose as a young person with typical palate limitations I was attracted only to the lox-hidden-in-the-cream-cheese spread. And no complaints there. This bagel preparation was delightful and the end of the road for me at the time. Real lox was just too icky.


Fast forwarding... At some point in my 20’s I worked for 9 months at a small city ad agency run by a father and son. The son was a lovely person, as well as one of Gourmet magazine’s top eligible New York City bachelors at the time. This made going to work fun. Unfortunately the father was a very mean person, a nouveau rich sort who took all his former life persecutions out on the rest of us, or maybe just me.

One day it was near holiday time and, regarding our office celebration, the father wanted to do it right. A bunch of us got in the father’s town car, with the father, to go out and find some food to bring back to the office. Our office was near the U.N. building, around 46th St. & 1st Ave., yet the driver took us all the way across and up to the upper west side. Before we knew it we were pulling up right outside of Zabar’s.

Zabar’s is a famous New York City institution, beloved by Woody Allen (who shot a scene from “Manhattan” there) and many other NY Jews and food afficionadoes for their massive array of bagel accoutrements. I say they specialize in bagel accoutrements, rather than bagels, because less than a half block away is a store called H&H Bagels, the city's most famous bagel shop. (They ship bagels overnight, btw, for about $50). People always go to both stores.

So far this was an unexpectedly adventurous field trip, to a famous gourmet store during work hours with the nice boss’s nasty father. When we got to the lox counter, Lauren Bacall (or Kathleen Turner) was ordering something and that was cool.

Then the father, who’s normal personae had suddenly morphed to that of giggly kitten, put some cash in my hand and said “Go get some lox, for 10 people.” I said, “Ok.” This sounded easy enough, but in the moments that followed the command I sidled up to the lox counter and there was a heck of a lot of lox. My original plan had been to order “lox,” and my new plan was to eavesdrop on Lauren Bacall’s (or Kathleen Turner’s) order, since her loud, specific commands to the lox man seemed pretty good. But then the father called out to me among the bustle “Get the belly lox! Don’t forget! Belly lox!” And when I said that to the lox man, it worked!

Back at the ranch we laid out the spread and I was instantly converted to the belly lox. This type of lox – heretofore unknown to me -- was incredible, soft, creamy, melt-in-your-mouth and didn’t have that fishy thick taste I'd gotten to know a few times from tasting regular lox cuts. To this day I can say that belly lox is the one nice thing that man ever did for me.

Now there were bagels in my life before the days of belly lox. In the early 90’s I was at a NY job that blessed the workers with Friday morning bagels and cream cheese. The bagels were large and fresh and came from a place called Ess-a-Bagel. (These remain my favorite brand, even more so than H&H.) Every Friday I’d take an everything bagel, force on some cold salted butter, then spread on the cream cheese. As years passed I could actually alter my weight via whether or not I partook in bagel day.

Eventually I learned my favorite way to eat a bagel was a toasted everything bagel with scallion cream cheese. I think a lot of people enjoy this combo. You’ve got your bagel with all those savory seasonings baked in – minced garlic and onions, sesame and poppy seeds, paired with the fresh green onions in the cream cheese. It’s perfection.

One morning during rush time, I ordered my favorite in the typical fashion, “Toasted everything with scallion,” at a new deli, and all was well until the counter guy asked me, “You want jelly too?” This stopped me in my non-caffeinated-coma tracks. My mind raced… I’m sorry, what about my order did you not understand. Savory bagel with savory spread. Why the F*** are you asking me about JELLY. I couldn’t have looked more squinty-eyed incredulous when I replied, “No!!” Listen, sweet cheap grape jelly + salty savory perfection isn't a thought that should ever be. Really, it’s like asking if you want grape jelly squirted on your French onion soup, or your strip steak, or...anything! It's wrong. But guess what, he squirted on the jelly when I wasn’t looking. At the office I discovered the treason, walked very pissed off all the way back to the deli for a re-do and never went there again, because the sanctity of a person's bagel preparation should never be tampered with, especially not in New York.

It was also in the mid-90’s that I received the best lesson on how to prepare a bagel, from my friend Matthew. He took such pride in this, he really taught me the glories of the experience in a way I did not know before.

The demonstration began one morning in our apartment, with fresh H&H’s in hand. We had brewed coffee in mugs (a very important go-with ;), and Matthew systematically began the bagel-prepping ritual while explaining it to me, since he was sincerely surprised that another Jew from Jersey didn’t have this knowledge inborn. Note: It’s been a few years and I can’t say Matthew said these exact words, but it is how I remember it. He said:

“First you take the bagel and you cut it in half with a big, serrated knife. Take the bottom half and put on the cream cheese. Not too much! Slice up a big beefsteak tomato. Make sure it’s ripe. The slices should be thick! Place a nice thick tomato slice over the cream cheese. Then take a red onion. Slice that up. Put a big onion ring or two over the tomato, just like that. Sprinkle on some salt, then some pepper. Top that with the other half of the bagel. Mmmmm, now look at that! And THAT’S how you make a BAGEL!”

It was crunchy, perfect deliciousness! I'll always remember that bagel. Hey Matt, maybe you can make me another one of those in December! :)

Until we eat again,
Marly

It's Poutine Time

Greetings, oh fans of the potato and all things starchy. It's time to open your mind to new delights of the spud. As a girl from Jersey, you may say I've been inclined to diner out at midnight with some disco fries (french fries with gravy and melted cheese), and maybe that's true! (It is true.) However our neighbors to the north have another way of saying it, and making it, that is near and dear to those who know it, and also appears in a Google search when you type in disco fries (as in, "not to be confused with..."). The name of the dish, seen above, is poutine.

Now I have a habit when traveling of seeking out regional specialties in the most accessible, ie. cheap, places: supermarkets and fast food chains. On my second trip to the lovely city of Montreal, during cold season, I walked underground in that if-you've-been-there-you-know- what-I-mean beneath-the-city mall. So as said, per what I usually do when traveling (never at home ;) I looked into an underground Burger King and noticed they served a potato dish beyond french fries: the poutine! This was very exciting, so I sidled into a line to order a BK poutine, loonies (Canadian $1 coins) in hand, when my elitist Toronto-born boyfriend said “You don’t want to have your first poutine at a Burger King do you?” This was the tone in which he said many things, except this time he kinda made sense. So I skipped it, figuring I'd try poutine another time. Another time never came, and it’s 10 years later.

That is why this Canadian dish-of-affection is always in the back of my mind, and when I was having an e-conversation with a fellow (USC) Trojan from Ottawa, I mentioned the poutine and he wrote back a wonderful overview of it, including where to get it in LA! I asked his permission, then, to feature his story in my blog, and with that I present to you the rest of this post, as written by Planet Marly’s first guest blogger, Theodore.

Theodore's LA Poutine Story

As a Canadian ex-pat living in Los Angeles, every so often I come down with a craving for some Canadian cuisine. Until recently I had been making a bi-monthly pilgrimage to this restaurant in Monrovia called the Canadian Café. Unfortunately, they recently closed shop which I attribute to the fact that they were located somewhat remotely at the intersection of the 210 and 605 freeways and that warmer temperatures in Southern California don't really warrant such high-fat foods such as back bacon sandwiches and poutine.

Having grown up on the border of Ontario and Quebec, however, poutine is something that is dear to my heart and after some extensive internet research I was pleased to discover that there are four other venues in Los Angeles that serve the "delicacy."

Redondo Beach Cafe
1511 S Pacific Coast Hwy
Redondo Beach, CA 90277
(310) 316-1047

Dusty's
3200 W Sunset Blvd
Silver Lake, CA 90026
(323) 906-1018

Soleil Westwood
1386 Westwood Blvd
Los Angeles, CA 90024
(310) 441-5384

Alibi Room
12236 Washington Blvd
Culver City, CA 90230
(310) 313-1404

In the course of my research I located a few photos as well (click here), from someone else in LA who is apparently as obsessed with poutine as I am. So far I've only been to the Redondo Beach Cafe. They use real curds, a medium-dark gravy, and thick cut fries. Judging from the pictures, the poutine at Soleil looks to be quite authentic as well, albeit with shoestrings, which is more like something you'd find at a ski lodge in Canada.

The poutine at Dusty's also looks tasty, but it is a little spurious as to whether or not they use real curds. I recall reading a review of sorts indicating that they do, but it's not really possible to tell if the curds had melted in the photo or if they had simply used shredded cheese.

The Alibi Room is more of a bar, so I'm thinking one of these evenings I'll make the trip out there for a beer and a poutine.

My only reservation about the poutine I've had here is that the curds are larger and more uniform in size (like a bunch of scallops), which may or may not be a function of their Wisconsonian origin. I like poutine best when the curd size varies from little bits to large chunks; it makes for a more even distribution of cheese and a more varied mouth feel. (See photo here.)

Signed Guest Blogger,
Theodore

Proposal: Abolish Continental Breakfast

Hello. So something about me you may not know... I love breakfast. What you may know is I also love travel. Even tiny travel like visiting a nearby town for a conference gets me excited, like a few weeks ago when I went had the chance to visit Stanford.

When you're traveling and want a bright start to an adventurous day in a new place, what do you do? You get yourself a nice breakfast. If you're in a hotel or at a conference, usually the free breakfast is the ubiquitous Continental. And you always begrudgingly eat it because who wants to pay for breakfast when someone is giving it away for free. Perhaps that is why Continental Breakfasts suck so bad! Because what company wants to pay for quality when they're giving it away for free. And since giving it away for free is the norm I guess they can't stop now. Yes, we're in a vicious cycle here. And we have to do something about it!

Bed & Breakfasts have "breakfast" in their title so are naturally expected to provide a nice complete breakfast for their guests, which they always seem to do. Their breakfasts are called Full Breakfast and these usually include carb-y homemade yummy stuff like pancakes or French toast stuffed with berries and bananas. You can also order such things at fancy hotels via room service however this will cost you your life savings. To accommodate the frugal, fancy hotels do offer room service Continental Breakfast for maybe $17, or for a little more money you can order what you really want: the American Breakfast. This basically translates to some sort of bread basket (straight from the Continental) plus eggs, and bacon if you're lucky.

What I want to know is, have you as a person, with the exception of airport discussions, ever used the word “continental” in a sentence in this century or the last several decades? You would use this word only if you now lived in the proverbial '50s or were Christopher Walken on Saturday Night Live. The joke of The Continental skit on SNL is how dated Mr. Walken's character is, how dated his hotel is too, and how creepy. True, continental used to suggest a sense of luxury, that the person who was continental in nature was some sort of jet-setter, literally jetting around the continent like a star. Now all it means is crappy free breakfast.

Another thought: I'm assuming "continental" in this context may have referred to “items from around the country” back in the day, when Americans were starting to fly and see the country outside of their home town. People started to get more excited about cooking and trying new things. I imagine Continental Breakfast could have referred to regional specialties, or a variety of regional specialties, served at the breakfast table. Now it is, appallingly, drab tasteless pastries, dry untoasted fake-ish bagels, with packets of cream cheese, butter and jam. If you’re lucky and have a generous host, there may be some non-organic high fructose corn syrup-sweetened yogurts also served. And if you’re really lucky you may get a nice cut fruit plate with melon and berries, which everyone loves, though come on who eats that and stays full until lunch?

For another extra fee a host can add on a lox platter to go with the fake-ish untoasted bagels. This helps. Sorta. Same as adding butter to stale movie popcorn and suspending disbelief.

And for another extra fee the host can add on the buffet-style hot stuff, which on the agenda or menu changes the name of the meal to simply "breakfast." I'm talking about the add-on of scrambled eggs, home fries, bacon and sausage. This would be the free breakfast of choice to most people, who perhaps wouldn't even mind paying a little extra for the hot stuff. But hey, about that, have you ever noticed that these items ALWAYS are served THE SAME WAY everywhere ACROSS AMERICA. Nothing is unique when a hotel or conference center offers these items. THEY SAY WE LIVE IN THE LAND OF THE FREE, BUT WE LIVE IN A LAND OF COPY-CAT BREAKFAST BLANDNESS. There is no uniqueness to breakfast in too many places charged with serving it. CONTINENTAL BREAKFAST IS NO LONGER AN ACCEPTABLE OPTION, it is BAD and it is the worst thing about traveling. That is, UNLESS YOU ARE TRAVELING OUTSIDE OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.

* * intermission * *

Let's talk about the free breakfasts provided at hotels in Europe. Let’s especially talk about breakfast in Denmark. My free breakfast in Copenhagen, at the lovely and charming Admiral Hotel, was one of the most satisfying hotel breakfasts ever. Sure, there were no hot stations of scrambled eggs or a chef-manned omelette or waffle station. But I ask you, who cares! In its place were tables full of hearty breads and crackers, organic European yogurts with fun flavors like "forest berry," hard-boiled eggs, smoked ham along with country paté, rows upon rows of fresh Danish cheeses (some beautifully fresh and white as snow, most of which you have never seen on these shores), and Danish pastry. Yes, Danish pastry! The most incredible pastry in the world (and never to be confused with what we here in the U.S. call Danish pastry). All this magic was included in my free hotel breakfast.

In other European hotels I've been happy to experience fresh baquettes, cheeses and meats, and as always a fine selection of European yogurt, and it's good, very good! It's not crap. (Note: one brand of fantastic Swiss yogurt is sold is several high end food stores in the US, and in LA! It's called Emmi, pictured above. I especially recommend the pink grapefruit and the apricot. You can find it at Surfas in Culver City and Bristol Farms).

So America, please hear my plea. If you're going to serve free breakfast, can it please not suck? Can it please be good? Turn to Europe for inspiration, or anywhere else. At least serve some decent yogurt. Now you know where to buy it too, so there's no excuse.

Until we eat again,
Marly

Musings on Bacon

As I pondered posting again on the subject of pork, I considered how much I really, really like bacon. One reason for this relates to something that happened once, so welcome to my flashback...



My Flashback


At the age of 14 I was hospitalized for asthma for the second time. I was sort of sickly then too, on lots of asthma medication, some of which produced a low appetite and subsequent thinness. At the same time it should be noted that my mother kept a healthy house where fattening foods were not the norm.



So you can imagine at the hospital when they left a lunch menu on the nightstand so I could select my own lunch without parental supervision, and that one of the entrées offered was broiled bacon (yes you read that right…BROILED BACON), well I was absolutely thrilled and decided that being hospitalized was actually a pretty cool thing.



Now I shared my hospital room with a painfully shy girl who I recognized as that painfully shy girl from high school. Poor thing. Because of this we didn’t speak, ever.



The good drugs had already kicked in which meant I was starving and couldn’t wait for my bacon, desperately hoping they wouldn’t shove off some bad undercooked bacon to ruin this food-freedom episode of my life. I also worried that the menu might actually be a cruel joke. Or that they’d get the order messed up, or that they would accidentally give my bacon to the shy girl and since we weren’t speaking how would I ever be able to get it back from her. Then it got a little deeper and I wondered if my asthma was so bad, perhaps they decided to offer me bacon as a phenomenal last meal. Or worse, was I already in heaven?



Lunch was finally served and to my delight when the big guy in white scrubs removed the metal cover from the plate there were about eight slices of perfectly crisp, gorgeous-looking bacon. I took a bite and it was transcendent, the most delicious bacon I’d ever eaten. Each bite was savored, and I was so grateful no visitors were allowed at lunch so I didn’t have to apologize for choosing this item or worse, share it!



Then, a distraction. Two nurses walked in and stood between the beds of me and shy girl. They watched my trance-like eating of bacon and looked dumbfounded. What’s your problem, I thought, can’t a person hoard her bacon in a semi-private room semi-privately? Without a word they walked to the other side of the room to the shy girl’s side. She wasn’t eating at all. I looked at her plate, with green beans and jello and whatever else, and there was no bacon there. Surely everything else from the kitchen was presumably awful, but hopefully she'll take notice of how blissful my lunch made me and know better what to order next time.



The nurses asked shy girl why she wasn’t eating her lunch, and surprisingly she was very shy with them too… no words. So the nurses threatened and said if she didn’t eat her lunch she would not be allowed to see her parents, which made shy girl cry. Now I was the one dumbfounded, shouting silently to her “What is your problem? EAT IT!!”



The threatening and crying continued and that’s when I had one of those "ah ha" moments. This girl was anorexic, just like Karen Carpenter from The Carpenters band. How weird to see how that works. And why would they put me in a room with an anorexic? It slowly came together for me. The hospital thought I was anorexic too, because I was so thin. And that error in hospital judgment led me to a sweet place with menus that offered fatten-her-up lunches like broiled bacon. It was also why they were so flabbergasted at my bacon joy. Silly silly people.



Since then I've always dreamed of that bacon. Even called the hospital kitchen once to ask for the recipe. Some guy on the phone dashed my dreams when he simply said “It’s just bacon.” Just bacon. Ha! I’ll never forget it though. It was one of the best meals of my life.



In the last week or so I enjoyed more euphoric bacon...



1) At City Bakery Mom, Norm and I had applewood-smoked bacon as a side dish at breakfast. Afterwards I took a stroll along the salad bar and would you believe they had a gigantic heaving plate of bacon-wrapped dates AT THE SALAD BAR. This is unheard of at City Bakery, at least in all the years I've patronized them I've never seen it (I guess they had to make up for the fact that they no longer serve Maury Rubin's famous tarts at the Brentwood location). I bought three of the bacon-wrapped dates—with some cold spicy fried chicken of course—just to taste them. These were the first of this tapas treat I’d had without an almond inside; I believe there was cheese inside instead. I love the almond, but something about the softness in this bite was better. I think I moaned at the table. A big fat wow.



2) The other recent bacony times were in Little Tokyo at Honda-Ya, where my table and I enjoyed bacon as part of two yakitori skewer selections: a) sausage wrapped in bacon, and b) asparagus wrapped in bacon. Yup, awesome.



3) And more bacon is on the way! In a few days I'll make more of those peanut bacon truffles from an Alabama restaurant’s recipe in Saveur magazine. Such a simple recipe, and so odd, yet they’re great...as long as you don’t eat them with beer (that’s pretty gross, as my friends and I discovered while eating some with a pitcher of Rolling Rock).



That's it for now pork and non-pork lovers! Until we eat again,

Marly