Category: Food

Blogsoop: So Meta, So Worthwhile

Blogging is just one big ego-wallow. A couple of weeks ago, I was checking out my statcounter, and saw someone had come to my site from the heretofore-undiscovered(-by-me) Blogsoop, which is a savvy collection of bloggers’ reviews of New York City restaurants.

Turns out the site is quite new, and the nice part is that it’s being put together by hand–as in, someone is actually trawling through everyone’s food blogs and selecting the reviews that go up on the site. Which means there’s not a lot of worthless junk–and the section on Queens restaurants is surprisingly large. It’s organized in a very straightforward way–you can search by resto name, neighborhood or cuisine.

There’s even a little “recently added” section–a detail that shows the site cares about its regular visitors the same way a vintage shop or used record store cares about its obsessive customers so that you don’t have to go through everything all over again every time you stop by.

It was slightly unnerving to see a couple of my posts presented as “reviews,” when in fact they are more just snapshots following a meal, and pretty blurry ones at that, considering the amount of wine usually involved. But when I look at some other more review-y reviews, I think I like mine better anyway. And isn’t that what blogging’s all about? (Pat, pat, pat.)

Sunland Peanuts: Free Samples Work!

In December, I was in Portales, New Mexico. In case you don’t know, Portales is The Peanut Basin of the Southwest. (If I could do that in “reverb” font, I would.)

peanutI discovered this not through Portales’s excellent marketing machine, but through my own research, when a friend in high school went there for college. Frankly, I’d barely even heard of Portales. This visit in December was the second in my entire life, and during that trip I learned that while Portales produces less than 10 percent of the nation’s peanut crop, it produces the large majority of its Valencia peanuts. These little guys are known for their exceptional flavor, and their lovely red skins.

Doing my duty to guidebook research, I stopped in the chamber of commerce offices downtown. A woman asked me if I wanted “the usual info pack.” Why, yes. And did I want peanuts? Why, yes!

Those Valencia peanuts, super-salty and often four to a pod, were super-delicious, and I apologize to the Days Inn Roswell housekeeping staff who had to vacuum up the shells from the carpeting.

I managed to save some peanuts till I got home. Peter was equally enamored. Soon I was perusing the Sunland Peanuts website. And soon thereafter, more peanuts–as well as some peanut butter–were winging their way to us from the Peanut Basin of the Southwest.

I have to admit, there was a little letdown. Peter had inadvertently ordered five pounds of unsalted peanuts. But even those were surprisingly good.

And today Peter opened the first jar of peanut butter. Holy shit! So amazingly fresh-tasting. It’s like each little individual peanut soul is expiring right then and there in my mouth. Nothing in it but peanuts. Not even salt. And if I’m saying something with no salt is delicious, then you know it’s got to be good. If you like peanuts, you owe it to yourself to taste the goods from Portales.

A few tips on ordering from the mega-clunky (but awful cute) website: You want the “old fashion peanut butter,” without the hydrogenation, etc. Somewhere else on the site, they sell the processed stuff, and you don’t want that. And you probably wanted salted peanuts, rather than just plain ol’ roasted. [UPDATE: The site has been redesigned! It looks much nicer, but you can’t order online now/yet. Better to talk to a person anyway, to get the details right.]

gutFinally, you’ll want to bone up on the peanut butter diet, just in case you’re feeling a little dodgy about having 25 pounds of good-and-greasy legumes delivered to your doorstep. One look at those rock-hard abs, and I am pretty convinced. One bite of that Valencia peanut butter, and I am never lookin’ back!

Pork Winter

I don’t want to be yet another one of those food fetishists who’s unduly obsessed with pork, and I know everyone’s got to carve out a niche, and pork is pretty well carved by others…

But pork really wins all bouts, except maybe when pitted against the occasional fiesty lamb, and it seems disrespectful not to admire that properly.

In this mindset, I took advantage of the recent Heritage Foods special on quarter hogs. I’d ordered a Duroc, for variety, but due to the fact that all the Durocs had been killed by the time I clicked ‘Buy’–talk about real-time transactions!–I wound up with a Berkshire instead. And considering how all I know of Berkshire pork is that even its pure fat (and there’s a lot of it) is something I could eat for three meals a day and bathe in, this is really not so bad.

So our freezer is full–minus the osso bucco (which promptly went into pea soup), a smidge of breakfast sausage, and some sirloin steak, which got candied up Vietnamese stylie for our second go-round on the banh mi. And for anyone who’s following the Winslow Place Pork Inventory at home, we still have a substantial portion of the Spanish ham, chillin’ in the pantry. In fact, our kitchen is so imbued with the spirit of pig that yesterday I licked a spatula coated with lime curd and said, “Hm. Tastes like lard.” (Fire the dishwasher!)

I like this feeling of massive yet controlled potential. We have a lot of one tasty thing, in an array of shapes, which opens the door–but not too wide–to an even more dazzling array of possible things to eat. The challenge is to not let any of it go to waste, and to revel in the variety so that we are not sick of pig by the end of it all. In fact, we should love the pig as much in the last bite as we did at the first (and it was great pea soup!).

Robert Farrar Capon wrote the brilliant Supper of the Lamb–maybe it’s my job to write the Smorgasbord of the Pig. I wouldn’t be coming at it from quite the same religious angle, but who knows how I’ll feel when I open that last vacu-pack of meat? I’m open-minded, and if the Lord is going to speak to me, it would be cleverest of him to get at me through food. Epiphany (or even, choke, a revelation?!) or no, we are set till spring.

So crazy it just might work: Banh Mi at home

I feel like I’ve cheated–but I did it with my husband, so how can that be?

Banhmi2A banh mi is meant to be gulped down while standing on a sidewalk, hunkered against the wind on a park bench, or crouched on a rickety seat in front of a jewelry display counter (if you’re at Banh Mi Saigon). It’s easier to be outside, because then you don’t have to worry about the crumbs flying everywhere. (If you aren’t banh-mi-savvy yet, read up at Daily Gluttony and Porkchop Express, here, here and here, oh, and also here.)

Moreover, Peter and I have a long history with these particular sandwiches, the ones at Banh Mi Saigon–they cropped up on Boston bus rides, on the day Peter put me on his health insurance, and when we got married at city hall…and on many, many days in between. They have often given structure to an otherwise tedious day of errands (as in, “When I’m done returning those ugly shoes, I’ll stop in and get a banh mi”), and I have at least once taken the subway all the way from midtown and back on my lunch hour just to get them.

But yesterday, Peter and I got in a terrible lather reading all the reviews of banh mi joints on Porkchop Express (I didn’t even give you half the links above), but it was already too late to go to Banh Mi Saigon (they usually run out of sandwiches around 6pm, but sometimes they don’t, but it’s a big chance to take if you’re taking the train all the way from Astoria just for that). And if you’re going to get on the subway just for banh mi, why would you go anywhere but the absolute best place?

We were stymied, until Peter declared:

What the hell! I’ll just make banh mi!

Whoa, dude. Was that the earth shifting on its axis I just felt? Is that the Inquisition I hear knocking on our door? Is the floor a little warmer just now because the fires of Hell are licking up to roast our heretical feet?

While I was fretting about the state of my soul, Peter nipped out and bought baguettes (from Le Petit Prince), ground pork, daikon, cilantro, cucumbers and carrots. Believe you me, we already had plenty of mayonnaise.

Sounds straightforward, but of course the real trick was the pork. Banh Mi Saigon’s is a “closely guarded secret” or something. For more than a decade, it was made in a disposable aluminum takeout tray, in a toaster oven. I used to stand in the old place, that depressing little sandwich prison, and stare at the whole process while I waited.

You couldn’t really see much detail in there, because the oven’s glass was that permanent brown-orange of burned grease, but it required a lot of fiddling, opening and closing of the squeaky little door, scraping across the aluminum with tongs, careful fluffing the pork. (Bless them, no one deserved the move up more than these people, but now in the new spot, the kitchen is so far back you can’t see anything at all!)

After years of observation, I came to the conclusion that it must be a sort of horizontal gyro, in which the crispy top layer was scraped off for use in a sandwich, revealing a fresh layer to magically caramelize. Peter thought certainly five-spice powder was involved, so he made up some of that. Then I urged him to make some standard Vietnamese caramel sauce, because all I know about Vietnamese food is that this thin, smoky caramel stuff goes in almost everything.

banhmi1In retrospect, this caramel business didn’t seem so essential, because all Peter did was mix up the pork and the five-spice, pour on the caramel sauce and stick the thing in the broiler–then every few minutes, pull it out, stir out around, and let it recaramelize. He admitted to pouring on lots more sugar in the process. It took a while to get really tasty. And it really was not like Banh Mi Saigon’s. But it tasted great–more like a snack food than anything.

In assembling the sandwiches, Peter took a little tip from our Mexican friends w/r/t the construction of tortas, and pulled out a lot of the middle of the baguette, tipping the odds in favor of the filling, as well as making a nice little trough to hold the Sweet-n-Spicy Pork Crumbles (TM) he’d invented. A lot of mayo helped stick things in place as well.

Banhmi3The daikon and carrot and cuke had been sitting in their little pickling juices for a bit, so he laid those on, then some cilantro sprigs and slices of green chili. (“Regular or spicy?” he called out from the kitchen, in an attempt to re-create the Saigon experience.)

He sliced it in half and brought it to the table. “My work here is done,” he said. We ate them in about three minutes flat–in that same desperate way we’ve always eaten banh mi, afraid you’ll lose some bits if you move your hands and, more existentially, afraid you’ll never get anymore and this is your last bite of heaven ever.

They were so good, in fact, that, um, these photos are all from breakfast this morning.

This looks promising…

Yes, I’m a public-radio dork. Leonard Lopate says jump, and I say, How high?

When he announced some craft contest involving googly eyes, food and Amy Sedaris, of course I went straight to the website.

This is the photo pool for the contest. Only a few entries so far, but very nice use of black chicken!

Now where did I put those googly eyes?

(You think I’m joking… But, really, I know I had some, in several sizes…)

Michael Pollan in the NY Times

It must be That’s What I’ve Been Saying All Along Week at the New York Times!

In addition to telling the world how great Queens is, now the newspaper of record has published another fine and sensible essay by Michael Pollan, who has been one of my favorite writers ever since I read Botany of Desire years and years ago (thanks, Heidi, for the rec).

His story “Unhappy Meals” in this week’s magazine starts: “Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants.”

There’s plenty more, of course, but that’s the gist. He goes on to detail just how we got into such weird federal dietary guidelines (politics, natch), and talks about the rise of “nutritionism”–the particular way so many Americans have come to look at food as sources of nutrients, rather than just food.

Even if I didn’t agree so fervently with him, I would still love Pollan just for the way he writes. It’s never overblown or too alarmist, but he allows himself the occasional bit of flair–characterizing the produce section lying “silent as stroke victims,” for instance, while all the processed food boasts about its health benefits. Because he writes so simply, without manipulation, he gives me hope that he’ll be able to convince people.

He also makes the brilliant observation that we shouldn’t be so surprised that carbs make us fat–humans have been fattening up animals on carbs ever since we started domesticating them.

If you’re overwhelmed by all 12 pages of it online, you can skip toward the end, where he outlines his basic suggestions for how best to eat, slightly expanded from his opening sentences. But then you’d be missing out on all of Pollan’s great writing.

More found art: Mmm, prairie chicken!

Well, honestly, these guys are supposed to be real tasty. But not when prepared this way:

Ranchland Prairie Chicken
presented by Palmer Ranch House

Breasts, and thighs of about 4 birds
1 can of cream of mushroom soup
1 quart of whipping cream,the kind in the milk dept.

Put in a pan that will hold everything. Turn oven to 200 degrees. You want to cook these real slow. For about 2 to 3 hours. Doesn’t taste gamey and the sauce makes good gravy.

Hee. I’m glad they specify about the whipping cream. Otherwise I would’ve used Cool Whip!

And now I know where not to stay when I’m in South Dakota.

A small victory for flavor: UglyRipe freed from its Florida prison!

uglyripeFlorida, in my mind, is just a long list of examples why America is so fucked. 1) Jeb Bush, 2) all his cronies, 3) Disney World, 4) nudist condo resorts (doesn’t sound horrible, but trust me), 5) gigundo retirement towns that use their own currency, &c., &c.

On that master list of Hateful Things in the FLA is the fact that they have a Tomato Committee. Apparently one company grows these tasty tomatoes down there, called the UglyRipe variety, and the high-and-mighty Florida Tomato Committee won’t let them be exported because….OMG, they’re UGLY! Which is to say, they don’t look like they’ve been crapped out of the giant Industrial Tomato-izer 3000 (Guaranteed Red Styrofoam or Your Money Back!).

As the New York Times puts it:

The committee’s rules, called marketing orders, are very strict as to the shape and uniformity of Florida tomatoes that can go to other states…. Flavor is not a factor because, in the committee’s view, it is too subjective.

Choke. Gasp. Those bastards. I can’t tell you what a rage that puts me in–like I’m the only person left in a nefarious near-future world who can actually see the truth, but am powerless to change anything. So I swaddle myself in discarded produce and blow myself up in the city square, in a futile gesture that no one even notices, because they’re so busy eating their perfectly shaped food.

But now I’m trying to calm myself down a little because, ayyyy-men, the morons on the FTC have been given a beat-down by the USDA, and they have to allow UglyRipes to be free at last. (Right after MLK Day–a coincidence?) The change of heart is due partially to an aggressive write-in campaign guided by Santa Sweets, the company that will be marketing the UglyRipes outside of the state. (For the record, Jeb Bush is anti-UglyRipe export because it would give an “unfair advantage.” See what I mean?)

I was very interested to see that it’s Santa Sweets in charge of the whole thing, as I’ve noticed that they’re a reliable brand of those sugary little grape tomatoes, which are about the only supermarket thing that taste tomato-y anymore.

The larger problem, though, is–do I have a right to buy yummy tomatoes in the winter? Isn’t it a horrible waste of petroleum to get those ugly little guys up here to my Trade Fair?

There’s always something to feel guilty about, I guess. If the American food industry is going to insist on flying produce all over the country–and all over the globe–then it may as well taste good. Or, as the guy behind the UglyRipe says, “If Harry & David can sell pears in a box, then we can sell tasty tomatoes.”

Dan Barber in the New York Times: Down with Bland Food!

There’s a great op-ed today in the New York Times by chef Dan Barber, “Amber Fields of Bland.” He argues in a very smart way for changing federal food regulations. Rather than bombard you with truly horrible details about what’s wrong with the current food production system, he asks: Don’t you just want your food to taste good?

Eerybody laments how crappy tomatoes are now (not Barber’s exampe, just my personal gripe), and how chicken doesn’t even taste like chicken. Whose fault is that? Stupid agribusiness. And of course there are all the other gruesome flaws (E. coli, zombie chickens, mad cow, etc.), but, Barber says, if we look at regulating in terms of improving food’s flavor, then, by happy coincidence, we also solve a lot of these problems.

Of course, coming from a super-high-end chef who cooks for rich people all day long, arguing for flavor in the face of economies of scale smacks of plain old snobbery. But he dismisses that with a smart historical analogy:

Some people argue that the desire to promote smaller, family-run local farms is gratuitously effete and nostalgic. That’s just nonsense. It’s the agriculture industry’s mind-set — high on capital, chemistry and machines — that is actually old-fashioned. Just as the Industrial Revolution of factories with heavy machinery and billowing black smoke is yesterday’s news, so too are our unsustainable farming operations.

It is interesting that he doesn’t argue against farm subsidies per se–I guess that would be just way too crazy to consider–but he does suggest giving them instead to farms as an incentive to diversify and concentrate on food crops, rather than corn and soy, which need to be hyper-processed before being eaten. Maybe that is a good middle route.

This whole op-ed is linked to the fact that the every-five-years reexamination of the farm bill is coming up in Congress soon. As Barber proposes, anyone who cares how food tastes–never mind their stance on or knowledge about Big Food Biz–should speak up to their representatives now. Maybe some tasty treat mailed to Senators Clinton and Schumer would be more effective than a phone call?