Archive for the ‘Rant/Rave’ Category

Checking in again from NOLA, center of all things decadently delicious and ever so raffishly decayed. In a town famed for food, there are several big ticket items one needs to eat. At the basic end, it’s fried things and sandwiches–beignets, po’boys, and muffelatta. On the advice of some local friends, I dragged my fellow conventioneers to Cochon Butcher–the sandwich-y offshoot of the eponomous restaurant justly famed for curing its own meats and such  (it is ALSO awesome). I had the mufellatta, a stack of house-cured meats with a fabulously piquant relish and it was simply amazing. Not sure how many liberties the ladies behind the counter took (we also paused to get temporary tattoos with them…), but I’m giving it a huge thumbs up anyway.

I’m at a conference in a town well known for its divine food and generally excellent debauchery: New Orleans. Stop the first? Cafe du Monde for beignets. Not sure I appreciate the frenetic atmosphere, or, saints preserve us, the beignets. They’re fried dough… with heaps of powdered sugar. I don’t really get it–I thought they’d be like little doughnuts or zeppoli or something a little more tender. Oh well. Everything else we’ve encountered so far, though, has been amazing. More dispatches to come from the Big Easy when I can elbow my way back onto a computer.

Some days are just a bit more than one is prepared to deal with. Thursday, for example. Nasty headcold, late to work, late AT work, stood up for happy hour and–when I finally got home–all the bread in the house was spotty with mold. *sigh* At this point, Mr. T. (who was out at a work party) and most normal people would pop off down the hill to find dinner, or at least just order a pizza. I have a phobia about placing take-out orders, though, and dining out for dinner when I’m already at home is an affront to my delicate sensibilities. Far better, for me at least, to rally to my knives and bang out a meal for myself at home than to admit defeat and end up at Busboys & Poets or something.

Rummaging around in the refrigerator, I found some smoked salmon–that would have been lovely on that bagel that had sadly turned green–some miraculously fresh parsley, and a few zucchini. Tossed with broad noodles; brightened with shallot, caper, and lemon; and glued together with pasta water and a bit of soft cheese and the resulting dish feels lush and rewarding after a day that was tiresome, tiresome, tiresome (as Nanny would say). I omitted the cheese since the last thing I want to do after a crappy day is spend the night bent over the porcelain throne yakking my face off. But, for those who aren’t dairy intolerant, a knob of goat cheese would really improve the dish. Even sans fromage, however, I found it quite the restorative little meal while watching Jacques and Julia duke it out over Beef Bourguignon PBS.

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I was slated to take a cooking class with my friend Micki this past week in Puebla, Mexico.  Alas, the  liberal elites in the “lamestream meee-deee-uhhhh” (she’s a reporter) asked that she stay behind for a breaking story.

We are kicking it to the fall. The reschedule comes at a fortuitous time; I have a herniated disc which is causing pain like a MOTHER! It’s a mini-nightmare and fuels my already scattered, endlessly-moving personality; it hurts to stay seated for extended periods of time. Even more so than usual, I’m constantly in motion. So, sitting on a plane for 7 plus hours would do it no service, even if I molest my bottle of percocet.

How did I acquire this problem? Who the hell knows. I think it was due to an impression I performed of a friend; it now physically hurts doing this impression. My physical state has compromised my ‘art’ and I’m none to happy about it.

Was just a matter of time before my humor caught up with me. Good one, God.

Don’t dine out for brunch on Sundays? 

Luke, I could not disagree more!

Look, I love brunch. I love hosting brunch. Yet, Sunday morning is the last time of day that I want to be cooking and toiling about in the kitchen. It just is. The random day when I decide to host brunch? Saturday. A low-key Friday night, after a long week at work, tends to allow me a bit more pattering, freedom and experiment in the kitchen on Saturday morning. There’s also something serene about having the full breath of the weekend–and all its possibilities–ahead of me.  I’m sorry, but Sunday? I want someone cooking for me.

And yet, on Mom’s Day, she deserves someone cooking for her. Just not her son.

Look, I know my mother. I love treating my mother to things however, it would be more of a treat for her not having her son bumble and sweat about in the kitchen on her day–she’s Italian, after all.  Now, she lives in Cleveland and I’m here in D.C. however that’s not the point. A relaxed setting, out, sunny weather, good coffee and giggly eggs staring  and bouncing back at us would be perfect. If she were in town this weekend, we’d dine out.  D.C. now has a bevy of fantastic brunch spots. Remember when this place was the ONLY place to get a decent brunch?  Bar Pilar (fantastic Pho special there last week), Cashion’s Eat Place, Brasserie Beck and Bistro Bis are all wonderful on Sundays.

Distance aside, I will be sticking with flowers this Mother’s Day. What are your plans?

Mother’s Day is upon us, it seems, and this Sunday will find innumerable matriarchs around the country being gifted with bubble bath, flowers, and jewelry–of both the macaroni and the more luxe varieties. They’ll most likely also get taken out to brunch. Now, the gifts I have no problem with–though I think Tiffany & Co. is missing a trick by not introducing a sterling silver pasta charm collection. I am talking to you, Elsa Peretti.  Brunch, however, is more problematic. Specifically, the going out part.

For starts, much like Valentine’s Day, everyone’s out doing the same thing at the same time, and reaping the predictable results of upcharges, downgraded service, and overflowing dining rooms. What makes Mother’s Day brunch even worse than a Valentine’s Day dinner are the very reasons that I generally think that brunch should be held at home in the first place. First of all, eating out on Sunday morning is just a bad idea. All the best chefs will have worked the Saturday evening before and will not be willing to give your mother’s eggs Benedict the cosseting they deserve the following morning–especially on the busiest brunch day of the year.

Second of all, brunch foods are, I think, best made and consumed at home. For the most part, brunch foods are either easy and can be done in advance, or are highly persnickety and must be done a la minute to ensure Mom-worthy results. In the former category are luxurious, eggy casseroles and stratas; tender, sweet-salty baked hams; prettily glistening fresh fruit salads; and golden coffee cakes streaked with tender fruit and crunchy crumble toppings. From the latter are made-to-order omelets, bacon crisp from frying pan, crepes, and hot, flaky biscuits. Regardless of which end of the brunch spectrum you land on, if you do it yourself with proper care and attention, you’ll have a meal fit for mom and perhaps the good karma to counteract a year of leaving your socks on the floor.

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…Sorrel. Continuing with our “Luke REALLY Hates Me” challenges, I happened upon blood sorrel in the market the other day. The greens were striking: bright, lime-y colored looking leaves with deep (Ron) burgundy veins..how could I resist?  I sampled a leaf at the market. It’s more bitter than regular sorrel but still packs a tang. A sourness. Impulsively, I snatched a half pound bag, a purchase solely based on aesthetic:

“It’s…so…pretty! Oh, the colors!”

Now, how to prepare? Luke fears that we’ll both have salad recipes, his faith–clearly–challenged by my…challenges. I wonder if Rose Levy Beranbaum has a blood sorrel tiered cake recipe for him.

Les Fruits participated in a bake sale this past Saturday with fellow D.C. food bloggers State Dinner, One Bite At a Time, Don’t Forget the Flour, and Adventures of a Florida Girl in D.C.  A fun time was had, indeed, with deeply satisfying snacks from all of us–reference sated child to the right.  Florida girl made some rather delectable-looking hazelnut-chocolate chip blondies with Nutella, State Dinner dished up some fudge and inside out carrot cake cookies and the Fruits provided white chocolate chip chocolate cookies, courtesy of Chez Luke–(recipe to follow later today). Check out  some pictures from the morning!

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Ah, Easter, that time of green promise, of spring, of regeneration, and knockdown, drag-out food fights. Never ones to shirk the spirit of the season, we present our Easter menus for your delectation. Let us know what your favorite Spring/ Easter/ Passover dishes are, and whose dinner you’d want to attend! Now with pix, after the jump.

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So yes, I may have mentioned that Mr. T has family in town. I may also have mentioned that they’re lovely, and that they’re English. And this means that there is tea. Lots and lots of tea. Did I mention that there’s tea? I just want to make sure that you’re getting the full picture… of tea. Whatever the time, place, or occasion, it’s right for tea. And, while I insist on my perversely New England-y habit of drinking my tea iced and unsweetened, I can really get behind this ritualistic pause for beverage and wee nibbles. So, hooray for tea time!

This does mean, however, that the hostess with the mostess must needs have an array of tea-time nibbles on hand. Mr. T has repeatedly tried to use tea time (as in, pausing for tea, not a hardcore lace mitt-and-petits fours throwdown) as an object lesson for small pleasures; he says that tea-times, and the English in general,  demand small, restrained pleasures. This approach, however, is totally foreign to me, having been brought up with the firmly American attitude that “if a thing’s worth doing, it’s worth overdoing”.

Unfortunately for my best intentions toward grandiosity, I’ve spent most of the past week flat on my back recovering from the unceremonious removal of my appendix. Thus I have not been engaging in the excessive bustle of baking you and I might expect. Happily, I am mostly upright at this point and I did forsightfully pop a lemon poppyseed poundcake into the freezer a few weeks ago, so I’ll not be caught with my tea party pants down. I’ll still, I think, need to pop round to Rodman’s for a tin of Cabury’s biscuits (UK spec.) all the same. In any event, our Strategic Marmalade Supplies are running low. And regardless, come hell or high water I WILL be making La Nigella’s Victoria Sponge at some point during their stay. So there.

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