July 5, 2009
Posted by Leslie Kelly, July 2, 2009 at 2:15 PM
L to R: Strawberries on the honor system, Chef Geddes Martin and his garden.
Toni Hermansen popped open an tiny, briny oyster and handed it to me as I picked out a couple dozen bivalves at the
Buck Bay Shellfish Farm on
Orcas Island, a bucolic spot about three hours from Seattle. I slurped it straight out of the shell and thought: "Sold!"
Actually, I had been thinking about taking home some Buck Bay oysters ever since devouring a half a dozen at the New Leaf Cafe at the historic Outlook Inn in Eastsound, the Island's biggest little city. The entire population of the laid-back island is about 4,500. And driving on the winding roads, you'd swear half the residents were farmers.
You can hardly go five miles without spotting stands selling strawberries on the honor system. Leave $3 in the box for these juicy gems. These teeny operations are surprisingly diverse, offering meat, eggs, produce, sometimes even yarn. Most products are organic and a fair amount of it is consumed on the island making menus hyper-local without tooting any horns about it.
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From Serious Eats: New York
Posted by Joe DiStefano, July 2, 2009 at 2:00 PM
Long ago this Canal Street storefront must have sold art, or more likely knockoff handbags. These days it hawks something far more interesting: fresh jackfruit. The impressive array of huge green fruit looks like something out of a science fiction flick. At first I didn't know what they were. A sign with two Chinese characters and the English word “sweet” indicated that the mystery fruit costs $4 a pound.
When the couple working this hole in the wall told me the ginormous green ovoids were jackfruit, I jumped at the chance to buy some. Not willing to commit to a gigantic wedge, I grabbed a small container. They told me that many people cook the seeds, but that it was fine to eat the fruit itself out of hand, which is exactly what I did as I strolled down Canal Street. I had all intention of taking a closeup of the jackfruit flesh in Sara D. Roosevelt Park, but it was so damn good it was gone long before Grand Street.
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Posted by Michael Nagrant, July 2, 2009 at 11:00 AM
"A great Negroni makes you want to munch like you just smoked a Snoop Dogg's bong worth of hash."
What do you get when President Obama's favorite chef (Tony Mantuano of Spiaggia) decides to do a restaurant side project at an art museum? Based on my first visit to Chicago's Terzo Piano in the Art Institute of Chicago's new modern wing, pretty much the usual second-rate food at usually ridiculously marked-up prices ($17 salads anyone?).
That said, while my first visit was punctuated by disappearing waitresses and clumpy, grainy-sauced, overcooked pasta with 2.5 morels in it and an uninspired trio of $19 sliders, Chicago food-writing vets like Phil Vettel of the Chicago Tribune and Penny Pollack of Chicago Magazine were foaming with delight.
So, who knows. One thing I do know, much like Big Texan chef Tim Love of Top Chef Masters, is how to get my drink on. And like any good mixologist (which I am not—I just play one in print), one of my favorite tipples is the utterly bitter Negroni. It's a killer tongue set-up for any meal. After a few sips of one, you're salivating like Spuds McKenzie surrounded by a group of TV babes wrapped in bacon-clad bikinis. A great Negroni makes you want to munch like you just smoked a Snoop Dogg's bong worth of hash.
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From Serious Eats: New York
Posted by Ed Levine, July 2, 2009 at 10:00 AM
I've said it before and I'll say it again: New York barbecue joints all seem to have one meat that they nail, one dish that is clearly superior to every other meat they cook low and slow. At RUB BBQ that one dish is the burnt ends, or the crazy smoky burnt ends of the fatty half of the brisket. RUB's burnt ends are alternately meaty and fatty, so if you're fat-phobic you should order something else.
Of course if you're fat-phobic you probably wouldn't have walked into RUB or any other barbecue joint in the first place. Don't worry, though. There's plenty of meat, both crusty exterior pieces and tender interior ones, on these burnt ends, and they give you so much Adam and I happily split the burnt ends dinner. If you eat them that way, they are even a bargain.
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From A Hamburger Today
Posted by Damon Gambuto, July 1, 2009 at 2:30 PM
Jewel City Diner
629 Americana Way, Glendale CA 91210 (map); 818-637-8998; americanaatbrand.com
Cooking Method: Griddled
Short Order: A postmodern burger failure
Want Fries with That? No. Did I mention NO?
Prices: Jewel City Burger, $6.96
Notes: Wednesdays kids eat free. Maybe they won't notice how bad the food is.
The fact that full scale mixed-use mall complexes have begun to blossom here in Los Angeles is, like our penchant for storytelling, not such a big deal in and of itself. What makes the construction of these instant-communities of note is that our malls (and their culture) have a way of sneaking into the lives of people all over the country. Like the Hollywood narratives that have for years vied for attention in America’s living rooms, Los Angeles’ newest iteration of the shopping complex is angling to become your living room.
Billionaire real estate developer Rick Caruso has re-imagined the mall as a mix of residential and retail space that is a funhouse attraction of the American Main Street seen through a Las Vegas lens. High-end shopping destinations and chain eateries surround facsimiles of the town square, anchored by gratuitous "dancing waters" attractions. Atop the retail outlets sit posh residences which allow shoppers to literally live at the mall. After a series of hugely successful developments across Southern California, Caruso set his sights on the sleepy bedroom community of Glendale and its waning credit limits.
The Americana at Brand is perhaps the premier example of Caruso’s vision (thus far). Hundreds of millions of Caruso's own dollars were transfused into equally valuable land that the City of Glendale gifted him in hopes that he might stamp out another success from his tested mold. And what has Caruso gifted the Serious Eater in return? A meticulously kept, terrazzo-paved hamburger stand. Jewel City Diner is a paean to America’s classic eatery and also, incidentally, a homage to one of Glendale's beloved restaurants from the bygone days. All this in mind, I set aside my mall aversion to try the Jewel City Burger.
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Posted by Kerry Saretsky, July 1, 2009 at 10:00 AM
I love nothing better than a bit of food and romance in a story. Luckily, French food lore is full of sexy escapades. (I’ve already told you the one about how Roquefort turned blue.)
The region of Provence brims with food, from the minuscule melons de pays at the roadside produce stands, to the almond trees that clutch the rocky earth, clinging down from the breezy mistrals. The city of Aix-en-Provence, one of the urban heartbeats of a region connected by winding arterial roads through vineyard-plaid mountains, has a magical quality to it. On one winding street you'll pass all the usual modern French shops: Princesse Tam-Tam, Petit Bateau, L’Occitane en Provence. At the corner is a church, and around it you turn. A wrinkle in time. Suddenly before you is an open air market shaded under brightly striped canopies, pocketing the light before it spoils the treasures tucked away in wooden crates below: purple asparagus and purple artichokes; tiny bulots, the escargots of the sea; briny jade olives wrapped in flecks of green pistou. To a foodie, it is a living, breathing, seething miracle.
I had read in my guidebook about several bakeries throughout the city that sold the famed Calissons d’Aix, but I am quite pleased to say that the ones I bought came from the vender Calissoun at the Marché d’Aix. Calissons are tiny petal-shaped cookies made from the produce of the region: melons and almonds, and usually flavored with orange, although we also found indigenous fig and lavender varieties. The chewy marzipan-like base is coated in a simple, crisp white glaze. They are sweet, yes, but still have that nutty, fruity reprieve of something healthier that might have been found in California.
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Posted by Hawk Krall, July 1, 2009 at 8:30 AM
Note: Hawk Krall is a Philadelphia-based illustrator who will be chiming in with his hot dog wisdom and original artwork on a regular basis. Take it away, Hawk!
With July being National Hot Dog Month I thought I'd start off with the dog that gets my vote for the best in the country. Flo's Hot Dogs on Route 1 in Cape Neddick, Maine, is not only the best hot dog I've ever had, but an overall mind-blowing experience. Approaching the deteriorating red shack on the side of the road with hundreds of people lined up out the door, I knew I was in for something special.
The hot dogs are phenomenal—ultra snappy and spicy natural casing dogs, steamed to order, tucked into a soft New England-style bun, then slathered with mayonnaise, Flo's "relish", and sprinkled with celery salt. Ketchup is not available. The secret is in the incredible hot dogs and the relish that isn't really a relish it all, but more of a spicy and sweet onion/molasses/tamarind chutney. It goes great with an ice cold Moxie. The natural casing "snapper" dogs are available all over New England and Maine—in both regular and bright neon red varieties—but Flo's treatment of the hot dog is unlike anything else in the world.
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From Serious Eats: New York
Posted by Ed Levine, June 30, 2009 at 11:00 PM
"Who knew that an Italian restaurant in Tribeca would produce New York's best breakfast?"
All photographs by NIck Solares unless otherwise noted.
Locanda Verde
377 Greenwich Street, New York NY 10013 (at North Moore Street; map); 212-925-3797
Service: Friendly and attitude-free
Setting: Hotel restaurant that doesn't feel like one
Compare It To: Trestle on Tenth, Norma's, Sarabeth's
Must-Haves: Any of the pastries and muffins, sheep's milk ricotta, cotechino hash, toasted hazelnut French Toast, crispy garlic potatoes
Cost: $6 to $14
Grade: A
The food world is a-Twitter-ing and a-chattering about Locanda Verde, and why not? Robert DeNiro's involved; it's succeeding a highly visible failure, Ago; critics' and eaters' fave Andrew Carmellini is the chef; and perhaps just as exciting for me, former Craft pastry chef Karen DeMasco is coming off a two-year absence from the New York restaurant scene and returning to the fray, and the ovens, at Locanda Verde.
So it wasn't exactly a complete surprise when I had an incredible dinner the first night Locanda Verde opened to the public. And it wasn't a shock when I had an extraordinarily delicious lunch there with Zach Brooks that featured an untraditional porchetta sandwich that crossed a Tony Luke's roast pork sandwich with a muffuletta.
But when I heard that DeMasco was doing an all-morning and all-day pastry and coffee bar for both Greenwich Hotel guests and serious eaters alike, and a pretty extensive breakfast menu to go along with it, I knew it was going to be good, seriously good in fact. But what I wasn't prepared for was the fact that Locanda Verde just might be serving the best breakfast in New York City, and maybe anywhere. Don't believe me? Let me show you.
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From Slice
Posted by Ed Levine, June 30, 2009 at 3:30 PM
"His slices were so good that they didn't have to deliver."
The other night I started thinking about Sal and Carmine's. Adam reported on Sal's untimely death, but somehow I feel the only true way to pay one's respects to a pieman (and Sal was one of the all-time great piemen) is to have one of his pies.
So last Friday I left the Slice–Serious Eats office around 7 p.m. and took the 2 Train to 96th Street and Broadway. I know I could have taken the local one more stop and ended up a couple of blocks closer, but I wanted to start my homage to Sal by acknowledging the location of the original Sal's Pizzeria on 95th and Broadway, where my love affair with Sal Malanga's pizza began in 1973.
Sal and his brother Carmine opened the original Sal's in 1959, three blocks from my first New York apartment. I was making $111 a week working for the Department of Cultural Affairs in the New York City Parks Department, and though Sal's slices were 25¢ more than every other pizzeria's, it quickly became my go-to slice. How could it not? Sal's slightly bready crust was crisp on the outside and tender on the inside. Therein lies the magic about Sal and Carmine's crust: It never gets hard, no matter how long it's been out of the oven. The sauce was slightly seasoned (maybe it was canned pizza sauce—no matter), and the aged mozzarella they used had just the right touch of salt.
Once you had a Sal's slice you could accept no other. They were magical, more workmanlike and less idiosyncratic than Di Fara, but no less artful and satisfying. That's it, now that I think about it: Sal's slices were just so damn satisfying. And you didn't need a finely honed pizza aesthetic to know that. One bite was all it took. That was the way it was then, and you know what? That's the way it is now.
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From Serious Eats: New York
Posted by Carey Jones, June 29, 2009 at 10:00 AM
I’m a huge fan of the dosa—the enormous South Indian crepe, glistening with buttery ghee, made particularly popular in New York by the “Dosa Man” in Washington Square Park.
Only recently, however, did I realize that the dosa is often eaten as a breakfast dish. It certainly makes sense—crepes, too, are both sweet and savory, for both morning and night. But I'd never gone for spicy mashed potatoes in the morning. Having never had a breakfast dosa before, we headed for Curry Hill spot Saravanaas. An offshoot of Saravana Bhavan, an acclaimed global chain of South Indian veggie fare, this was a place that knew its dosas. And everything else, too.
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Posted by Kerry Saretsky, June 28, 2009 at 4:00 PM
"Is my ramen some third grader who's no good at dodgeball and gets picked last for the team?"
The now defunct Chili Mushroom Ramen.
Do you have that one thing, that favorite thing, on that one menu that you always order? You go back to that same restaurant for that same dish, year in and year out. But would you go back if that dish was brutally, surreptitiously stricken from the menu one dark night when no one is around to save it? This is the story of how I was separated, cruelly, from my Chili Mushroom Ramen: #28 at Wagamama.
Wagamama is a ubiquitous British noodle house chain, at which customers seat themselves up and down clean communal tables and clumsily scarf up huge strings of ramen noodles with chopsticks. No. 28 Chili Mushroom Ramen was a tortoise-size bowl of spicy vegetarian broth laced with whole wheat ramen noodles, doused with God knows what deliciousness, spiked with limes, spring onions, sliced fresh chilies, and bean sprouts, and crowned with sliced grilled Portobello mushrooms. I anointed it with chili oil. It was like vegan fire, and it was the light of my life.
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Posted by Grace Kang, June 28, 2009 at 2:00 PM
The Haute Dogs of the Moment: Ed Levine rounds up the various reinventions of the hot dog currently sweeping New York City. These ain't your mama's hot dogs.
Korean Pork Mountains: Robyn Lee enjoys a Korean barbecue pork fest at Galmaegi-sal Jeonmun in Seoul, South Korea.
Delicious and Professional: Damon Gambuto reviews Nick & Stef's Steakhouse and finds a well-executed burger once all the extraneous toppings are done away with. The superb shoestring and sweet potato fries only add to the experience.
Strict Specialty Pizza: La Casa Pizzaria of Omaha, Nebraska, doesn't allow any changes to its specialty pizzas, but Daniel Zemans still finds something special in its regular thin crust pizza.
