As a fellow tea nerd, I would love to see more of your writing about the subject. Do more tea. Do lots of tea, on location.
Ok, just promise me sous vide apple wood smoked bacon wrapped mutton stuffed with river trout next time.
When I was growing up, nothing was more "Friday night" than walking to the local pizza joint for a slice and a can of RC.
Bring back Will! :(
Weekends. Now. When the house is empty, and I'm alone. Then I bust out the good bourbon.
This reminds me why you're one of my favorite remaining writers around here. Evocative, and a delicious read.
I'm still mad over a meal I had more than 12 years ago. It was my 23rd birthday, and we were po' so poor, we couldn't afford the rest of the word. Most nights, dinner was box mac and cheese, hot dogs or tuna. So, for my fancy birthday dinner, I wanted to go to a local gastro-brewpub. I'd eaten there once before, when my best friend was visiting from out of state, and the meal really stuck with me. It was expensive, but I dreamed about it. So, that's where I wanted to go for my birthday. I was envisioning flights of beer for tasting, delicious small plates of great bar food.
Uh. They recently had a big changeover that I wasn't aware of. They went from really great bar food and beer to a stuffy Italian joint, with no beer on the menu anywhere. We soldiered on, and I ordered the cheapest thing on the menu, a plate of penne in vodka sauce for a whopping $22. This was 2001, and that was pretty much my grocery bill for the week. Husband got the veal parmigiana. Our waiter carried two ENORMOUS plates out, the plates were literally the size of my kitchen sink, so I thought hell, this will be great, good food, huge portions! He set the plate down, and there were 14 noodles in a little cluster in the center of this gigantic plate, swimming in what looked exactly like Campbells tomato soup. And tasted that way. I almost broke down in tears. Husband's veal was, I shit you not, two patties chopped and formed, under a scant bit of cheese, floating in watery tomato puree, with a meager handful of spaghetti.
We ate our garbage. Paid the extravagant-to-us bill, and left feeling horrible. I mean, really horrible. Like everything was a huge prank, and we were the butt of the joke. These days, I wouldn't stand for it, but back then? I just felt lucky going into a place like that, and that maybe I was missing something about "haute cuisine".
What really burns my ass, is to this day, people are always raving about it, recommending it as one of the finer eateries in a town with lots of great places. The place is THRIVING. People love mediocrity. I still don't get the joke.
I just watched the Darth Vader/Penne Arrabiatta thing *again* last night. HILARIOUS. "this one's wet. This one's wet. This one's wet. This one's wet..."
I have a small mesh strainer, but I find myself going for the huge colander, because I hate cleaning the fine mesh screen, and it doesn't sit on the counter upright if I need it to. But then...I also hate washing an enormous colander. I can see a use for this, totally. Sometimes, all you need is to drain one can of beans.
I can't even...
His writing. I looked forward to it every week, more than any other column here. This is very upsetting.
Definitely the ice cream maker. Who has room in the freezer for the huge canister? To make ice cream just requires so much forethought. I trot it out a few times a year, like for summer barbecues, and sometimes holiday meals where pie is present (there is no better partner to hot apple pie than homemade cinnamon ice cream). But still.
For one choice, a nice basic mid-thickness spaghetti, like good old Ronzoni #9 , the pasta of my childhood. For two choices? Add rigatoni to that. Fatter and more substantial than penne, with sort of careless chewy "too fat to stay tubular, don't care" kind of attitude. Awesome.
If the pizza is leftovers, or really shiteous, yeah. Otherwise, hot pepper flakes all the way.
I work as a sensory panelist for a flavor/fragrance company. I taste and sniff things for a living. I would LOVE to like, take my talents to a small craft brewery and be on a taste panel developing and testing new beers. That might be my dream job. Or maybe a high end distillery.
Yay! I am right there with you on the bread thing. Cheese forever!
I feel pretty lucky, a friend stood in line at the brewpub last week, and while he was there, he picked up a case of Elder. Sent me a few bottles, which are rare as anything in my area. I finally got to try Elder, it was a good experience.
My main concern is preventing it from spilling. I'd rather a lightly screwed lid than a little metal hat perched on a jar of runny preserves.
@Redfish, in my case, it was a weird little shaped jar. Not worth the effort.
@Boomuisine....wow, it's ok, it'll be ok. There's always a morning after. You're a good person. I think you were a bit misguided about safety issues, but I do like having the ring around for resealing, then refilling, is all.
See, I agree with the OP, and here's why. I got an excellent jar of blackberry jam as a hostess gift when I had house guests. No ring. How am I gonna reseal it? I had to transfer it into a plastic pint takeout soup container. For whatever reason, that took much of the appeal out of the jam. Tasted fine, but, I don't know, it lost something. Just because I knew they were stingy, I washed and returned the jar. They took it.
Next time, give me the damn ring, and I'll refill your jar with something good, like a spice rub, or my own preserves.
I just announced to the household, instead of my usual Williamsburg birthday beer crawl (starting at Brooklyn Brewery, hitting anywhere interesting in between, and ending at Radegast)...I just told them we're going on a Flushing dumpling crawl instead. I had to explain it like three times, but I think they're game.
If you have a grinder and a Costco membership, their Colombian, in the silver bag is quite good. The Kenyan in the royal blue bag is pretty hard to beat, too. They run like $11-12 for a 2 pound bag.
Oh I am so on the bandwagon for hating flavored vodka. I love vodka. I was raised in a very Polish household. I love my vodka. I love it icy cold in shots. Or sometimes with tonic if I'm feeling fancy. I like it to taste like potatoes and pain, or on the higher end...nothing. Every time I head into that row to pick up my bottle of Zyr, I get irrationally angry. Swedish Fish vodka? REALLY!? They're marketing it to fifteen year old kids. For fucks sake. Oh, here I go again.
No, couldn't possibly. I'm lactarded. The very idea...
We have one of those machines at work, a huge industrial number. They stock a lot of the Green Mountain kinds, but not the Kenyan, which is actually decent. So far, besides the hot water that I can pour from the side of the machine, the best is the Hazelnut at double strength. I make it with just about equal milk, and a pound of sugar. Nutella in a cup. Who needs cookies?
They're letting you touch stuff on the higher shelves! Oh happy day! Our little Will *sniffle* drinking good rye.