Wandering around the livingroom

geez...baby mouse wandering around living room looking confused, like he (she?) couldn't figure out how the hell it got there. I put another glue trap out in what seemed to be its path. Almost immediately I hear it crying! Damn, that was fast! (baby, not smart enough to go AROUND the trap) I can't bear it! I find myself apologizing to this tiny little creature pathetically glued to its doom. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" I'm saying... All of a sudden, it's ME wandering around my livingroom confused...trying to figure out what on earth to do? I can't bear its plaintive cries...now I'M the one who's freaked out!


So I l go to try to see if Wayne (my doorman) was downstairs to ask HIM to "deal with" the poor thing. I open the stairwell door and startle one of my neighbors smoking reefer. He starts apologizing to me saying that it's not "appropriate" to be smoking reefer (or anything for that matter now that I think of it...) in the stairwell. I'm saying that "it's okay! it's okay....but that there's a BABY MOUSE on a glue trap crying in my apartment! So this stoned guy comes in and carts the poor thing away...I'm guessing not what he thought he would be doing when getting a buzz on...

Qathra Cappa

I love Qathra, the new cafe that just opened a coupla days ago right around the corner. Beautifully put together, with a really nice vibe, Qathra is obviously a labor of love. They were swamped with business when I stopped in early afternoon yesterday, and they were  still scrambling around getting organized. My cappuccino was a tad cold by the time I got it and they did not have a shaker of cinnamon or cocoa powder available....BUT! I'm not gonna hesitate to go back...just sitting at one of their lovely tables is so relaxing! As another happy customer said to me, the place has great "feng shui". Yes it does!

Giving that burger another chance...

Recently I was talking to my students about the sanitation concerns of cooking and consuming feedlot raised & factory ground beef versus meat freshly ground from pasture raised steers. I told them how I love a good rare burger once in awhile but would only order one in a place where I could trust the sourcing and the safe handling of the meat. The conversation got me thinking about The Farm burger that I’ve been craving and complaining about on this blog. Should I go ahead and give it another chance?

Last night, hungry and not wanting to cook despite a fridge full of food, I realized that yes, I wanted to give that juicy, delicious, grass-fed burger with those oh-so-excellent fries another chance. So, I went to The Farm sat at the bar and ordered a beer. As usual, even though I knew what I wanted, I perused the menu. Behind me was a large table of adults and kids. I overheard someone complain to their server that “ALL the burgers are well-done!” Uh oh. Now what? Should I get the pork chop special? The grilled char? Nope, I wanted a burger and those fries. So I ordered one…RARE. I was hoping that after the other table’s complaints that maybe, just maybe, they’d get it right.

I waited and worked on my beer. Not too long afterwards, my burger and those fries arrived garnished with a gorgeous slice of summer tomato and a homemade pickle. I poked at it…hmmm…it felt rare-ish! Good sign! I stacked the tomato, the sliced red onion and the lettuce leaf on top and waited...I wanted to allow the meat to rest and for the juices to redistribute. I began noshing on those fries dipped into the curry mayo. Divine. I waited another minute or two…and then carefully sliced the burger in half. Hey, not bad! Maybe not quite as rare as RARE should be, but a perfect medium-rare nonetheless. It was as juicy and delicious as I remembered it to be. I ate all of the fries and half the burger, took the rest home and devoured it a half hour later.

My burger fix has been satisfied…for now.

Its been a really long time since my last post. I've been very preoccupied with work (as a culinary instructor) while dealing with mom's death (as her daughter, as sister to both of my younger we-don't-wanna-deal-with-this brothers, AND as executor of her so-called estate). But I'm gonna go with an anemic post about my recent farmers market bounty this past Sunday...

It was, truth be told, quite fabulous. I seem to always come back with way too much stuff for a singleton who for the most part eats while working (yeah, one of the few benefits of being in the food industry). But I got it together...I dragged my haul home, and ended up prepping for the rest of the afternoon. My beloved local farmers market is literally right around the block on sunday mornings, which makes it imminently "doable" on my day off.  I blanched and cooked and/or par-cooked the beans, the corn, the beets and the broccoli. I popped all into the frig and have "dined" on the results for the past few days.

I really hafta get it together to wanna cook when I get home from work. Mostly, I fantasize about going out for a you-cook-you-serve-me-and-then-you-get-to-clean-up-afterwards multi-course meal in one of the recently opened trendy neighborhood joints and then end up settling for a pizza made with those fabulous brown rice tortillas I love so much or a salad thrown together from the aforementioned par-cooked mise en place.

What am I gonna do tonight? I've already cut, squeezed, mixed, shook and then poured myself a really yummy pomegranate margarita....with my new fave variant....ground black, white and pink peppercorns mixed into the salt rimmed glass. (Doesn't that qualify for my daily quota of cooking?)

I'm kinda craving The Farm on Adderley's burger made from grass fed beef. The trouble is that it's almost always over cooked. I hafta have a rare (but not still moving)  burger for it to be worth my while. As far as I'm concerned, it's a waste of a meal to negotiate a well-done blob of ground meat. Though I'll admit, this meat is such high-quality meat that it never tastes as yucky as a commercially raised/processed/ground blob of well done flesh does. I will, however, ALWAYS love those fries....only once or twice were they a disappointment (soggy and cold...yikes!)

My other thought is to go to Purple Yam. I've gotta say, aside from how delicious their food is, Amy and Romy are fabulous. I LOVE them. Perhaps I'll finally go try their Korean Meatballs with Kimchi on Purple Yam Bread with a side order of warm and inviting!

Sticky Rice

Many of my students do great things (contrary to my previous post on classic whoppers). My current class is fabulous...they are engaged, interested and enthusiastic. Here's an example: perfectly grilled Teriyaki Salmon with Steamed Spinach and Coconut Sticky Rice. It is a pleasure to be there: teaching guiding and encouraging them to realize all their culinary dreams.

Stock Pots and Olive Pits

This post is about some of the unbelievable things students have done in the kitchen, all those “WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING???” moments that you can laugh at afterwards but during the event you just wanna tear your chef’s hat off, yank out whatever hair you have left and run screaming out of the kitchen. Were they listening to a thing you said? Were they actually awake through all their previous lessons?

One of my favorite stories was from Chef S, who instructed one of his students to strain the stockpot that had been simmering for hours and hours. The stock was nicely reduced and flavorful. The student strained the stock into the sink, steaming and swirling down the drain, and brought over the bones and asked, “Chef! What do you want me to do with these?” WHAAAT???? A similar story involved simmering a bag of shitake mushroom stems into an infused broth, which the student strained (yep, down the drain) and then added the tough inedible stems to the Shitake & Fresh Thyme Velouté. Once I asked a student to chop several bunches of parsley and throw the stems into another stock pot. At service time I’m looking…where’s the chopped parsley? There it was, floating in the stock and there were the stems neatly set aside for god-only-knows-what. Just the other day I instructed, "drain that can of clams, use the juice as some of the broth for the chowder and we'll add the clams at the end". (yeah, I know "canned" clams for the chowder...horrors!) Where are the clams right before service? Nowhere to be found! (No one fessed up to tossing 'em)

Chef B has a great story about an worker that trailed in a restaurant where he was the executive chef. He asked him to pit a vat of olives. He brought Chef B the pits. Where were the olives? IN THE GARBAGE! Because he was a real life worker B was able to scream "what the f**k is wrong with you?" and throw his sorry ass outta the kitchen. (We don't do that with our students as much as we might be tempted.) 

Costco and Coconut Cake

Never go into Costco without a list, or at least a clear plan of your objectives. There I was on Friday, putting things in and out and then back into my cart. What did I want to make for my brother Richard’s birthday gathering on Sunday? Floating in my mind were vague descriptions such as “finger food” “grazing” “no forks or knives!” and “okay, maybe forks, but definitely no knives”. I knew I did not want a sink full of pots, pans or dishes, nor to have to put the oven on, and I  wanted everything out at once so I could join the gathering and try to relax. Other then that? No clue.

I don’t know why I remain a member at Costco. While still catering, the place was a reliable source of reasonably priced product. I could grab tenderloins, jars of capers, clamshells of mesclun and strawberries, bags of tri-colored peppers, gallons of olive oil and boxes of cream puffs (which would have taken me ages to make.) But now, as a culinary instructor, I eat at work and hardly cook when I get home. On weekends, I simply walk around the block to my beloved little farmers market and browse the pasture-raised beef, just-caught seafood, locally made cheese, and freshly picked produce. Who needs Costco?

However, with 15 hungry friends to feed I figured it was time to make that Costco membership pay for itself. The problem was I (the so-called “culinarian”) couldn’t think of a damn thing to make. “Sandwiches” (fingers! not even forks!) popped into my head. Food began to fly in and then out of my cart. Chicken cutlets in, then out and whole roasted chicken in, then out, then in again. Whole spiral cut ham in, then out, and uncured applewood smoked (nitrate-free!) pre-sliced ham in. In and out...in then out. As a distraction I browsed the seafood counter and eyeballed the Dungeness crabs, Lobster Tails and King Crab Legs. (ummmmm…how bout King Crab legs for dinner...) I snapped out of it, (go home and cook myself dinner? who was I kidding?) I pulled out a pad and tried to jot down a menu. Nah, not that. Achhh, not this. Nothing seemed right. My head felt like it would explode. I didn’t know whether to run screaming down the aisles or plop down next to the watermelons and meditate for 10 minutes. I wondered whether Costco had security cameras and whether someone was already thinking "whassup with that crazy lady?"

Finally, I wrangled my cart downstairs and noticed that they had the Professional KitchenAid Stand Mixers on sale for $275 with a coupon for a free grinder or slicer attachment! I stood there…mesmerized. Wait a minute…I gotta the hell outta here! I dragged myself over to the registers (miraculously no line), paid, and hauled myself home. I’d just have to make due with whatever had ended up in the three bags that were now safely in my kitchen. (Kinda like on "Chopped") The only thing I knew for sure was that Linda A was bringing the cake...Coconut Cake, Richard’s favorite. And it was delicious.

The Final Costco Driven Birthday Menu:
Almond Chicken Salad on Farmer's Market Challah
Ham & Cheese with Olives & Roasted Peppers on Herb Focaccia
Gravlax & Shrimp Platter with Capers, Dijon & Sour Cream
Roast Vegetable Wraps (Linda I's delicious contribution)
Feta & Tomatoes with Marinated Artichoke Hearts
Carrot & Celery Sticks, Radishes & Cucumbers
White Bean Puree with Chipotle Chips
Brie with Green & Red Grapes

My mom...Claire...

My mom Claire came and went ON TIME. If the invitation said 1:30…she’d be there precisely 1:30. God forbid you caused a delay that caused her to be a tad late. Even for open-ended events like backyard BBQ's, to her, 1:30 meant 1:30. This put her at great odds with my brother Nick whose idea of a 1:30 invite usually meant somewhere around 2:45. When we’d get to Nick’s house for the aforementioned BBQ, he and his wife would still be browsing the aisles at Costco’s. No matter. WE were on time.

We knew something was terribly wrong when mom stopped eating. Let’s face it, our family gatherings always revolved around “when are we gonna eat?" and "what’s for dessert?" Mom loved lobster, chocolate and nuts. Aside from those treats, she ate very simply. In our family, food and weight issues were of great continual concern. Mom’s meals consisted of reasonable portions of healthy food. When she cooked, her portion control was precise. One pork chop (never double cut) and one plain baked sweet potato each with a side of  braised cabbage with apples. Although she was always worried about our weight, leftovers were entirely unacceptable. "C’mon, finish this!" she’d command, scraping the tablespoon or so of cabbage left in the bowl, loathe to save or throw it away.

Mom hated excess and would huff and puff and mutter under her breath at any event where she thought there was too much food. As the food poured into her home on the day of her wake I could hear her voice loud and clear and quite agitated: “Oh for god’s sake! Too much! TOO MUCH!” That day? I had to agree. The fruit baskets, the trays of wraps, cold cuts, lasagnas, pastries, cookies, and breads kept coming and coming and coming. Her tiny kitchen overwhelmed, I stuffed them on the floor in the porch and even in the bedrooms.

Mom was unconditionally supportive. No matter what I was doing, what projects I undertook, she would ask “what can I do? How can I help?” When I was owner/operator of Novella Café at the BBL, mom came every morning to make sandwiches, start the coffee, and serve the early birds their buttered bagels, blueberry muffins and cheese danishes.

Most importantly, all my friends loved my mom. She was the life of every one of my gatherings. She was funny, opinionated, savvy and engaging. She was the first to start lively conversations about women’s issues and politics. She loved "discussing" everything. She particularly enjoyed trying to engage my rightie brother Nick in what was always inevitably futile conversations.

Speaking of politics, mom voted for Ralph Nader each and every time he ran for president and much to her continual disappointment he never garnered enough votes to make the difference she was hoping for. All this made her a loner amongst all the conservatives in Bay Ridge where she lived her entire life. She didn’t mind, up to the bitter end, she kept busy with going to the local library to discuss the latest choice for her beloved book clubs. (Why bother to buy the book when you can read it for free?) She loved literature, music, theater and all the arts. An artist herself, she'd cloister herself in her studio and paint abstract canvases for hours every day.

Mom was an agnostic, never presuming she knew the “truth” about anything (except when it came to politics, where she was pretty sure sure republicans were WRONG!) Watching and hearing some of her visitors in her last days here on earth whispering in her ear that "soon you’ll be with Jesus” I imagined she was thinking “What about Buddha? and Gandhi? won't they be there?” Like my also-non-church-going dad, mom was much more of a Christian then all of those who outwardly proclaimed to be.  She was kind and never lived in judgment of anyone. (Well, except for those Republicans.)  She is greatly missed. I love you mom.