jean georgie fed the girl and made her cry

A few weeks ago, I experienced what I can only say is the best meal deal in New York City.  Nougatine at Jean Georges is the “bar” section of the famed Jean Georges.  Though they share the same kitchen, some of the menu items, and a smidgen of the stuffiness, I can only imagine that they do differ on your culinary value/return.

Here is what we got on our pre-theatre (served only 5:30 to 6:30) prix fixe:

• Jalapeno cheddar fritter skewered over a shooter of cream of tomato basil soup
• Tuna tartar on a bed of chopped avocado, topped with spicy radish and a ginger marinade
• Slow smoked salmon atop a small mountain of baby carrots and baby beets
• Crispy roasted chicken served with sautéed trumpet mushrooms
• Warm chocolate molten cake with vanilla bean ice cream

The amuse-bouche fritter was a complete surprise as it was not only not on the menu (a “gift” from the chef), but deceptively exploded in your mouth, oozing of warm, fluid spicy cheddar cheese.  Then came the tuna tartar – a sweet tower of diced ahi crowning a salad of melt-in-your-mouth avocado.  I could have easily eaten a half-dozen plates of this.  What followed were what seemed to be full-blown entrée-sized plates of the salmon and chicken.  I’m not a big salmon person but I was a member of the Clean Plate Club on that one.  By the time the chicken came around, I was sufficiently stuffed and had to enlist Jim to help me finish.  But wait, there’s more – dessert!  The chocolate molten cake was everything I have always wanted my homemade molten cake to be but never achieved – fudgy but simultaneously delicate and crispy on the outside, fudgy hot chocolatey lava on the inside.   A glass of tawny port (not included in the prix fixe) capped a perfect end to the bestest meal deal I’ve ever had.  It makes me a bit teary eyed, in astonishment and amazement, at the quality and quantity of food this four-star restaurant churned out – all for $38.

the soul of a chef and his eyebrows

Cleveland is in my bucket list of places to go before I kick it. He is the only reason I would visit Cleveland. Okay, maybe one of two reasons, but I digress. I’ve been following his career for the past eight years – since Michael Ruhlman first wrote about him in The Soul of a Chef. He is Michael Symon. Chef and owner of Lola and Lolita in Cleveland, and Roast in Detroit, an Iron Chef (who most thrillingly beat Nate Appleman in a challenge), James Beard winner and now cookbook author.

When I found out he was signing at the Williams Sonoma in Union Square, my palms started to sweat, my pupils dilated, and I think I even wet myself. My head swam with this scenario of our introductory meeting – after I regale him with my sweeping Symon knowledge, he invites me back to his hotel suite outfitted with a gourmet kitchen (of course) where he proceeds to fry up crispy pig ears and we pork out.

Unfortunately, that didn’t happen. Not even close. Although, as I inched my way down the line with the other fan boys and fan girls, I tried to think of something witty to say to induce his little girl laughter, or maybe if I asked kindly, he’d let me pat his globulous head. But when I finally reached the signing table, he looked up and flashed me his ha-cha-cha smile,  like Deborah Kerr in “An Affair to Remember,” all I could say was “hello.” And all I could see were his eyebrows.

to sho or not to sho…

By the time Thanksgiving rolls around, I usually have my menu planned out for Oshogatsu.  This year, a few days after Thanksgiving, I’m still on the fence whether or not to host shogatsu at all.  I am not sure why.  I am hoping that I will wake up one morning (hopefully sooner than later) and have a divine inspiration (or intervention).

fresno food memories

Yesterday was Black Friday.    The family hit our usual but most anticipated post-Thanksgiving breakfast joint in downtown Fresno – George’s Shish Kebab.  George’s is a little gem of an Armenian diner hidden in a small business park near the civic center, open for breakfast and lunch only.  We’ve been annual regulars there, gorging on shish kebab  for at least the past 20 years. This year I decided to mix it up by ordering the Hy burger patty (a combo of ground lamb and beef mixed with Mediterranean spices and parsley) and eggs instead of the lamb shish kebab.  But while all of their  breakfast entrees are tasty, what I really look forward to is their peda bread.  Not to be confused with and very unlike the pita  they sell in grocery stores, this peda is more like an airy French bread, sliced thick like a Hawaiian sweet bread and just as light. Delivered to the table still warm from being toasted, I spread a thin layer of butter on a slice and I’m golden as the bread I’m about to eat.

After breakfast, we wandered through the tiny indoor mall that houses George’s and came upon a new tea shop – Teazer World Tea Market.  One of only a few retailers in the small building, and one of the fewer still that was open in that weekend-deserted part of town.  A very zen-like young man was working and I asked if he carried milk oolong.   “Oh, no.  You can only get that in San Francisco.”  How did he know?  “That tea is made  especially for the people who buy the tea there.”  Interesting.  But he did show me a similar type of naturally cream-tasting tea – Cream Earl Grey.  I bought an ounce and will try it out this weekend.

Closing off my post Thanksgiving in Fresno, my family stopped off at the cemetery/crematory to visit my uncles, aunts, and family friends who have passed.  But the first person(s) I always visit at the Chapel of the Light is my maternal grandmother, who is urned with my grandfather and shares a niche with my mom’s oldest brother, Fred.  In the 37 years since my grandmother’s passing, I don’t think there’s been a day that has gone by that I have not thought about her.  Although she barely spoke English to my measly Japanese, we got along famously I believe it was she who first started my love of food.  She used to make this tomato-sauceless spaghetti that, to this day, I crave and beg my mom to replicate whenever I’m in LA.  It seems fairly simple – spaghetti with stewed tomatoes, ground beef (or Chinese sausage or bacon), onion, mushrooms, and mozzarella.  But I have never gotten even close to the taste I remember from childhood.  I think it must have been that extra dash of grandmotherly love she added.  I also think she would have loved the shish kebab at George’s.

bachan and me on her farm near Fresno.

who said pie

For more than half of my life, Thanksgiving started on the Tuesday before.  Everyone in my immediate family (and sometimes not-so-immediate) would gather at “The Plant,” in Inglewood (my dad’s baking headquarters), and help box and deliver pies to the dozen or so outlets of Grace Pastries, for pick up on what is the retail food industries’ “Black Wednesday.”

Every Thanksgiving week, Grace Pastries produced thousands of pies – pumpkin, sweet potato, apple, pecan, mince, and custard.  And every Thanksgiving morning, the family would travel over the river and through the woods (more like over to Highway 99 and through the Grapevine) to grandmother’s, auntie’s, or uncle’s house for the annual family reunion. Through those years, the number of  family members gathering in Fowler, Selma, or Fresno has held steady at about 30 to 40 (give or take 10), thanks to siblings and cousins and their kids along with a gaggle of significant others.  One thing that has changed are the pies.  Gone are the Grace Pastries desserts, and in its place are grocery store bought, fresh or frozen pies.  I can only imagine that my dad set such a high standard, everyone knows they can’t compete to what used to be.  But for the past six or seven years or so, I’ve tried.  And tried.  And tried.  While I know I am in a completely different league, I almost feel the need to carry on a tradition of bringing a non-store bought pie. My contribution every year has been a chocolate pecan pie.  This year, I switched up the recipe a bit and made a lard based crust (because we all know lard makes the best crust), omitted the bourbon (because, well, I forgot to buy some), used organic nuts and chocolate, and a little less corn syrup.  Hoping it’s all for the best.

Now, on my way to Fresno via Amtrak, two homemade chocolate pecan pies boxed and tucked underneath my seat, I am ready for my 40+ Thanksgiving in Central California.   But not before I made sure the day started out right by making slow cooked (10 minutes) scrambled eggs, a dollop of creme fraiche, a dash of white pepper, cooked in a pat of duck fat (thanks, Howard!) and sprinkled with black truffled salt.  So far,  so good.  Tomorrow morning, hopefully, will be the second thing I look forward to every Thanksgiving weekend when I’m in Fresno – breakfast at George’s.

bucket list 2: electric boogaloo

It’s been a year since my last (and first) bucket list of restaurants and I can proudly say I did manage to knock one off, albeit it was the easiet (and by far, the cheapest) – Grey’s Papaya.   2010, I hope to up my numbers to three.

1. Per Se (NY)

2. French Laundry (Napa)

3. Jean Georges (NY)

4. El Bulli (Spain) this will have to wait until at least 2010. They’re booked up in 2009.

5. Lolita (Cleveland)

6. Alinea (Chicago)

7. Tru (Chicago)

8. Joe’s Stone Crab (Miami) been here twice before, but it’s been a while and I need to go back.

9. K Paul’s (New Orleans)

10. Les Halles (NY) just because.

11.  Blue Hill at Stone Barns (Pocantico Hills) because Dan Barber is a god to me.

the fall

The past several weeks have taken me both to New York City and to Washington, DC.  Both cities vastly different.  I’ve posted enough of my thoughts on New York (though must say had another wonderful meal at Blue Hill, along with meeting Chef Barber, himself) so here are a few ponderings on my quick  jaunt to DC:

1.  Where are all the delis?  Are there no Jews in DC, Maryland or Virginia?

2.  Why are there so many tapas restaurants there?  It seemed there was one on almost every block.

3.  It’s not a good idea to be craving a martini and a surf and turf while visiting a non-drinking vegetarian bordering on vegan.

4.  Don’t kids go trick or treating anymore?  Only about a dozen kids stopped by my friend’s house.  At least he had the good stuff – Reeses’s, Kit Kats, and Twix, so I’m sure the undistributed candy will not go to waste.

 

la la land

A friend of mine recently moved from the bay area to Los Angeles after spending almost his entire life here.  Upon hearing of his move and choice neighborhood of residence, I promptly told him that he must go to Musso & Frank and wallow in the old schoolness  of the oldest restaurant in Hollywood.

Which got me to thinking of other suggestions for Jose (or any newbie Angeleno) of must-go-to places, taking into consideration that he does not have a car so any place must be walkable or busable from the heart of Hollywood.

Here we go, in no particular order:

Pink’s

709 N. La Brea

Always a line, no matter what time of day.  Always worth it for their snappy end-all-be-all chili cheese dog.

Tommy’s

2575 W. Beverly Blvd.

Located in the Rampart district (yes, THAT Rampart), what Pink’s is to hot dogs, Tommy’s is to burgers.  All burgers automatically come fully loaded so if you don’t want to experience the chili that keeps on giving, then say so when you order.  I lived only blocks away and had to make a conscientious effort to not stop by every day after work.  Cash only, by the way.

Langer’s

704 S. Alvarado

Their pastrami sandwich slightly edges out Katz’s as Best Sandwich Ever.

Philippe’s

1001 N. Alameda St.

Sawdust on the ground, pickled pig’s feet in a jar, and 9¢ coffee.  It’s been said the French Dipped sandwich was invented here.  No doubt.

Baby Blues

7953 Santa Monica Blvd.

I haven’t been to their new WeHo location but if it’s anything like the original in Venice, it is WONDERFUL.  I recommend the baby backs, with a side of corn on the cob, and mac ‘n cheese.  And don’t forget to order dessert – best damn pecan pie outside of my kitchen.

Zankou Chicken

8 locations

Even if you’re not into eating warm, succulent garlic chicken, the falafel or shwarma will surely satisfy.  The décor in all the locations I’ve been to is the same – blow-up photos of the various plate items.  That’s it.  Plastic booths, plastic chairs.  But, of course, you’re there for the food.  Don’t forget to bring your Altoids.

El Conquistador

3701 W. Sunset Blvd.

Located in Silverlake, this happy, shiny place has the friendliest waiters around. Two bars serve up margaritas that put the POTENT in impotent (which WILL render you weak and helpless).

Hollywood Farmers’ Market

Ivar and Selma Avenue

Every Sunday from 8:00 AM to 1:00 PM, cruise the organic fruit and vegetable stalls, free range meat stands, artisan bread booths, and flower vendors before settling down on the sidewalk curb with your freshly made pupusa and a tall cup of freshly squeezed limeade.

Roscoe’s House of Chicken ‘n Waffles

1514 N. Gower

Separately, the chicken and waffles are good.  Together, they are dy-no-mite.  I know the combination sounds a bit odd, especially for breakfast, but I will take this over the Colonel any day.  (Though Mrs. Knotts rules the roost.)

HMS Bounty

3357 Wilshire Blvd

Located in the Mid Wilshire district in the Gaylord apartment building across from the old Ambassador Hotel, this is my favorite bar in LA.  Weekend nights, this place is too hip to be square which makes parking tough but the waitresses have been there forever, the barkeep makes good, stiff drinks, the chef makes burgers thicker than your fist, and the overall atmosphere makes me feel proud to call myself a “broad.”

Next up, LA restaurants where having a car would be of utmost convenience.

the joy of eating

When it comes to the joy of eating, for me,  there are two types.

1.  Eating for the selfish, pure pleasure of indulging my senses and nobody else’s.
2.  Eating for the enjoyment of sharing the experience with others.

This week, I did both.

Often when I eat really wonderful food, I need, I want to be with friends.  While I don’t mind dining alone,  it’s almost always nicer when it’s a shared experience.  Similar to seeing a great concert.  If you’re anything like me, once the music starts you’re off in your own little world, shutting out the text messenger sitting next to you, or the loud breather sitting in back of you.  But once the music ends, you want to talk about  the volume of the timpani, or the extemporaneous piano riffs.  You want to exchange how the experience affected your senses.  This same encounter carries over to eating.  Most of the time.

For me, when it comes to eating unadulterated, steamed Maine lobster, I’m solo and prefer it that way (for purely shellfish reasons, of course).  Eating lobster is unworldly.  I am hovering six inches off the ground, off in my own lobster loveland surrounded by a sea of drawn butter.  Just hang a Do Not Disturb sign around my neck and leave me be.    The lobster affects me in a way that can’t be shared, let alone described (though lord knows I’ve tried).    And I love it that way.

I suppose that whenever we cook for just ourselves, the same is true – we are a one man show performing for a single audience member who knows your likes, dislikes and what you’re in the mood for.    We alter the way we cook when it’s just “us.”  Maybe a little more butter, or truffle oil -  no less indulgent.

On the other hand…

It always gives me great satisfaction and warms my heart when I can turn other people on to one of my culinary favorites, be it a new way of cooking brussel sprouts,  the Spoonful of Happiness at my neighborhood sushi bar – Koo, or the baby backs at Sneaky’s BBQ.   I like to think that in a very small way, my friends are trusting me, omakase in a sense, validating my good taste by putting theirs in my hands.

This past Wednesday, I took an informal office poll to see if anyone would be interested in partaking in a order of BBQ from my new favorite BBQ non-joint joint Sneaky’s.  A handful had seen my last order of baby back ribs, cole slaw, sweet potatoes, and mac ‘n cheese, a few even stole a couple of bites.  Maybe it was this temptation. It could have been the reviews on Yelp.  Possibly it was my exultant praise on gfork.  Any which way, I was able to get ten people to pork belly up and see the way of the gfork for a Friday lunch order.  Four baby back ½ racks and six pints of pulled pork later, I was in an office of the satiated.  Food comas abounded.  And as Ed J. exclaimed to me, “You’re the baby mama!” after patting his stomach, proudly showing off a nice pork induced bloat.   And I glowed and cooed for the rest of the afternoon.  Not only from eating great food but knowing others had taken part in this experience as well.

food porn

one of life's greatest pleasures