gone, but not forgotten

i'm unbelievably disappointed to have been away so long. the fall months and early days of winter have been frantic and full of activity. during this time away i've eaten out, stayed in and even found time to cook thanksgiving dinner with the help of some good friends. but throughout it all, i've been collecting thoughts on these myriad experiences in the hopes of finding a quiet moment to share them. so, here goes...

1. despite the great debate over soup dumplings, i remain forever loyal to shanghai cafe in chinatown. not only are the dumplings little pillows of heaven, but the prices are amazing and the atmosphere is surreal enough to make you feel like you've somehow time-warped to some delicious space odyssey where the lights are bright (scratch that, downright neon) and the spiky-haired natives communicate in a language altogether foreign and yet somehow universal.

2. the islands in prospect park is a spot that requires further thought and a second try. my first visit was less than inspiring. an order of trimmed and sliced chunks of oxtail seasoned with fresh spices and simmered until tender, had strong flavor and good texture, but was so bathed in oil that after eating as much as i could stomach it was hard to recall anything except the exxon-like grease slick left in my take out container.


3. when the cold weather hits, there's nothing i turn to more for comfort than a big bowl of pho and summer rolls at thai son, where i've been going since my first days in the city. it may not be the most authentic, but i've come to depend on the restaurant's grease-lined floor; playful (bordering on eerie) vietnamese instrumental pop music hanging in the air like white chiffon over a hot pink light bulb; and the harried servers at your table, pen and paper in hand, ready to jot down what they already assume will be your order (pho, spring rolls, summer rolls - people don't really veer). all before you've even taken a seat. lapping up the contents of my combination special big bowl, after doctoring it with an ungodly amount of sambal and a touch of hoisin, sends me into a euphoric state that can only be likened to love's unfettered early moments.

4. thanksgiving is a time for family, and i've come to adore my city family. it's for these individuals that i endeavored to tackle a 12 lb bird with only minimal prep time and one counter top. in the end, it was a grand group effort and all was enjoyed. the night left all revelers full and sleepy - dionysus would have been proud.

while i've left things out and have more i'd like to share, i can only expect one's attention span to last so long, so i'll end here. but hope to return more frequently, as i am eager for what the next few months will bring...snow, celebration and always more food.

chronicles of ko

Yes, I am among the throngs of screaming fans willing to drop a good chunk of change for the opportunity to experience the epic two-plus hour meal at David Chang's dining concept known as ko. Not once, but twice and no doubt maybe more (if the Internet gods smile upon me as they have thus far). And no, I'm not one of those crazy-obsessed junkies synching my clock to the infamous reservation system's to ensure scoring one of the many coveted spots at the golden counter. I happen to check every so often, and every so often it turns out my timing is just right. So here it goes...

As we all know, no pictures allowed inside the temple of ko, and I see no reason to go into lengthy discussion dish-by-dish. Rather, the experience overall is what interests me more and what I prefer to share with whomever chooses to listen.

Having scored the resy, I immediately scrambled to try and find three companions for this feasting fest. First, the email to my partner-in-crime. This girl is game. I have dragged her to more dinners, tastings and gorge-fests than I care to count, and she's always up for the challenge. Done. Three more to fill. Without expressing an excess of exasperation and frustration, let's just say those last three were trying. In / out, back-and-forth - people agreeing and pulling out. Who wouldn't jump at the chance? The hefty price tag bears a certain burden. I hear that. But come on...go for it. Ah well. I suppose I can't impose my own priority hierarchy on others. In the end, we were a three-top hoping for the best (i.e. not having to pay for a phantom fourth), and once again, the culinary (and monetary) gods let us know we were in their good graces sending us a group who came in shortly after us hoping to squeeze an extra into their party. Off the hook.

As for the food, well there's really too much to say for this humble blog. And my praise, while completely earnest, is really no different than any other true fan. When it comes to the whole meal the experience is worth the investment. Flavors both simple and complex within a single bite, and dishes prepared with an artist's flair and a genius imagination. The coddled egg has been a standout in both my earlier and most recent meals. Something about the way the yolk oozes out when broken into and pervades the other components (hackleback caviar, onion soubise, mini potato chips and chervil) is wholly satisfying and completely sexy. The shaved foie gras with lychees and white wine gelee is another that has not only received accolades, but has actually driven some to tears of exaltation; decadent and surprising, and not in the least bit disappointing. And at the end of this culinary peregrination, the yellow cake batter ice cream was the perfect way to sum up the experience: playful, delectable and left a smile that hasn't quite left my face, two days later.

Yes, David Chang, you have one more devotee. Your cup runneth over.

Identity Crisis of a Pita

As with any weekend in New York comes the possibility of new discoveries, old friends and just maybe something delicious squeezed in between. I began my weekend on Thursday (doesn't everybody?) - a night out with one of my best girls and her new "friend," who I am tickled to say is no longer in quotes and has, in fact, earned the oh-so-important prefix of "boy."

The impromptu social outing brought us to the newest outpost of Zaytoons on Vanderbilt Ave in Prospect Heights - the Middle Eastern spot that's earned a fairly loyal following amongst the healthy Brooklyn type. A type I would never claim to be my own, but never one to close the book on a potential culinary escape I thought I'd give it a second try. The boy ordered a schwarma (beef / lamb) and a garlic "bread." My friend chose a lamb pitza and I, as so often happens, made a clutch decision opting for the shrimp pitza in a moment of panic and indecision. While I can say that no one left hungry, I would be remiss if I didn't also point out that no one left satisfied. The schwarma was less than up-to-par, neither visually or edibly stimulating. The garlic bread was no more than a glorified pita with chopped garlic sprinkled haphazardly on top - garlic that could have benefited from a quick sautee in a bit of olive oil, or roasted beforehand to bring out the sweetness hiding within the pungent cloves. So far, not impressed. Which brings me to this idea of a pitza - not quite a pita, not quite a pizza. As far as I'm concerned, there are enough things in this world existing in a literal or metaphorical gray area - food should not be one of them. While some blending of flavors and techniques can potentially create new and wonderful culinary delights, it is my belief that identity crises should be left to us humans. A pita topped with meats and vegetables flavored with the accents of a Middle Eastern kitchen, slathered with tomato sauce and mozzarella does not a pizza make. And though I can appreciate the attempt at coining a new culinary creation, a pitza in my opinion is a failed concoction that should be laid to rest.

Overall, a fine atmosphere and an acceptable neighborhood joint that works well enough for an afternoon mint tea and maybe some hummus and plain pita, but for a more satisfying dining experience I would suggest heading to the nearest hole-in-the wall kebab joint for an authentic meal suitably lacking in modern-day mashups.

Food = Love

I have often been told that food is an empty substitute for true emotion and human touch. That the sensation of satisfying a craving or hunger is only a temporary (and quite possibly unhealthy) filler for sadness, loneliness or anger. And if that's the case, so be it. Food is love to me. I eat, not out of some hedonistic desire to consume - though that's not entirely out of the question at times - but rather, most often I eat to experience the most basic joy and pleasure I have in life. Some people golf. I eat. I eat often and I eat a lot. My loved ones worry that I will at some point balloon out to some ungodly size, and not only do physical harm to myself, but more horrifically become an embarrassment to them. The 600-pound woman who must be cut out of her home and carried through a veritable wasteland of take out containers and pizza boxes. But curse of curses, I'm not 600 pounds. Yet. And so I forge on. Ingesting the foods of as many cultures as possible, doing what I can to expand my own gastronomic horizons. It is with this verve for unearthing the infinite array of comestibles out in the world that I invite you to join me on my Culinary Capers, spanning the most humble of epicurean delights to, on occasion, the very haute.

Gluttony Girl
"The belly rules the mind." ~ Spanish Proverb