Posting regularly and often is nearly impossible when one is filling their time eating and cooking and planning the eating and cooking. I am remiss! But, this is what Hambone and Spice are up to at the moment:
1. Planning a dinner party to be held tomorrow evening. Despite wicked hot weather (90s-100 degrees F), we're making fish soup. I had a really great fish soup at Margaux, a St. Paul bistro, a couple weeks ago (look for it soon in an installment of Alpha and Beta's eating adventures), and I can't get the fennel and saffron out of my mind. We'll take a trip to Coastal Seafoods tomorrow morning to buy the freshest assorted white fish fillets and shellfish in stock. The uncertainty of what is available is only slightly nerve-wracking so I phoned today for a preview. The fishmongers are very nice, and even a little interested to hear what we're cooking, so I think we'll be in good hands.
2. Assembling clothes, books, and art supplies to be packed for a ten-day trip to France. Hambone, Spice, Alpha, and Beta are travelling to Reims by way of Paris (naturellement). Many reservations have been booked for bistros and many intentions have been set for lazy afternoons in cafes. And, in Reims, we will witness friends James and Ulrika as they tie the knot.
3. Spice is reading Michael Ruhlman's The Reach of a Chef, and she knows already that she will re-read it. Go get your own copy!
Friday, July 28, 2006
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
Alpha and Beta's Adventures in Eating: Greek
I may have mentioned in a previous post that my children can be picky eaters. However, comparing notes with other parents leads me to believe that they are no pickier than your average four- or six-year-old child. If we must (and we must), a more accurate assessment would be to call them cautious eaters, especially when encountering new food. Usually, we can make a curry or stir-fry or risotto for dinner and know that one of them will embrace the challenge of trying something new, while the other balks. If we serve the dish often enough, the protests will eventually end.
All bets are off, however, when we visit the grandparents or go to a restaurant. The unpredictability of the meal is usually a force too great for either of them to handle gracefully. Seeing as Hambone and I are hauling the wee ones to France this summer, and seeing as most of the vacation will be about food and most of the meals will be taken in restaurants that I wouldn’t categorize as family-friendly, we have begun restaurant boot camp. Once a month, we’ll take Alpha and Beta to a different ethnic restaurant where we’ve promised not to order anything outrageous and where the only rule is Try everything.
For the inaugural event, we crossed the mighty Mississippi River and ate Greek in Minneapolis. It’s Greek to Me is located at one of the Twin Cities’ intersections of diverse foodstuffs. For a few blocks in each direction, you’ll find falafel, Peruvian, Spanish tapas, sushi, and upscale American, to name a few.
At It’s Greek to Me, the food is reliable and delicious. Travel posters, Aegean landscapes, and colorful textiles adorn the interior.
The boys were into the field trip, and I noticed that they were very comfortable in the environment. Ah, taking them out to eat is paying off. And, they were sports about trying new food. I found that if I speared something with my fork and told Beta (the more adventurous eater of the two) that it was meat, he would pop the morsel in his mouth and, often, ask for more. Both jockeyed for the last few calamari pieces. Beta, rather than asking to have the platter of calamari passed to him, would hop out of his chair, circle the table to the platter, and help himself—all before anyone could ask him to use his manners.
For the record, H & S chased their food with retsina. We ordered the following:
Saganaki
In all of the orientation we gave the boys, we neglected to prepare them for the saganaki presentation. When the fumbling server ignited the brandy-soaked slab of fried kasseri cheese, which audibly went up in flames, I saw two sets of eyes bug out. Owing to shock and amazement, I don’t think either of them heard the celebratory cries of “Opa!”
Cold mezes
This assortment included briny taramasalata (a rosy-hued cod roe dip); warm, soft pita wedges; kalamata olives, peperoncini, and tomato slices; salty chunks of feta; vinegary, rice-stuffed grape leaves, and octopus that had been marinated in red wine and herbs, then grilled and chilled before serving.
Warm mezes
AKA, the heaping meat platter came loaded with perfectly seasoned pork souvlaki, strips of lamb for gyros, and garlicky loukaniko sausages.
Calamari
Divine, thick squid rings and tentacles, shrouded in a light and crispy batter.
Neither Hambone nor I had room for dessert, but after some consultation, I found a small corner into which a gooey little wedge of baklava might fit. Alpha, however, kept his eye on the prize: the loaded bakery case that greeted us when we walked through the restaurant’s doors. While we were waiting for our meal to be delivered, with Beta in tow, son #1 would make a trip to the case to make sure that no other diner had ordered his slab of dense chocolate-chocolate cake. Having no further appetite for dinner, Alpha was miraculously hungry for the cake. He also graciously shared with Beta, who, on the side, nibbled my baklava. Since he was so busy stuffing his mouth, Beta didn’t even have time to learn what this honeyed treat was called, so he simply referred to it as “that golden dessert.” Poetic.
All bets are off, however, when we visit the grandparents or go to a restaurant. The unpredictability of the meal is usually a force too great for either of them to handle gracefully. Seeing as Hambone and I are hauling the wee ones to France this summer, and seeing as most of the vacation will be about food and most of the meals will be taken in restaurants that I wouldn’t categorize as family-friendly, we have begun restaurant boot camp. Once a month, we’ll take Alpha and Beta to a different ethnic restaurant where we’ve promised not to order anything outrageous and where the only rule is Try everything.
For the inaugural event, we crossed the mighty Mississippi River and ate Greek in Minneapolis. It’s Greek to Me is located at one of the Twin Cities’ intersections of diverse foodstuffs. For a few blocks in each direction, you’ll find falafel, Peruvian, Spanish tapas, sushi, and upscale American, to name a few.
At It’s Greek to Me, the food is reliable and delicious. Travel posters, Aegean landscapes, and colorful textiles adorn the interior.
The boys were into the field trip, and I noticed that they were very comfortable in the environment. Ah, taking them out to eat is paying off. And, they were sports about trying new food. I found that if I speared something with my fork and told Beta (the more adventurous eater of the two) that it was meat, he would pop the morsel in his mouth and, often, ask for more. Both jockeyed for the last few calamari pieces. Beta, rather than asking to have the platter of calamari passed to him, would hop out of his chair, circle the table to the platter, and help himself—all before anyone could ask him to use his manners.
For the record, H & S chased their food with retsina. We ordered the following:
Saganaki
In all of the orientation we gave the boys, we neglected to prepare them for the saganaki presentation. When the fumbling server ignited the brandy-soaked slab of fried kasseri cheese, which audibly went up in flames, I saw two sets of eyes bug out. Owing to shock and amazement, I don’t think either of them heard the celebratory cries of “Opa!”
Cold mezes
This assortment included briny taramasalata (a rosy-hued cod roe dip); warm, soft pita wedges; kalamata olives, peperoncini, and tomato slices; salty chunks of feta; vinegary, rice-stuffed grape leaves, and octopus that had been marinated in red wine and herbs, then grilled and chilled before serving.
Warm mezes
AKA, the heaping meat platter came loaded with perfectly seasoned pork souvlaki, strips of lamb for gyros, and garlicky loukaniko sausages.
Calamari
Divine, thick squid rings and tentacles, shrouded in a light and crispy batter.
Neither Hambone nor I had room for dessert, but after some consultation, I found a small corner into which a gooey little wedge of baklava might fit. Alpha, however, kept his eye on the prize: the loaded bakery case that greeted us when we walked through the restaurant’s doors. While we were waiting for our meal to be delivered, with Beta in tow, son #1 would make a trip to the case to make sure that no other diner had ordered his slab of dense chocolate-chocolate cake. Having no further appetite for dinner, Alpha was miraculously hungry for the cake. He also graciously shared with Beta, who, on the side, nibbled my baklava. Since he was so busy stuffing his mouth, Beta didn’t even have time to learn what this honeyed treat was called, so he simply referred to it as “that golden dessert.” Poetic.
Tropical Gastronomy 101
One doesn’t visit Costa Rica for gastronomic fare. One goes for volcanoes, cloud forests, unrivaled wildlife, spa treatments, possibly even surfing. At least that’s what I’ve gleaned from the way Costa Rica is presented in glossy travel magazines (Costa Rica is almost certainly never profiled in glossy culinary magazines). Never having visited the country, I’m not even really sure what constitutes typical Costa Rican food. But, as is fitting for any travel that Hambone and Spice endeavor, I boosted my knowledge-base by looking through a few travel guides. We learned that rice and beans would be the central component of each meal.
So, forget about the food. We specifically chose lying on the beach in colorful Costa Rica as our destination over watching the spring cycling classics in cold, dreary Belgium. With Arthur Frommer’s Budget Travel magazine as our guide, we made reservations at the Ylang Ylang resort in Montezuma. Why? Fearing a weeklong diet of rice and beans, we were seduced by this resort, which promised a French-trained chef on site, as well as the requisite beach-side bungalow, crystal-clear swimming pool with waterfall, and jungle with howler monkeys—all that one needs for relaxation and rejuvenation when one is faced with a Minnesota March.
We were pleasantly surprised by the food we ate that week. One element stood out: fresh. Fresh fruit, vegetables, and fish were the staples of every meal at Ylang Ylang resort and its sister restaurant, El Sano Banano (the healthy banana).
Breakfast came with the price of our room. If you think we were noshing on the typical complimentary hotel breakfast—stale pastries, chased by weak juice from concentrate and bitter, lukewarm coffee—you would be wrong. First, Costa Rica is the coffee mother ship, and the coffee served by the hotel was top-notch. If we spent enough time hanging out in the restaurant, especially near the bar, we’d hear the juicer running. And each morning at breakfast, we were offered fresh-squeezed orange, passion fruit, or tamarind juice. Who would choose orange? The passion fruit was sweet and lively, but the tamarind was singular. Despite coming in a rather unappetizing brown-color, speckled with microscopic seeds, tamarind juice is slightly spicy and sweet.
We noticed that almost everyone ordered the yogurt-granola-fruit parfait, but not Hambone and Spice. We tried everything but that one thing we can eat anytime at home. Instead we ate our fill of huevos rancheros (fried egg perched atop black beans and a hearty corn tortilla, then smothered in a tangy, fresh salsa), tipico (an egg made to order, rice and beans, cheese, and fried plantains), and French toast redolent with cinnamon and topped with a tropical fruit (papaya, mango, and pineapple) compote.
At lunch, one could from order a variety of sandwiches, enormous composed salads, and a few house specialties, such as rich mushroom crepes. The restaurant also had a carefully edited sushi menu, and Hambone diligently worked his way through it. Perhaps it’s most apt to say that sushi techniques had been applied to vegetables and fish. None of the sushi resembled what we were expecting. Needless to say, it was amazing.
The hamachi was prepared nigiri-style, but what we were served was something that looked like it had passed through a nuclear reactor. A generous slab of hamachi had been seared, then drapped over a large, dense pillow of seasoned rice. The fish was shellacked with a soy sauce-sesame oil concoction before it was sprinkled liberally with sesame seeds. In a few words, this sushi was amazing, succulent, unique. Hambone made a sport out of watching the moment when each hotel newcomer received their first sushi order. Many asked, “What is it?” Some appraised the morsel on steroids, trying to determine how best to eat it and concluding that knife and fork would keep their hands tidiest.
By dinner, the restaurant was bathed in torch- and candlelight, which made a romantic setting. The portions were enormous, and the food was served hot, which I found challenging to eat in weather well over 80 degrees. Truth be told, it was no hardship to tuck into the spectacular meals on the dinner menu, which was replete with shrimp, tuna, mahi mahi, and pasta. The mango-habenero-slicked mahi mahi was one stand-out. Kabobs (shrimp one night, chicken the next) arrived tableside arranged like a tepee. One end of the skewer was stuck into a pineapple slice, the rind of which had been peeled and unfurled to anchor the top of the skewers—an artful presentation of food that required a blueprint to disassemble.
If one were so inclined toward dessert, and we were, a short menu kept us amused. My favorites were the chocolate crepes (avocado played the supporting role in the chocolate filling) and the sundae (vanilla ice cream, bittersweet chocolate sauce, and granola).
As for the rice and beans—I couldn't get enough. In fact, back in Minnesota, I crave them as they were served Costa Rica-style: in a timbale and enlivened with chicken stock, green chiles, and cilantro.
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
In like a lamb
March was ushered in on the back of a lamb today. Here in St. Paul, the day was warm and the sun made occasional appearances. The days are getting longer, and it's no longer pitch-dark when I leave the office at 5:30. Soon Hambone and I will make picnic dinners (cold cuts and cheese and salads) for Alpha and Beta so we can grab the last hours of daylight at the playground. But, until then, I'm still wearing a big wool sweater and sitting under a pile of blankets on the couch each evening as I read all the Nigel Slater I can get my hands on. I have just finished Toast, which is a memoir written in vignettes, each memory fueled by some item of food. The book starts with this exemplary piece about toast. Here's my favorite bit:
Now, on another note, Nigel and I are on the same wavelength about March. In his really amazing and absolutely unpretentious cookbook, Appetite, he writes that March is the "lowpoint of the cook's year." Tired of roots, citrus, and apples, Slater copes by eating "golden fruits from tropical climates" and seafood, such as mussels, to get through the end-of-winter doldrums.
I can't look at another clementine. We have eaten six boxes since November, and I've eaten at least three of those crates with no help. In an effort to add some variety to my citrus consumption, I have recently purchased minneolas (the rind is such a deep, rich orange color) and honey tangerines, and to my great disappointment the pulp has been shriveled and dry. Blessed relief: each of the three grocery stores I frequent has piles of luscious mangoes and the pineapple looks promising.
Slater also writes, "I might make the last truly winter casserole...Something light and stewy, like braised lamb with carrots." So, my March menu is shaping up. Every wintery meal that I've dreamed of making--stews, braises, cassoulets, another batch of chili, heavy pasta sauces--will make the A list over the next few weeks. March 31 marks the last day of winter for Hambone and Spice. That's the day we go tropical for a week in Costa Rica. Once we touch down on Minnesota soil, with visions of fruity drinks and fresh fish swimming in our heads, no one will be able to stop me from storing the stew pot and cleaning off the grill. Just you wait.
It is impossible not to love someone who makes toast for you. People's failings, even major ones such as when they make you wear short trousers to school, fall into insignificance as your teeth break through the rough, toasted crust and sink into the doughy cushion of white bread underneath. Once the warm, salty butter has hit your tongue, you are smitten. Putty in their hands.Slater has a real economy of language, with a seemingly effortless way of conveying a lot using the fewest, but best, words possible. I could not put this book down, and I look forward to rereading it.
Now, on another note, Nigel and I are on the same wavelength about March. In his really amazing and absolutely unpretentious cookbook, Appetite, he writes that March is the "lowpoint of the cook's year." Tired of roots, citrus, and apples, Slater copes by eating "golden fruits from tropical climates" and seafood, such as mussels, to get through the end-of-winter doldrums.
I can't look at another clementine. We have eaten six boxes since November, and I've eaten at least three of those crates with no help. In an effort to add some variety to my citrus consumption, I have recently purchased minneolas (the rind is such a deep, rich orange color) and honey tangerines, and to my great disappointment the pulp has been shriveled and dry. Blessed relief: each of the three grocery stores I frequent has piles of luscious mangoes and the pineapple looks promising.
Slater also writes, "I might make the last truly winter casserole...Something light and stewy, like braised lamb with carrots." So, my March menu is shaping up. Every wintery meal that I've dreamed of making--stews, braises, cassoulets, another batch of chili, heavy pasta sauces--will make the A list over the next few weeks. March 31 marks the last day of winter for Hambone and Spice. That's the day we go tropical for a week in Costa Rica. Once we touch down on Minnesota soil, with visions of fruity drinks and fresh fish swimming in our heads, no one will be able to stop me from storing the stew pot and cleaning off the grill. Just you wait.
Chez Hambone and Spice: Week of February 26
Sunday: Chicken-corn-potato chowder and cornbread
Monday: Garlic shrimp, basmati, and chimichurri
Tuesday: Hamburgers, peas, onion rings
Wednesday: Ploughman's (Morbier, tomme de savoie, country pate, cornichons, bread)
Thursday: Spaghetti carbonara and green salad (w/oranges, avocado, Maytag blue)
Friday: Grocery store sushi
Saturday: Hambone and Spice have dinner out
A few notes about the posted menu:
One, Hambone and I are really making an effort to cook every weeknight. But, truth be told, we have crazy workloads and children so by Thursday all bets are off that either of us feel like cooking. I try to make a menu each Saturday for the next week, which helps me keep the grocery shopping focused and allows me to stay as organized as possible. I can plan a menu but I cannot, for the life of me, manage to fold the laundry or dust.
Two, we have small children who can be picky eaters, but they can also surprise us. For example, the six-year-old (Alpha) will devour a small package of lox, but he will not eat salmon sushi. The three-year-old (Beta) will eat sushi, but he will not touch any sort of fruit or drink fruit juice. And, on other fronts, they're like Jack Sprat and his wife. One will eat egg whites, the other egg yolks. One will eat pizza crust, while the other will only eat the cheese. They are in complete solidarity, however, about flecks of black pepper and herbs in their food (hate) and wasabi peas (love). I have declared 2006 to be the year that I stop making special meals for them when Hambone and I are eating something spicy or weird (please don't ask me what constitutes weird to a three-year-old). As a result, I find myself altering the menu to please the little ones, who are also asked, once or twice a week, to try something new, something challenging.
Three, Hambone makes the best hamburgers in the world. Remind me to post about them some day.
Four, Our grocery store makes respectable sushi, especially once it's allowed to come up to room temp.
Monday: Garlic shrimp, basmati, and chimichurri
Tuesday: Hamburgers, peas, onion rings
Wednesday: Ploughman's (Morbier, tomme de savoie, country pate, cornichons, bread)
Thursday: Spaghetti carbonara and green salad (w/oranges, avocado, Maytag blue)
Friday: Grocery store sushi
Saturday: Hambone and Spice have dinner out
A few notes about the posted menu:
One, Hambone and I are really making an effort to cook every weeknight. But, truth be told, we have crazy workloads and children so by Thursday all bets are off that either of us feel like cooking. I try to make a menu each Saturday for the next week, which helps me keep the grocery shopping focused and allows me to stay as organized as possible. I can plan a menu but I cannot, for the life of me, manage to fold the laundry or dust.
Two, we have small children who can be picky eaters, but they can also surprise us. For example, the six-year-old (Alpha) will devour a small package of lox, but he will not eat salmon sushi. The three-year-old (Beta) will eat sushi, but he will not touch any sort of fruit or drink fruit juice. And, on other fronts, they're like Jack Sprat and his wife. One will eat egg whites, the other egg yolks. One will eat pizza crust, while the other will only eat the cheese. They are in complete solidarity, however, about flecks of black pepper and herbs in their food (hate) and wasabi peas (love). I have declared 2006 to be the year that I stop making special meals for them when Hambone and I are eating something spicy or weird (please don't ask me what constitutes weird to a three-year-old). As a result, I find myself altering the menu to please the little ones, who are also asked, once or twice a week, to try something new, something challenging.
Three, Hambone makes the best hamburgers in the world. Remind me to post about them some day.
Four, Our grocery store makes respectable sushi, especially once it's allowed to come up to room temp.
Thursday, February 16, 2006
Seven Layer Dip
In a few minutes it will be midnight. Hambone just left for the office where he is the overnight godhead, managing the official Winter Olympics website for a Major Network That Shall Remain Unnamed. He has been working the midnight to nine a.m. shift since the Games started last week. He eats dinner for breakfast. Pork chops were on the menu yesterday, teriyaki chicken earlier today. I get the sense that he's desperate for something lovingly homemade and fresh, such as the seven layer dip that I will assemble shortly. It's my contribution to the poorly organized potluck the 3rd floor is throwing tomorrow. Someone has volunteered to make tator tot casserole and another will bring a broccoli salad; otherwise, 28 people have signed up to bring bars or cookies. I have overheard more than one person say proudly that they'll buy their cookies or bars, of course. That it would be stupid to make cookies or bars from scratch or from a box. OMG. What madness is this that our time is too precious to even bother dumping a mix into a bowl and adding oil and an egg? For the full effect, make sure you bake your brownies in aIn a few minutes it will be midnight. Hambone just left for the office where he is the overnight godhead, managing the official Winter Olympics website for a Major Network That Shall Remain Unnamed. He has been working the midnight to nine a.m. shift since the Games started last week. He eats dinner for breakfast. Pork chops were on the menu yesterday, teriyaki chicken earlier today. I get the sense that he's desperate for something lovingly homemade and fresh, such as the seven layer dip that I will assemble shortly. It's my contribution to the poorly organized potluck the 3rd floor is throwing tomorrow. Someone has volunteered to make tator tot casserole and another will bring a broccoli salad; otherwise, 28 people have signed up to bring bars or cookies. I have overheard more than one person sayIn a few minutes it will be midnight. Hambone just left for the office where he is the overnight godhead, managing the official Winter Olympics website for a Major Network That Shall Remain Unnamed. He has been working the midnight to nine a.m. shift since the Games started last week. He eats dinner for breakfast. Pork chops were on the menu yesterday, teriyaki chicken earlier today. I get the sense that he's desperate for something lovingly homemade and fresh, such as the seven layer dip that I will assemble shortly. It's my contribution to the poorly organized potluck the 3rd floor is throwing tomorrow. Someone has volunteered to make tator tot casserole and another will bring a broccoli salad; otherwise, 28 people have signed up to bring bars or cookies. I have overheard more than one person say proudly that they'll buy their cookies or bars, of course. That it would be stupid to make cookies or bars from scratch or from a box. OMG. What madness is this that our time is too precious to even bother dumping a mix into a bowl and adding oil and an egg? For the full effect, make sure you bake your brownies in a Teflon-coated pan to save some wash-up time.
Sigh.
Sigh.
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