thegirleats

The spicy side of life

2011-02-13T10:54:00.000-05:00

I love cayenne pepper. Well really, I love spice. I love spicy foods and sometimes I seem to go through phases where the food cannot be spicy enough! Other times my palate longs for a more sophisticated and complex taste structure and I don’t eat as much spice in my diet. But then I have something that lights my mouth on fire and it’s like hanging out with an old friend and the two of us just pick up right where we left off. I always knew that adding some cayenne pepper was not only a powerful flavor boost and a little bit of a rush but that it was aiding in my health. Chefs who like to cook spicy food are quick to tell you that countries popular for their use of chili peppers have the lowest rate of cancers. White people who live in places like Mexico swear that they stay cool during unbearably hot weather by eating spices that make them sweat (which in turn cools them down). But ask your Mexican friends why they eat so many peppers…they’ll tell you it just tastes good. I’ve worked in restaurants my whole life, therefore I’ve worked with a lot of Latinos and my favorite family meals have always been the ones they make…so many hot flavors…but my favorite moment of these meals is when one of the guys inevitably pulls out his own hot sauce from his bag because ours isn’t hot enough for him!

We’re all probably more than a little familiar with the Master Cleanse or maybe you remember it as the Lemonade Diet? Well it was called the Master Cleanse because some herbalists refer to cayenne as the Master Herb and cayenne feature prominently in that diet. Now…before you think I’ve lost my mind completely do not for a second think that I’m going to tell you that my latest cleanse phase is this stupid drink. Nope! Don’t worry! You can continue to read! I like food. I like to cook. I like to eat. And I think that it was pretty scary when all those silly girls were running around NYC (and elsewhere I’m sure) consuming nothing but lemon water with cayenne and maple syrup. Any diet that warns against exercise while you’re on it is NOT good for you!!! They’re trying to tell you that you’re not getting any nutrients and that you might pass out! If you're reading this and you're on this lemonade-cleanse...stop what you're doing and eat something now! Or look in the mirror...see those dark circles under your eyes? Not hot!

But the cayenne thing is a smart move. Peppers have capiscum (I should note they also have good ol’ fashioned vitamin A which is a pretty powerful anti-oxidant in it’s own right). Capiscum is the thing that makes them hot and spicy. This stimulates your cardiovascular system, increases your metablolism, and has anti-flammatory and anti-bacterial qualities…it cools you down. It cuts your appetite. It has been shown to not only prevent heart disease but I once read somewhere that a doctor stopped a heart attack on the spot by making a patient drink cayenne tea! It is used in both Chinese medicine and Ayurveda to treat stomach, digestive and intestinal issues. Native American medicine uses it topically for snake bits, and anti-itching (and sometimes for arthritis pain!). Nutritionists recommend it for it’s detoxifying properties (it does make you sweat!)

Me? I’ve used it to treat colds. Not for myself, because I never seem to get sick but others do…I’ll make a tea of lemon, honey, chamomile, and cayenne (sometimes ginger...also a beauty!). Man! That cayenne just kicks serious ass on mucus! It’s a great natural headache medicine too. A couple of years ago I had terrible headaches (due to my terrible liver chi apparently) and my acupuncturist recommended hot water with lemon and cayenne to help move the blood and increase circulation to my liver…headaches went away! I like to sprinkle it on food because…well, hey read all the above and your buddy Pedro is right...it does taste good! Lately instead of another cup of coffee or tea when I’m craving that get up and go feeling or I’m tired and unfocused I’ll have a glass of water with lemon and cayenne…no need to drink it hot...it really gets the circulation going! And…as always I have to mention my juices. In my green juice, I’ve been adding sea salt and cayenne (or sometimes turmeric but that’s another post).

Green Juicy Couture

2011-02-09T22:38:00.000-05:00

Well I promised you that I would tell you what I’ve been doing differently. First let’s talk about how this cleanse came about. If you know me at all…and I’m assuming you do because no one else is reading this J…you know I have my yearly tradition of taking a month off of alcohol. I usually do this in February as it is indeed the shortest month. But this year I had a vacation planned in February and there was no way I was going to do that and not drink. Also I haven’t felt super healthy lately and all signs kept pointing to my diet. I should stress that I do normally eat quite healthily…by most standards but I do have my vices and my concern was that these were the exact things that were not making me feel so great. Let me clarify…for me not feeling well is headachey…raging insomnia, itchy and blotchy skin, general bitchiness (and no I’m not just like that), fatigued and having sore muscles. I told myself that I would “do” my month off of booze in January and that I would also “get back on track” with my diet to see if I could fix my skin and get some sleep.

You see, I’ve been seeing acupuncturists for quite some time for my insomnia and skin problems and unlike Western Healers (aka doctors who prescribe pills) acupuncturists always ALWAYS a-l-w-a-y-s ask you what your diet is like. How can what we eat not be affecting our health? It definitely affects our skin, which is our largest organ. I was really no stranger to this idea. I’ve spent countless hours researching what foods I should eat and have been told over and over again what foods I should not eat. And I’ve sometimes had conflicting advice. Hell, I’ve even confused myself. Way before this particular cleanse I could tell you all about the miracle food that is a cucumber. I could tell you about the time I went on an avocado and wheatgrass diet. I could tell you about my juice fast (or you could scroll way down and read about that debacle in an earlier entry entitled “cleanse this”). I’ve done a few elimination diets where I got rid of dairy one time and ate only seafood another time. I’ve been told to eat only river fish and never a raw carrot. I gave up coffee once or twice. I once went 2 years without ever eating anything white. But usually out of laziness or boredom I would find myself eating the way I normally do…which for the record isn’t like I’m standing in the kitchen at 4am in my panties chugging dr. pepper and shoving frozen pizzas in my mouth…but it is clearly affecting me.

My “normal” diet usually consists of:

For breakfast non fat greek yogurt with some granola or Ezekiel cereal with some sort of fruit and ground flax or almonds sprinkled on top for breakfast and a vat of coffee. On my weekends I’ll usually start off with a bagel with a ton (I’m not even kidding) of butter which might be one of my favorite bad for me foods of all time (the butter not the bagel) or some toast with peanut butter.

Lunch at work consists of a salad and some sort of small meaty thing. Or if I’m feeling crazy I’ll have pasta. On my weekend I’ll sometimes make a leftover salad using up everything in the fridge or we’ll go out to eat and it is lately been very meaty.

Dinner is usually fish and veggies. No dessert unless it’s a holiday or we’re on vacation. Unless you count the random dark chocolate bar…pretty rare. And this is the same for work or at home.

See…on paper, it’s not terrible but what you don’t see in here is the booze and sugary things that pop up. The processed flour in the bagels toast and pasta…the meat even if organic (hopefully) is still just something dead rotting inside my intestines, and I barely even had a vegetable until dinner so that is clearly not enough to undo the damage of everything else…barely any whole grains and no legumes…and I do love it when they make cookies for family meal at work!

I decided to start adding more veggies and fruit to my diet. And being me and having done an obscene amount of research I knew that in order to actually clean my insides out I would have to put more fruit and veggies into me than I would realistically be able to eat so I bought a juicer. Originally the plan was to eat more fish and veggies everyday and start juicing then the more I was reading up on nutrition and food policy the more freaked out I was becoming regarding all animal farming. Between the inhumane treatment of the animals and the workers and the intense impact on our environment you have to wonder why we’re so hell bent on eating this stuff. And with the regulations being so loosey-goosey on food labels we just don’t really know what we’re eating anymore…unless you know where you’re food is coming from that is. I decided that I would spend a month eating a mostly raw, vegan diet…just to see how I felt. I didn’t put any pressure on myself to feel the need to continue it beyond the month and, of course, my honeymoon was coming up so I knew I’d want to eat and drink whatever I wanted anyways…so I began. You read my feelings about getting freaked out on the animal industry and factory farming so that helped my decision on re-trying veganism for a month but why raw? I went raw to try to maximize my enzyme and nutrient intake while cleansing to help rid my body of toxins.

What toxins? The toxins that come from eating and drinking things like meat, fish, dairy (Oh my dairy is a doozy!), sugars, and flours.

I have to say that a couple of weeks into being raw I realized that I was being a little too aggressive about it and started to get a little flexible with myself. I would eat raw until dinner or I would choose a cooked meal for the day. Then with all the snow storms and the cold evil that is NYC in January…and working a lot of hours on my feet I really began to need more food. It was about the third week when I started making some grains and beans to take with me to work and started sautéing up some greens to have alongside some dishes. But I stayed away from all animal products, all alcohol, most caffeine, flours, and all sugars.

And I felt great. I looked pretty good too… my skin looked more vibrant and glowy and dewy. I lost a few pounds. And except for a few nights…I slept really well. I had no headaches. I felt happier and I had tons of energy. I wasn't super-bitch. The only downside was that I needed to eat every 2-3 hours. So…that meant bringing food with me…which was kind of a pain in the ass at first but I got over it!

The mainstays of my daily diet on the cleanse were brown rice, sautéed or roasted veggies, raw vegetable salads, hemp and coconut milks, Ezekiel cereals, avocados!!, beans, drinking lots of water with lemon or limes, and tons of juice. I made a few batches of oatmel or barley or quinoa. I became obsessed with a raw kale and avocado pressed salad.

But the juice was key. I made lots of different juices but I think the main one that helped was the green juice recipe that I adapted from Crazy Sexy Diet by Kris Carr.

Her recipe is: Kale, Romaine, Celery, Broccoli, Ginger, Apple, Cucumber

I would use a version of this recipe everyday and sometimes add cayenne, sometimes lemon, sometimes garlic, sometimes sea salt, sometimes I added fennel instead of broccoli, sometimes carrots, sometimes beets…but I kept it pretty green. I made a quart of it everyday and drank it on an empty stomach. I truly believe that this one thing…so full of vitamins and chlorophyll just cleaned my skin right up and helped me clean my organs of all that junk! Combine that with not adding anymore junk to clean up and I was doing great!

So, that book Crazy Sexy Diet is pretty damn inspiring…I mean the author kicked Cancer’s ass with her diet! But there have been other books that have been super helpful for me as well…I do also really love Alicia Silverstone’s The Kind Diet which is still vegan and not raw but really moving to a macrobiotic version of healthy eating. And there’s Juicing for Life by Cherie Calbom, Healing Your Body With Whole Foods by Paul Pitchford is a classic that has been near and dear to me for a longtime. There’s a million websites you can visit for recipes like Kristen’s Raw which is pretty awesome. And on the matter of food policy….if you want nightmares or to have your Bolognese forever ruined…the books that have been haunting me are The Omnivore’s Dilema by Michael Pollan, Eating Animals by Jonathan Safran Foer, and Mark Bittman’s Food Matters.

These resources are to name but a mere few of the ones that have inspired me lately…I hope to share more with you…the list is quite endless. But with each book I read or article I find online or recipe I try I think I’m getting closer to the Carolyn Diet…the one that works for me.

Umeboshi...ume...um...what?

2011-01-26T10:37:00.000-05:00

Last night I ate a whole umeboshi. It’s a plum that’s been salted and pickled and pressed with shiso leaves. It’s one of those ancient Japanese medicinal foods that macrobiotic foodies swear by. “They” say to eat one a day to ward off illness/disease…making it sort of the Far-East’s version of “an apple a day”.

It is extremely detoxifying. And I mean extremely! For example, like I said I ate a whole one and 2 things happened to me: 1. I went to the bathroom perhaps 25 times and then 2. I passed out as if I had been “ruffied”. Now…when my husband got home I did indeed try to blame my cats for having put something in my water with lemon but no one believed that story. But you never know what animals can do, I recently watched a video of a penguin in Japan shopping for dinner for his human family (you tube “penguin shopping” seriously!).

The fact is…I could have just passed out from the exhaustion of detoxing this whole month. You’d like to think that it wraps itself up at some point but depending on your overall health and diet before the cleanse, it can take weeks, months, even years (if you eat a lot of meat) to rid your body of toxins. And it takes a lot of energy to expel all this crap (literally! Ewwww gross!) from your body. I didn’t have the worse diet in the world…barely ate meat to begin with but..dairy, coffee, pasta, sugar, booze…holy umeboshi help me!

Don’t let my ruffie analogy scare you. I’m not exactly sure what the hell made me so sleepy. The fact is that umeboshi are actually quite energizing. I’ve had them in tea before…which is the most common use of them.

Umeboshi tea recipe (read as: ancient Japanese secret): Brew 8 oz of kukicha or bancha tea (I’ve used regular green tea or rooibus too) while that tea is steeping remove the pit of one tiny plum and finely chop the plum into pieces and place it in a cup. Add a few drops of shoyu or bragg’s liquid aminos (raw, organic soy sauce). Then add the tea. Drink the whole cup all while eating the plum bits! Sayonara hangover…hello detox from processed foods and too much sugary stuff…hello toilet…hello overall well-being!

Now, I should warn you…if you’ve never had an Umeboshi or heard of one, they are an acquired taste. Which might be why most people use the plums in tea or…use the paste in cooking, as part of something else. The taste is like…oh how to describe it…a giant salty pickly soft prune. Yum? And if you eat the whole one all by itself…your tongue will feel all fuzzy and funny. They are so salty that I actually thought I was going into some sort of sodium-induced shock and that I would begin hallucinating. But…I never did hallucinate…damn it! Some people actually suck on the plum’s pits which are even saltier than the plums.

I recently had a conversation with a friend and co-worker about cleansing and raw foods and how most of them seem to be designed to make you…well…poop a lot. So, if that’s what you’re looking for in your cleanse, look no further than the umeboshi Japanese sour salty plums!

Just be careful. Only buy the organic ones. They are more readily available and extremely inexpensive in Chinatown but those have MSG in them. Buy them online or at a health food store. No, they aren’t cheap. But, we’re New Yorkers…so that should come as no surprise. But, if used correctly they will last you a while. In fact, you could start out by only using half a plum in the tea.

On another note, the toot my own horn note that is, I’m on day 23 of this cleanse! No meat, fish, dairy, sugar, gluten, or alcohol. I’ve been juicing everyday, eating lots of whole grains and legumes and otherwise trying to eat mostly raw (about 80/20 everyday) or live foods. I’ve been asked everyday what it is that I’m doing different because apparently I look better (I know I feel better) and then when I tell people I’m on a cleanse (it sounds better than diet) they ask who’s cleanse or which cleanse. And I’ve found that difficult to answer in one sentence so my next blog entry will be dedicated to explaining exactly what cleanse I’ve been doing.

Feeling good...not just a song by Nina Simone

2011-01-19T22:40:00.000-05:00

My skin, is red and itchy. And no one knows why. I’ve gone to dermatologists and doctors. I’ve seen several different acupuncturists. Everyone has a different idea. I’ve been told Psorisis, eczema, dermatitis, allergies but not all of the symptoms are exact. Acupuncturists all say liver deficiency and blood deficiency. And their work does help but it’s temporary. I’ve tried steam rooms and detoxes. I’ve tried hot yoga, meditation, vitamins, herbs, sunshine therapy. I’ve also tried with varying success a multitude of elimination diets to see what I could be allergic to. And we haven’t even discussed my insomnia from which I’ve been suffering for years.

Somewhere in my heart of hearts I’ve known this day was coming. The day when I would have to turn my back on my life as a foodie. I guess it’s ok because I really hate that word. And really, I’m a rather unlikely foodie who always felt like a poseur. Yet…it has been decadent and luxurious…sort of.

See, I’ve really only been eating meat for a couple of years. And before that I had only recently added fish. And…the year before that was when I began eating dairy. And dairy is when it began. The itching that is. Or it could be the drinking. Both of those started around the same time. Easy there Jamie Foxx…let’s not blame it all on the alcohol (or dairy) just yet! I wasn’t the healthiest vegan…now was I? I did have quite a bit of refined sugar and flour and lots of processed foods in my life. I was one of those types…who believed that a bag of potato chips and a box of tofutti cuties was a great dinner as long as it was washed down with some carrot juice and bee pollen.

Somewhere along the line I had cheese and it was love at first bite. I started declaring it my new superfood and how it’s fats were keeping my skin shiny and youthful. It was also making me fat and depressed…although I didn’t know this at the time. And, yes I could tell you the story of how I added nasty item after nasty item to my diet to become the omnivore that I am today or that I was 2 weeks ago at least. But, that’s not really interesting. At least not to me. What does interest me is that the choice I made to start eating different foods (meats and cheeses and fish) was born out of a desire to try new things. To be fearless and adventurous was the goal. I wanted to write about food and wine and romance. And I felt you couldn’t have inhibitions in any category or it would feel forced. But, the funny thing is the more foods I tried…the less I seemed to like. It was frustrating and I spent a lot of energy hiding this…I focused on eating and drinking things I did like (mostly oysters and champagne).

Acupuncturists all kept telling me to avoid the few things I did like (see: oysters and champagne). I went all out and quit coffee, drank a ton of wheatgrass, and tried to stick to sushi. And I was starting to feel and look better. But life’s changes (a new job) were taking me more towards foods that were becoming a problem for me (pasta). Everything was so delicious that I kept trying new foods. But, the itchiness and dryness were worsening. I tried a few elimination diets and a juice cleanse. But, none of them lasted long enough to see a difference in my skin. Yet, they did last long enough for me to remember that elements of the diets really made me feel better. I started to have a personal battle with myself. I became afraid that I wouldn’t be able to live the fabulous lifestyle I had created for myself and therefore I wouldn’t be able to write about my fabulousness if I gave up meat, cheese, pasta and champagne. That was sort of the whole point of my blog…it’s called “the girl eats” for a reason! On the other hand…I haven’t felt so fabulous since my skin is constantly a mess and I don’t sleep and my body is constantly trying to repair itself or digest all this pork. And I’ve known this and have been struggling with it for a while.

I haven’t been writing on this blog for a long time because I’ve been experimenting with my diet. And I figured, who wants to read about that? And who wants to write about it? Well, I guess I do. Sort of. What I really want to write about is trying to figure out what it is we’re putting in our bodies, how it affects us health and beauty wise. And I want to find delicious foods and recipes that are fun to make so that I don’t have to give up being a fake-foodie (even if I don’t like that word).

So, it’s sort of my foodie confessional. And I’m going to try to track it on paper (or via the internet really) and see what I learn and taste a long the way.

So far, I’m at 16 days of no booze (that’s right I said it), minimal caffeine (I’m trying!! give me a break people) no meat, no fish, no dairy, no sugar, no refined flour, and most of what I’m eating is raw.

Whole food, whole grain, legumes, lots of fresh vegetables and fruits. And, I’m a juicing maniac.

Results at this time are pretty fantastic already. My skin is amazing (mostly clear) in fact, I feel I look younger too. I was sleeping like a baby until the past 2 days…not sure what’s up with that but I will report back.

Favorite recipes so far have mostly been juices…yet…there is this salad that I love with raw kale, avocado, red peppers, lemon juice, olive oil, sea salt…unbelievably good.

The plan is to eat this way until we leave town on the 31^st so that will have been 28 days. Then take a little break and see what happens…then try something new when we get back from our vacation.

The part I’m the least scared of is work. See, I manage a restaurant. And just so we’re clear…it’s not a vegan or raw restaurant. You would think this would complicate matters however, I love the place. I love the food. And I love everyone I work with. I’ve tried everything on the menu so I can speak passionately about the food and wine without lying. And I’ve been bringing food with me to work to snack on so I’m not tempted by the awesome smells from the kitchen.

Mango! You're my knight in shining armor and I love you...

2010-04-20T11:55:00.001-04:00

Friends it is almost that time. And you don’t want to miss it. So prepare thyself. I personally missed the Magnolias blossoming at the botanical garden and I think I blinked the day the cherry blossoms occurred because my street already looks like a pink volcano erupted. But I’ll be damned if I miss my favorite culinary part of spring (and god damnit it is not ramps). So what’s a gal like me wait for so impatiently?

Indian Mangoes!

Good fruit is sexy. It’s living flesh that you take a bite of and you get to savor it’s juices as you try unsuccessfully to keep them from running down your chin. You become giddy with embarrassment as you lick your lips to keep all its juices and bits to yourself but your sticky hands betray you. When I was little we would get a crate of the most delicious oranges sent to us from some relative living in Florida…oranges like none you’ve ever had before and our mother would make us eat them standing in the bathtub or outside that’s how juicy they were.

I did not get a chance to experience this phenomenon again until the summer of the Indian Mango in NYC. Do you remember this? A few years back when the ban on Indian Mangoes was lifted, NYC was overrun by the whisper of a sexier version of our standard mango…our seemingly ubiquitous summer fruit. Suddenly people who would never normally dream of heading further north of 14^th street in Manahattan actually braved the wild and wily subways or rented a zip car to get to the exotic borough of Queens for these previously banned candies of nature. Yet they were in such demand, and as luck would have it supplies so low…the price would get jacked up. And we thought it was expensive to have the black market Indian Mangoes smuggled in from some dude’s suitcase!

A mango! Mangoes are not rare or exotic anymore. Or at least they aren’t supposed to be! You can find them year round in delis. You no longer need to travel to Mexico to take a long stroll hand in hand with a lover only to have the fruit fall from it’s tree and plonk you on the head (clearly a sign of a doomed relationship). It’s a treat served on a stick at Coney Island. It’s served chopped (now so easy thanks to Slap Chop) on top of ice cream, and it’s in margaritas and mojitos everywhere. So, when my chef at the time says he has this super sexy new dessert, the last thing I think he’s going to tell me it is…is a mango.

I repeat: A mango. From Queens. Well…ok not really from Queens. From India. But found in Queens. And it’s really really expensive (for fruit) which we all know means it’s good. But really, it is the best, juiciest mango ever. And when I ate one, I had to run over to the kitchen’s prep sink at work to keep the juices from running not just all over my hands and chin, but from the floor! Seriously, after eating this mango…even the tip of my nose was sticky…that’s how juicy it was.

Chef would take these mangoes and slice them haphazardly, and toss them with honey, pickled chilis (pickling since the end of the previous summer) and lime and salt and a tiny bit of champagne vinegar. And, that was that. It was so freaking amazing. Ever since, it is something I try to recreate myself on an even more humble simple level. Although this was already a pretty simple dessert my favorite thing he ever did with these mangoes was one night a Chef Friend of his was in our restaurant on a date. They were so enamored with eachother that they didn’t want to stay for dessert. So, Chef packed a bag for them containing: one mango, one lime, and a tiny ramekin of this honey-chili sex sauce. He told them to go home and eat it.

I always imagined they had it for breakfast the next morning.

Moral of this story? Any minute now, the Indian Markets (Patel Brothers in Flushing!) in Queens will be selling these amazing mangoes…until supplies run out. Yes, they’re expensive. But you know, mangoes bruise easily so we need to pay for them to fly first class. No, really. Who cares? Go to queens! Find the Indian mangoes! Buy a case! I know you don’t want to go to queens. No one does! That’s why the mangoes are so damn expensive. Go there. Get mangoes. Eat them in your bathtub! Be happy.

Le Sigh

2010-04-16T10:39:00.001-04:00

Ah Paris...And I don't mean Hilton.

I went to a friends and family at a new restaurant. It was Ma Peche. Stop what your doing and go there now! Drink their yummy cocktails named after Sonic Youth songs, drink my friend Abe's rose, and even if you think you're going to be too full get the steak. For the record, I'm not telling you to get the steak because it's some magical cut from Creekstone Farms that they do just for David Chang (but it is) I'm telling you to get it because of the crack rocks they serve with the steak...these rice flour french fries. Ah-May-Zing! Seriously. They taste like movie theater popcorn!

We also tried the Seafood Plateau, you know a Momofuku-ish take on the tower of shellfish that you get at every Brasserie in Paris. And it was delicious. And we all agreed that more restaurants should have towers of shellfish offerings. We know they have it at Balthazzar. Where else? If you know please clue me in, so I can do a round up of these joints.

Alas, since this shellfish extravaganza, and also perhaps because the menu at Ma Peche is in French (sort of) and maybe even because we also had the snails and sausage...I have had Paris on the mind.

Deep in the mind.

Like a dream.

I long for cities like Paris, like you wouldn't believe. It is actually one of my favorite places that for a brief time was tarnished because of my traveling companion. See many moons ago, I took someone to Paris while we were breaking up. Why? Not sure at the time. But, for the record...do not ever go to the most romantic, dreamy place on earth while in the midst of relationship trauma. Remember this! Because it's not about you, it's about Paris. Paris is bigger and stronger than you. Paris will destroy you. Actually, worse than destroy you...Paris will merely light a cigarette and shrug it's shoulders at you.

And you'll destroy yourself.

So...with that I post something I wrote when returning from this grim trip to Paris with Le Douchebag. (and just in case you're reading this and you're wondering if I am talking about you...I am). So, a repost from something I wrote for Snooth many years ago...in a galaxy far far away.

PS: In the immortal words of Colin Alevras (and ironically the beverage director of Momofuku and Ma Peche...) "If you don't get sweaty in Paris, it's your own damn fault."

We Went to Paris for a Long Weekend

POSTED BY CAROLYN IN WINE, GUEST BLOGGERS

We went to Paris for a long weekend with hopes of eating and drinking our way through town in a gastronomic fantasy come true. Like Bonnie and Clyde with oysters and Chablis. Instead we were like Rosencrantz and Guildenstern from Hamlet, lost behind scenes on the set of a beautiful play. Armed with our business cards, restaurant guides, and dozens of emails from friends, bosses, and wine reps on where to eat and, more importantly, where to drink, at every point of the day… we were shocked to discover two things: nothing is open in Paris on the weekend and what is open is boring. It’s a cruel joke.

My boyfriend said he had envisioned fully cooked and perfectly seasoned quail flying directly into his mouth while foie gras dripped down from the heavens. I’d dreamed of back vintages of Raveneau and of Champagnes that are too difficult to find in the States. Instead it was like we were in a food and wine ghost town. We did have two wonderful meals: L’Atelier de Joel Robuchon is not a terrible way to spend a ridiculous amount of money. And Le Comptoir was delicious in all its pig’s feet splendor but also replete with a surly older waitress, bien sur. What was so frustrating for us, even at these places, was that the wine lists were so thoughtless.

Boring and uninspired wine lists are something I complain about in New York as well. I’ve said it before, if I don’t like the wine list, I will walk out of a restaurant. I don’t understand how my fellow wine directors could not take the time to find the hidden gems of wine to compliment the beautiful cuisine. It seems lazy to me to have Veuve instead of Goutorbe on your list. It makes me feel like you think I’m stupid when you just put a bunch of wines down on a piece of paper and expect me to drink them. And worse, I feel insulted because I genuinely worry about my list. Do I have enough Washington wines? How is the price range? Is it biodynamic? How is the new vintage? Is the list interesting and diverse? Are the wines good? But after our weekend in Paris, I will add a new question to worry over while planning my list: If I was the guest would I be happy with this selection? The ultimate test.

Now, I know there are plenty of wonderful wine lists and many talented wine directors in New York. I’ve had the pleasure of dining at their establishments. And maybe those lists have helped to cultivate that expectation of greatness, or at least uniqueness on other wine lists and in myself. And perhaps this is what made it so difficult for me in Paris. It wasn’t about an being Americans in Paris but rather a couple of New Yorkers in Paris. Or rather, a couple of New York restaurant professionals in Paris. And we brought all of our expectations of food, wine, and service with us. It definitely made me pay attention differently to the guests in my dining room the past two nights. Are they celebrating, are they visiting, what are their expectations? One could possibly have a similar experience to ours, even in New York City. Though, I would venture to guess, that most people would react differently to a waitress pushing her off the sidewalk and out of her way if she were in NYC instead of Paris, n’est ce pas?

Solo Tuesdays

2010-03-23T22:15:00.000-04:00

I love food. I say that but really what I mean is that I love to cook. I love to cook food. I know because I do not get the same enjoyment out of going to the local store and buying roasted beets and eating them as I do when I slow roast some golden beets for an hour and half and toss them with some lemon and balsamic and serve them with a little salad made from their own spicy green tops. Somehow, when I make dinner I go into a moving meditation of sorts. It used to happen to me when I would bake. And still to this day, when I really need to process something mentally, the only thing that frees me is baking…it’s so methodical and sweet and seemingly selfless.

I didn’t always love food. I used to view it as an enemy. I didn’t like a lot of things and I often found that I gagged over the texture of certain foods thereby needing to eliminate them from my diet and further limiting me in my early gastronomical ways. I used to proclaim to my friends that my greatest wish was a pill we could take to receive all of our nutrients instead of having to eat. Of course this was a long time ago and during my vegan days. As I look back, it’s really no wonder I gagged so often on my food, I mean how much tempeh and quinoa can one person eat? I slowly added things to my diet: cheese (a god send), dairy in general, fish, mushrooms,…meat. I’d be lying if I said I eat everything today. But, I do try everything, at least once. It is my new lease on life I’ve had for the past few years. It’s so much more liberating to say that I don’t eat lamb because I’ve tried it every way possible and unless it’s Frenched rib chops then I don’t seem to care for it. Or, I only eat pork or beef if I cook it myself or if I know the farm it came from. Or, chicken is still a definite no! It’s so weird and they’re so damn cute those chickens! It feels okay to say these things because now I have actually tried them. It’s better than not liking something because of your latest neurosis…ugh! Why do so many neurosis have to manifest themselves into these bothersome eating issues? But I tell you what, my greatest fear is exactly what I used to dream of…a pill to have to take to receive all my nutrients instead of eating food.

How did this culinary revolution come about for me? Well, I guess a lot of things happened at once. I realized how unhealthy I felt because although I was vegan, I wasn’t eating any vegetables really. I was so concerned about getting non-meat protein into me that I had forgotten about things like fat, oils, and vitamins from veggies! I actually would eat a bag of microwave popcorn with some spoonfuls of peanut butter for dinner. Then one day I was working at a new restaurant…and the chef put up family meal and I will never forget it. It was roasted arctic char and vegetables. Nothing fancy but there was no other option. And it was on a plate…with a lemon wheel just to make it look all pretty. And I ate it. Without missing a beat! Ate the whole damn thing like a recovering anorexic who just found some graham crackers in the trash, and thought no one was looking so she went for it! Oh! So! Hungry! Soon after that, the floodgates were open! I mean, it would take me another 7 years to eat meat but…a whole new world was open. A world where I didn’t have to commit to this monastic vegan lifestyle. And with the addition of dairy meant I could bake and with the addition of fish meant I could go to people’s houses for dinner or actually have the balls to open a cookbook because at least some of the recipes would apply to me.

And so just that happened. I started reading cookbooks and food writing with great passion. I “got it” just a little bit more when I looked at the dining section in the paper…and my memories served me well. I remembered having seen Julia Child and Dinah Shore when I was young somewhere. I remembered my grandmother cooking. I remembered that my mother made her own baby food for my brother. And more and more I found that I was happiest reading about food and inspired by reading about food. I would lay on a towel in the park in the sun reading about food until I couldn’t take it any more and would pack my things up and head to the grocery store just to go home and cook.

My biggest inspirations were, of course, Julia Child and MFK Fisher. I mean my god! What joy they had for food. Maybe it was more than that. Maybe it was that they were these lively sexual women who also ate…and I wanted that…for myself. Reading that when Julia Child landed in France she said the air reeked of Shallots. I would giggle. Reading that MFK Fisher would peel a tangerine and put the segments on the radiator for a few minutes to dry them slightly before eating them because the effect was almost like candy…I died…I swear…it’s the best thing I’ve ever read. Or, Amanda Hesser writing that she made a pact with herself that even when dining alone to, at least, always use a real cloth napkin…no matter what! These are things that I think about on a daily basis.

Today is Tuesday. Tuesdays lately have been a solo day for me. A day where Schmoo is at work and I have off. It sounds lonely. And truth be told, it is a few of the minutes here and there but all in all I need this time to myself. I spend the greater portion of my day, my week, my life caring for others. I manage a restaurant caring for about 50 employees, balancing the needs of my staff and the hundreds of guests who choose to dine with us everyday…and they expect to be cared for too. I care for my boyfriend. I care for our apartment or at least I try. I care for my friends in my spare time (not much to speak of there) and I care for my cats one of which is nearing death on a daily basis but aren’t we all? I oscillate between the need to hang out with my friends I never see, my boyfriend I can’t get enough of, and spending quiet time with myself to write or read. Tuesday is my day to do it all. Last Tuesday I hung out with Linda and that was great. Tuesday is also my meatless day and so I made us a veggie dinner of Dal with aduki beans, coconut, apples, lime-butter, ginger and scallions. We drank Champagne (duc de romet) and sat outside for the first night of the spring! My favorite moment was when I was grating fresh turmeric into the dal…Linda toasted me and said “thank you for loving food”!

Thank you Linda!

This Tuesday…I am by myself. And it is my meatless Tuesday. I was tempted for a split second to walk down to Cobblestone Foods and order some beets and other roasted veggies to bring home to save time but I put my foot down. I knew that I would feel better if I made myself something. So, armed with my desires from the latest issue of Saveur, I went to the grocery store. I made the Fennel baked with milk. I also had the dandelion green salad with anchovies!!! (we’re not counting that as meat right? I mean I pulverized the hell out of them and made them into a bloody paste and whisked them into olive oil for a dressing). And I poured myself some Pouilly Fume (a perfect accomplice to my veggies) by Andre et Edmond Figeat “Les chaumiennes” 2008.

And I set a little spot up for myself with a place mat, a fork, a knife, a glass of wine, and...a real cloth napkin.

And I took my time eating in solitude. Thinking of the flavors. Thinking about the rest of my night ahead of me.

Thinking that I can’t wait to make Chocolate Puddle Cookies for dessert.

True Wine Connoisseur (nothing over $20)

2010-03-23T00:03:00.000-04:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qa2kR4h6xf4&feature=related

Ummm...Are you fucking kidding me? This is great! I'm watching all his reviews on you tube right now. Just wanted to share! I actually can't top this so I've nothing more to add.

I Blame It All On James Bond

2010-03-20T11:27:00.000-04:00

So...yeah this is a re-post, previously found on Snooth a wine-website that I did a couple of blog entries for years ago. But, I was flipping through some old writing and found it and it made me laugh. So, I thought I'd re-share it with you.

I Blame It All On James B

POSTED BY CAROLYN IN GUEST BLOGGERS

I blame it all on James Bond. Really I do. Because that is where it all began. My interest in vintage cars, my penchant for international travel, my fascination with gadgets I don’t know how to work, and my love of a man in a suit (I’m a sucker for a double Windsor knot and a set of sexy cuff links).

But what I’m really talking about here is my obsession with Champagne.

I think for most people, Champagne is something you celebrate or toast with. Maybe something you enjoy on New Year’s Eve and probably don’t think about again for the rest of the year. There’s the type of person who might order a glass while she looks over the menu at a restaurant, appreciating the aperitif quality of the bubbles… but she probably doesn’t fuss too much over which Champagne she is actually drinking. Then there’s me. I drink it everyday. And I care, as if the balance of the world depended on it, what it is, who made it, where it comes from (within Champagne, of course) and what’s in it.

James Bond cared too.

Most of us remember that Bond loved martinis. If you do remember his penchant for Champagne you probably know he preferred Bollinger. My favorite moment is actually in Dr. No (1962) when James shows up to have dinner with Dr. No who is trying to impress Bond by pointing out the 1955 Dom Perignon, noting that it would be a “pity to break it.” James Bond, smugly and coolly, responds that he actually prefers the ‘53 and sits down to dinner.

There are beautiful and light Champagnes that are great as starter drinks (Bouchard Inflorescence), there are complex ones that can be thought over all night (Jacques Selosse’s Subtance or Pascal Doquet 1997), there are rounder, heartier Champagnes that benefit from food (Charles Ellner Seduction 1999). I also think of Champagne as the perfect finish… lightens the sweetness of your dessert and matches perfectly with Red Velvet Cake (Pierre Gimonnet et Fils or Egly Ouriet Rose). In fact, I think it is also the perfect beverage to sneak into a movie theater on a rainy afternoon, even if you have to drink it out of plastic cups (Billecart-Salmon Brut).

James Bond taught me that you can (and should) drink Champagne anytime. And while its innate luxuriousness and sexiness is obvious (James Bond would never drink or do anything unsexy), I think there are two real lessons here:

1. Champagne is wine and has fantastic pairing capabilities and should be enjoyed equally on its own as well as explored with various food flavors.

2. Life is short. Drink Champagne. It’s sexy and will make you feel glamorous.

I consider myself lucky. I fell in love with a man who loves Champagne as much as I do. In fact, one of the first questions I ask “wine” people is “If you were a wine what would you be?” To this, my boyfriend responded Champagne. Specifically, he responded with one of my favorite Champagnes. Good answer.

Of course, it doesn’t hurt that he looks great in a suit.

HairPie

2010-03-16T23:52:00.000-04:00

I was reading a book on writing. Right there, that’s already weird statement. But some of us do it, you know. I personally am working on a book, and therefore am working on an outline and therefore a proposal. Those are the boring things so yeah, I was looking for inspiration. I flipped through an old writing exercise book and I stumbled across this entry that was to write about school lunches when you are looking for material. School Lunches, the teacher says, were this horrible zone where we revealed ourselves. It was during school lunch that we found out who we were and who we really went to school with. Whether or not we had a twinkie indicated if we were okay or not.

Ummm… yeah, maybe if you went to school with Alice Waters or somebody like that.

Where I went to school it was a different story. Everybody did the school lunch thing which was this nasty greasy pizza square and french fries and chocolate milk every day. I brought my lunch. BROUGHT. But, I was embarrassed that I did so. So, I ate my lunch in silence and solitude in a stall in the bathroom after lunch. Sometimes I would space it out throughout the day. I would drink my juice after homeroom. Eat my homemade “energy bar” (thanks mom) after lunch and eat my apple in the halls towards the end of the day. Maybe on some level, I knew that the food I had would be subject to ridicule but I also understood that I didn’t want to eat the food offered that most of my peers gobbled unsuspectingly. What I do know is that lunch hour, itself, was awesome. It was the one moment in the day (a whole hour!) where you got into fights, made up from fights, maybe did some homework, talked, and argued and read and had an whole hour to do what you pleased. And at the end of the day, if you didn’t want someone to know who you were, you could make up an alibi or an alias or discard your food for something else so everyone would think you were normal for an hour while you were on display and then everybody would be released back to the wild to be themselves truly for the rest of the day.

I disagree that school lunches are the place where “they” find out how maladjusted you are. School lunch hours allowed you to create a new you. I really feel that school pictures were the one area where they could catch you in the lie. You can hide from the school lunch…you can, I know. You can pretend to be busy or in love, or have a stomach ache or something. You can trade your stupid healthy food for some delicious processed item or you can use your allowance to buy your disgusting grease laden meal just to save face if that’s what your into. Or starve yourself and eat in the bathroom, like I did. I was literally fearful of the food they served in the cafeteria (and now as an adult I have learned rightly so). But pictures? No escape! Oh my god. Nothing struck fear into a kid like me more than this. I always felt misrepresented as it was. But nothing was a banner of truth of how much or little your parents actually loved you as the school photo. And for me, this was a nightmare. We, as kids, were never on time for anything. We were the only kids of divorced parents in our school (it was early for all that) and we were always getting shipped back and forth from one parent to the next or to or from our grandparents. We were always in disheveled, wrinkled clothes. We never had all our appropriate things with us. I can’t tell you how many times I went to school on Monday from My dad’s place not knowing that I wasn’t going to be at “home” first and so I wouldn’t have the “right” notebook etc. I was a mess. Top that with my hair. Add the school photo day into the mix and what would you get?…Tears! My hair. My god. As an adult it causes me so much grief I think back onto being a kid and I laugh at the struggle. Seriously.

My hair is crazy. Imagine having thick hair. Now imagine having coarse hair. Now imagine having a curly perm in that thick, coarse hair. Now, imagine that perm growing out or worse, imagine that perm only “taking” on one side of your hair…forever. My hair is sort of curly, wavy, thick, and it definitely has a mind of it’s own. I get dreads after two days of not washing my hair. If I brush it, my whole head looks like the end of a broom that has been electrocuted, so I don’t brush it ever. If I let it go, I look like I just climbed out of the jungle. If I spend my hard-earned money I look like a million bucks with Korean straightened hair, so long and shiny and straight but this only lasts until water or sweat find their way to the hair follicle. As a young adult I always fantasized about a man running his fingers through my hair, combing it. The reality is that his hand would get stuck half way through. The bigger reality is if I had just it straightened, I might actually backhand him for touching it at all. This “peace of hair-mind” is not something, even at 36 years old that I can accomplish on my own…I’ve tried every brush, every blow dryer, every de-friz serum…(my boyfriend usually sings 80’s hair band songs while I try to straighten it because it just seems to get bigger and bigger) imagine a 10 year old with an even thicker version of this hair (because it has thinned out, thankfully as I’ve gotten older) and imagine having one side of your hair sticking straight out and the other flat and frizzy at the same time and standing on line for your school picture feeling that this was not fair, these people you were standing on line with were going to be flipping through the yearbook decades from now and this hair was going to represent you forever. And you know, that if the cards were stacked against you properly you would have parents who loved you enough to do something with this ungodly head of hair…I mean how dare they let me loose with this hair. My unorganized, distracted parents letting me loose with my skinny self, with unruly hair in pictures forever, like a wild mountain child. This is much worse than being caught without a twinkie or worse an organic carrot bread thing your mom made with apple sauce instead of butter…

Thanksgiving Pie

2009-11-29T11:23:00.001-05:00

HOLY SHITBALLS!!!! I just received a confession! It was actually Sinclair who threw out "accidentally" my chipolte peppers. Saboteur!!! Please continue reading...

I don’t eat Turkey. Even though I started eating meat a few years ago, I cannot seem to bring myself to eat birds. They just freak me out, like eating a terradctyl or something. So, my thanksgiving traditions have usually been about other things like the side dishes and oysters and champagne (strangely this year is I think the FIRST that involved no champagne or oysters). But the most important part of Thanksgiving for me is the pie! I love pie. Actually, I should say that I love to bake pie. I love making crust and tweaking my recipes until they are perfectly mine and now part of my tradition. Making this pumpkin pie every year with the sounds of the Macy’s Thanksgiving day parade in the background on tv really makes me feel safe and homey no matter where I have lived when I make it. The smell of the spices cooking signals something internal in me that it’s officially the holiday season. This year it was a little different. It was just the two of us…me and Schmoo. And it was great.

The night before I roasted the pumpkin, after getting the knife stuck in the pumpkin and panicking for about 45 minutes. In this tear soaked time, I was not only questioning why I wanted to start the pie after working all day and night but also thinking of some of the more hilarious Thanksgiving misgivings I’ve been a part of. I thought of a thanksgiving back in the late 70’s when my uncle and I set up a cassette recorder and placed it under the “adult table” so we could find out what was really going on. For years afterward, we kept the secret of this tape safe and just between us. We were convinced that one day we would be able to use “the evidence” as blackmail for something we needed desperately when the time seemed appropriate. I thought about one of the years that Bryan and Sinclair hosted Thanksgiving and Bryan and I cooked just about everything imaginable, and he “accidentally” threw away my chipolte peppers that I was going to use for my sweet potatoes and the whole rest of the evening I was convinced of sabotage. I thought of the year I spent at my ex-in laws and noticed that they served a dish they called a “pretzel salad” that seemed to consist of red jello, pretzels, and marshmallows all congealed together. When I asked the grandmother about it she said she never eats it herself but always makes it because it looks so pretty on the plate. I thought about my years of tofurkey, or carb fest dinners when I didn’t eat meat. I thought about all the years I worked at a restaurant on Thanksgiving! I thought about drinking whisky from a flask at the parade and watching one of the balloons come crashing down on broadway. And I thought about the future and wondered what sort of things will be my traditions when I have my own family. I’ve spent thanksgiving with a lot of different people. Sometimes at my home, sometimes at others, sometimes with family, sometimes with friends, coast to coast, year to year only two things have remained the same: Schmoo and this pie. Enjoy!

Carolyn’s Maple Pumpkin Pie (originally swiped from Martha Stewart about 10 years ago but it’s been adapted and molded over the years and now it’s mine.)

13/4 cups pumpkin pureed. (one small pumpkin roasted for about 45 minutes at 325 cut in half with olive oil rubbed on cut halves will yield 1 3/4 cups puree).

1/2 cup good quality maple syrup

1/4 cup maple sugar (available at whole foods and the like)

1/4 cup sugar (either white granulated or sugar in the raw)

1/2 cup heavy cream

1 cup low fat milk

4 eggs

2 tablespoons flour

1/4 teaspoon nutmeg

1/4 teaspoon ginger

1/4 teaspoon ground coriander seed

1/4 teaspoon cinnamon

Piecrust for two pies. Use the second piecrust to make fall leaf cut outs to decorate the top of the pie.

In my years of baking and sharing recipes with friends and family, I’ve learned that piecrust is extremely personal and apparently private. I get that now, but once upon a time I did not. One of the first years I had spent thanksgiving at Bryan and Sinclair’s, I dared to ask Bryan for his recipe for his delicious pie crust and he looked at me with an expression that I can only describe as the one that Joan Crawford wore before she hauled off and knocked Christina flat on her ass in Mommy Dearest and he pretty much said get your own damn pie crust recipe. So…get your own piecrust recipe bitches!

prepare pie crust at 400 degrees for about 12 minutes. 2. Heat pumpkin in a heavy pan stirring often. 3. Add milk and cream, stir to smooth but do not let it boil. 4. With your mixer, beat eggs and sugars until smooth then add dry spices. Beat in flour, then add maple syrup. 5. Beat hot pumpkin mixture into egg mixture. It should be hot but not so hot as to cook the eggs. 6. Carefully pour hot filling into hot pie crust. (valuable life lesson: pour most of filling into pie crust then return pie dish to center of over rack and using a ladle pour the rest of the filling in…otherwise you end up spilling filling all over your oven as you slide the pie into center of rack). 7. Bake at 400 degrees. Every oven is different. Your pie is done when the outside edge of pie filling is firm and a little puffy but the center is still jiggly. 8. Remove pie and let cool on a rack (the pie will continue to cook or “set” outside of oven). 9. Once cool completely store in the fridge until about an hour before serving. 10. I use leaf shaped cookie cutters to make decorative crust topping. See photo! 11. I serve this with fresh whipped cream (with a healthy dose of rum or cognac or whisky whisked into the cream).

My Forking Heroes!

2009-10-06T11:16:00.001-04:00

How many of us have dreams? How many of us have ideas? How many of us have tried and tried to make it happen until one day we took a look around us and realized that we weren’t having any fun trying any more? Well I know a couple of ladies who have put the fun and inspiration back into dreams and ideas.

Forking Fantastic hits the bookstores today people! A heartfelt, finger-licking congrats to Tamara Reynolds and Zora O’Neill the authors of Forking Fantastic!

One of the things I absolutely loved (read: now miss dearly) about my few years living in the wild, wild west was that everyone had dinner parties. Everyone has parties and they don’t take place at bars…well not always at least. And people shop for and cook and bake…in their homes! They bring cookies to work and talk about what they made for dinner over the weekend. Everything’s easy breezy and all about good people chilling out over a glass of wine (or many bottles perhaps) and good times. In that spirit my friends, here in New York, created the now infamous “Sunday Night Dinners” which was in its’ origins a simple gathering of fabulous friends and fabulous food…the almighty dinner party. It slowly became known as a moveable feast, an underground restaurant of sorts, and just a plain ol’ wacky good time…the location changed, the menu changed, the guestlist changed, but the ladies stayed true to one thing…fucking amazing food and fun! Along the way they took pictures, they blogged about the mishaps and successes, they sent out invites with the menu that usually made you smile and always made you hungry, and they cooked…and apparently someone else (besides us) paid attention! And now they have a book!

Oh but this is, of course, the simplified version of the story. The one fit for family story hour. What some of us are priviledged to know is a little bit more of how they got here. I don’t want to give too much away…we’ll save that for their Vh-1 behind the story special in a few years…but what I will tell you is a lot about how awesome I think they are and a little about how magical life is.

See…one day I started working as a manager of this restaurant you may have heard of, The Tasting Room. A, now sadly closed, restaurant in which the lives of all the employees who came and went will forever, sickly be intertwined due to our passion, loyalty, and integrity and absolute love we had for this place. And one day, this lady…a lively, redheaded story teller was totally holding court at Family meal…telling a story and holding everyone captivated whether they realized it or not, because she was so fucking loud. You could actually hear her laugh from down the street…and I thought she was hilarious. We kept eyeing each other in that way that two people realize they know each other from a previous life do. Are you an actor? Are you a singer? Are you a dancer? Where did you work before? Oh, did you ever work here? What about there? No? How about there? And finally. Finally…we tracked it back to almost 10 years earlier. Was it really that long ago? Maybe 9. And we figured out that we worked with each other for about 2 months in a place that shall go nameless because the scars it left on us are already indelible and unforgettable enough (I will tell you that in the 90’s in NYC almost everybody spent time in this place and it was commonly referred to as BootCamp). And we bonded over hideous memories of our past work experience. The funny thing is that in the 10 years between we both traveled and moved and worked in a million different places to only land in the same place…working at a restaurant together with a ton of creative ideas and trying to see which one would stick. She told me about her Sunday Night Dinners. Often when we worked together, she would talk to me about the menu planning or some funny story about what happened at last week’s dinner. I talked to her about writing about food and wine. I shared with her some of my ideas for stories and blogs. She told me about some of her ideas for food shows and guidebooks. But mostly, we told stories, we drank, and we laughed. And then one day she quit. She went to go be a wine buyer. She had a French speaking assistant, I’ll never forgive her for that! We stayed in touch. I went to Sunday night dinners. The instructions are to bring the cash donation and a bottle of wine. Marisa and I showed up with two brown grocery bags full of vino and we had already been drinking champagne all day…it wasn’t pretty but we had fun. Then one day Tamara came in to see us at The Tasting Room, in the afternoon before we were open and she walked into the office and announced she and Zora were getting their book deal. “And now all we have to do is write it.” And with that, I thought. Life is great. If you do something that is fun and inspiring people will enjoy it and if you do it your own unique way…there is always a story. And I truly believe that in life my favorite people are the ones who always know that there is a story and they can’t wait to tell it to you. And most importantly, they laugh at their own jokes!

So here’s to Zora and Tamara! Here’s to ya’ll getting over to their website and/or amazon and purchasing the book right now. And here’s to genius redheads stickin’ together! And mostly, here’s to dreams and ideas!

On another funny note: the first restaurant that Tamara and I worked at many moons ago was also the place where the owner , knowing I was a writer, asked me if I wouldn’t like to have Ruth Reichl’s job one day and write about food and wine (Ruth was at the time the Ny times food critic and of course went on to write hilarious books and is the editor in chief at Gourmet). I laughed. See, at the time, I wrote “serious” drama. I have since met Ruth and not only think she’s a genius and way cool but would fucking kill for her job. How’s that for laughing at your own jokes?

http://forkingfantastic.com

Peaches and Cream

2009-09-27T11:05:00.004-04:00

It's been a funny year for me. People I know have come to live in NYC, people I haven't seen for a really long time have visited NYC and some really important people in my life have left NYC. One came back. One is thinking about coming back. And one just left. Being a New Yorker myself, whenever people leave this city (including myself a few times) I always think of the passage in the Allan Gurganus book "Plays Well with Others" where the narrator says (die hard fans please forgive my loose quotation here)..."there are four days in the life of a new yorker. the day you first see it. the day you move there. the day you move away. and the day you move back."

This, of course, pertains to non-natives. But, I'm just sayin'...seriously. It is hard to live here. It is hard to not live here. But, sometimes you just gotta go. And people say oh, things will stay the same, we won't change, the city will always be here, we'll always be friends. And I'm here to tell you that is not always the case. People change. New York changes. We move on, we forget, we don't answer the phone or return that email and then all of a sudden you realize it's been a week or a month or a year and you loose touch with someone you love. I mean especially in the restaurant business, we work day in day out with people for years and the second they leave it's as if it was all a dream. But. Every once in a while. Every now and again, you get caught between the moon and New York City, you meet someone and you know in your shriveled black heart, down in your little broken toes, you know that you will know that person forever.

And I know that at some point. Like, when I'm 103 and she's 91 that Megan Uber and I will still be stuffing our faces with peanut butter filled pretzels and looking for the next bottle of Champagne. I mean, we'll have to buzz for the nurses to bring it. And Uber's got a small bladder so we'll have to have the catheter changed first but there are things you know.

So, yeah. I know this is supposed to be a food/drink blog. And it is. But that's just it for me. People are food and wine. Not in a soylent green sort of way. But, for me all of my memories of people get all twisted up with my memories of food and where we were when we ate something or what bar we had that drink in. And this is how it is for every body in my life. If you mention some one to me, I almost instantly think of a food or beverage I associate with them. I never realized it until I began working on a book about my food and beverage memories but that's how it is.

And when I started thinking about Uber leaving and thinking about obvious things like how much I'd miss her, I started thinking less about her (sorry babes) and more about the food and drinks I connect her with in my memories. Well, okay not less. I take that back. I'm trying to say that a lot of my memories of our good times co-star some things and it's not about that party or that joke or that song or that book. I mean, that's obvious. We're good friends we got that shit too (last day at TTR, love sticks, shorty got low, lolita).

So because I like to write about food and wine and booze...and because I will miss you...I do miss you, I wanted to also write about you. Because I know things, Uber. Like: the day I knew we were clearly starring in our own tv series in our brains was years ago. I walked into the office and asked very casually "what's up peaches?" and you replied very casually "what's up cream?" That was it. I was like, who the hell does this bitch think she is? I mean, sure, there was the fact that we would race to see who could spin around faster in her swivel chair, or the fact that you would get in a cab and go pick me up a lobster roll all the way downtown, or compile lists of late night restaurants without batting an eye.

I also know that I was there the first time you tried an oyster. The FIRST oyster! I love that day. I love that you love oysters now! See, now you go try to have champagne and oysters and see who the hell you think of, huh? Me. That's right. Yeah, whatever! Sure, you'll think of some dude too but at some point you will get all tipsy and you'll trick someone into ordering a bottle of Selosse and everything will get all fuzzy as the flashback approaches and you'll think of my shiny red hair and tell some charming story about how hilarious and pretty I am...I know.

I mean, really. Brighton Beach...I think of love sticks and that dude who had the chest hair growing in the pattern of a bulletproof vest. I think of eating cherries and melting chocolate covered almonds while drinking Fontsainte rose. Delicious.

Christmas, I think of poo-lar bear pooping little black licorice jelly beans on the floor and I think of the fact that I totally tried to pass off the fact that I hadn't put anchovies in the deviled eggs or pork in the greens that I gave to your brother! oops. What do you want from me? I was drunk. It's christmas! Baby Jesus, the Grinch, poo-lar bear and shots of Applejack. C'mon ya'll. And for the record...Uber's brother does not believe in dinosaurs so he pretty much had it coming okay?

I think of snack packs of dried fruit from that magical mystery place you always tell me the name of but I can never remember and I'll never have them again because I can never remember the name. Damn you!

I think of our pretend slumber party where we were just going to drink champagne and eat ice cream. And I think of Adulterated Ice Cream flavors.

I think of our other pretend slumber party: the coat check at work. I love that place! There's always cookies and mini-peanut butter cups, bananas and apples, cherries (when seasonally appropriate of course), coffees, teas (iced for me and hot for you and sascha), yogurt, leftover family meal, bagels, and how whenever I drink the kombucha drinks I get all hyper and crazy. Or whenever I eat cupcakes that Linda brings I get all hyper and crazy.

I think of our almost slumber party where we waited so long for a certain cigar smoking italian wine importer to leave the restaurant that we were passing out from exhaustion and hunger and all we had to eat was a banana and some crumbs of potato chips that we shared.

I think of our real slumber party that began with oysters and mussels that we had been dreaming about all day and ended with shots of jameson's on my shag rug.

I think of gummie candies and crab chips. No wait, that's boo. No wait, that's you too!

I think of the el diablo and the grape smash and how years have gone by and we still want them! And I think that we're at the end of concord grape season and I don't even know if Ricardo made any grape smashes this year?!

I was at Mas farmhouse last night. And I looked over at the corner table and I thought of Austin's bday. And I thought of the fact that I climbed over Schmoo and Austin to threaten to kill you with a fork. Because? Because. Because, you said you didn't like corn.

What can I say lady? I'm not gonna say "don't change". I'm not gonna say "you'll be back". But, I do miss ya. And I hope you have fun. Or had fun. Whatever, isn't Boston like 3 blocks long? Aren't you done with it yet? Just kidding.

But remember one thing lady, save room for love.

PS seriously what the fuck is the name of that place with the dried fruit?

Cleanse this!

2009-02-28T12:16:00.005-05:00

I stare ahead blankly as I watch the wrinkly back of the fat man's head in front of me turn around to look at me as we all heard the loud rumble of my stomach's hunger pains roaring. "That's it. I'm getting a coffee." 9 days of no coffee. 8 days of no alcohol. 7 days of raw foods, three of which were juice only and it's the fucking line at Chase bank on a Saturday morning that takes me out. Truth be told, I was planning on having a glass of Champagne tonight, but I was hoping to leave coffee behind. Somewhere about halfway through a 30 minute wait to deposit a check, the "crazies" set in. Well, again let's stick to the truth Carolyn, the crazies had set in last week, or 35 years ago depending on your take. But seriously, I started to think; this whole starvation thing is really overrated. I don't feel well. I actually feel like shit. I feel exhausted. I'm scared to work out for fear of passing out. I got dizzy on the stairs at work yesterday. I have a headache and I never get headaches. I haven't even lost any weight. And I feel straight up, voices in the head, shit-house rat crazy. And I realized I wanted a coffee. So that's what I'm doing, having a coffee. And a pastry. I mean, don't get me wrong. I don't think I want to jump off a bridge into a sea of pasta and cheese. The one time I did feel great during this cleanse was after I had eliminated the meat, cheese, and bread from my diet. But cut a girl some slack, we need a little somethin', somethin' as opposed to all or nothin'.

This was not the first time I have "starved" myself. My diet is a constant pendulum, swinging wildly like so many chemically imbalanced moods. I've done it all from staunch vegan diets, strictly making lists of things I will not eat to gluttonous bingeing, consuming everything in my path, spreading butter on top of my foie gras. One or the other, constantly. I'd like to think or fantasize really, that perhaps one glorious day I could eat well most of the time while maintaining some healthy balance. Maybe we don't need to eat everything in site just because it's here. And maybe we don't need to not eat anything at all just because last month we were on the "nitrate-laden cured meat only diet". I should be used to this by now. I'm the same person who was on the "green food only diet". And this came a month after being on a three-month "Irish whiskey and gummy worm diet". I just want to be able to be moderate! But, who am I kidding? I can't even spell moderation without the help of Microsoft's auto spell correct! One time, while suffering some health concerns I found out that the zinc in shellfish, particularly oysters, is good for people with anemia. I went on an all out ticket to ride adventure. For over a month, I consumed almost nothing except raw oysters and champagne. I think I sometimes ordered a side of spinach or an artichoke. I finally started eating meat and that really helped but for a while I was convinced I was on the right path. The real trick to all of these diets is self-delusion. The thing in life I'm best at is "self-will". The thing I'm even better at is being stubborn. Once I've made up my mind that is it, nothing is changing that. I can go without food as long as I believe I can. But do I want to? Just as I was thinking this whole "cleanse" thing is a bunch of bullshit, someone at work said I looked "amazing" and someone else said "tiny". And there we have it...justification. Back on track with our old friend "the crazies". But is this how I want to live? It's grim and joyless...so not me.

You know who really has it figured out? The French. That's right, I said it. But, of course if you know me you know I think the French have everything figured out...tiny geniuses who's general apathy and suspiciously long life spans will one day leave them as last man standing so that they will once again rule the world with a debaucherus, moody fist and a cigarette dangling from their collective pouty mouth. But I do want to let the world in on a little secret. The French drink Slim Shots. They do. I swear on it. The reason Parisiennes are so skinny, even on a diet rich with butter, cheese, and foie gras is because in their morning coffee they pour what looks like a "normal" individually wrapped creamer into the cup. If you looked at the label it would say "slim shot" which is an appetite suppressant in the form of coffee creamer. How do you like that? And...and funnier than that? It's free. The next time you're in Paris at a cafe take a closer look at your creamer options. It's cream or slim shots. Seriously. Go to the countryside in France and the people are a whole lot rounder. I'm not condoning appetite suppressants; it's just an observation people. And while drifting off into my own rants and thoughts of "why am I on this stupid cleanse anyways?" and "I'll give you something to cleanse", I give up the self-delusion of the cleanse. I love food. I love coffee. But most of all I love, really really love, wine. And if the saying is true, oh you know the one, "you are what you eat", then let me tell you, I want to be oysters and Champagne.

Author's note: For the record, although the French do that whole Slim Shot thing, they also do not eat the all-american diet of corn-fed beef and high-fructose corn syrup sweetened beverages. That's what makes us fatter than them! Oddly though, they do love themselves some Orangina, so much so that the ads are these crazy over-sexed drawings of scantily-clad animals drinking Orangina. Vive La France!

And...on a more serious note. I have in the past been given some grief for my passionate take on my chosen life of gluttony. Yet, this same person keeps reading. So, if your out there Mr. I hate myself angry pants, this one's for you, hater: I've decided to add some links to websites that might help if needed. Ah, public service.

Alcoholics Anonymous www.aa.org

Overeaters Anonymous www.oa.org

Foods that heal www.curezone.com

Air France www.airfrance.us

The Day the Sun Comes Out

2008-09-12T11:31:00.011-04:00

I live in NYC. It has been my home off and on for a long time but there was a time, in between, when I lived in Seattle, WA. Without fail whenever I mention this to people, they always ask if it's true that it rains all the time or if the weather is really that bad. And I always answer, yes, it is. Over the years my answer has taken on a new life, a story of it's own. I now say, "Yes, it really is that bad. It rains all the time. Every day it is gray, foggy, rainy or at least misty and cold. Even in the summer. Except for one magical day when the sun comes out. And that day is August 25th. It's actually been declared a holiday in Seattle. Everyone takes off of work and we all go to Denny Blaine beach to swim in Lake Washington. We drink rose and champagne. We eat oysters and float on rafts. Later people celebrate by having dinner parties. In my group, we all end up over Bryan and Sinclair's house for dinner and wine and that is always repleat with crazy stories, Drunken Pilates and a Dance-Off to Dolly Parton or ABBA. So much fun."

Now, people might laugh it off as a great story. And true, August 25th was originally my made up day to represent the manifestation of all of my favorite moments in Seattle combined with my anger over how cold and yucky it is there most of the year. But, I'm here to tell you that I actually willed the magic of August 25th into existence. And now it truly is the day the sun comes out! Here's how the magic happened:

One day, getting home late from the restaurant I open my mail and received a supponea to be at a lawsuit mediation (too long of a story, even for me) in Seattle on August 26th. I laughed a little to myself because I knew that meant I was going to be there at least by the 25th and that's my day I always talk about. I became even more thrilled to learn that my good friend Baby Jo was also going to be visiting friends in Seattle at the exact same time and became absolutely ecstatic when I learned that there would, indeed, be a grand ol' dinner party at the house of Bryan and Sinclair on what day? You got it, August 25th. Hilarious! But wait, there's more...

My day of magic began quite early. I woke in my friend Angie's bed...which is not unlike a princess' bed from fairy tale. It is densely plush and soft. Her room is dark and warm. And as I woke and wasn't quite sure exactly where I was for a moment, I quietly considered doing one of those therapies that recreate the experience of being in the womb. I gave that thought up pretty quickly. But I had felt I had come to understand my good friend Angie just a little bit better. Angie made us some coffee and we talked and talked before she drove me off to meet the ex-husband for coffee. I won't go into my coffee date here except to tell you that if you are divorced and you are on remotely friendly terms with your ex, I strongly encourage you to, at least once have coffee or lunch with him/her. You learn so much about yourself and your journey in life. After coffee I find myself for reasons unexplainable, in this blog, walking around Seattle's fabulous Convention Center area and while dodging the rain drops by hiding under a storefront awning and talking on the phone, I make arrangements to meet Schmoo and Spencer at the restaurant Matt's in the Market for lunch. So, I head to the Seattle's very famous Public Market for lunch. I have some time to spare so I stroll about taking pictures of odd things like "decoupage graffiti" (which I thought was quite brilliant an idea) and rotating heads of wigs at the wig shop. Then Schmoo calls to find out exactly where I am and all I can say is "on the corner of somewhere and f*cked up" so we decide to meet at the restaurant and I get us a table. During our lunch, which is full of stories and laughs rose and coffee and some of my most brilliant comedic timing to date, Schmoo looks outside at the Market, which also over looks the water, and suddenly exclaims "You did it, you did it! You made the sun come out and it's August 25th!" And, indeed, the sun was out. It shone through the big glass windows on our arms and faces as we finished our coffee and headed out back to Angie's house.

Sidebar: My two favorite quotes of this afternoon so far? 1) While sitting in between Schmoo and myself in the truck and holding the pies for dinner Spencer says; "I've got a stick in my crotch and cream pies on my lap, it's everything I've ever wanted. Why don't you take a picture of this Carolyn?" and 2) while sitting on her couch watching Battlestar Gallatica as Baby Jo and I got ready; "Gross. There are girls putting on makeup in my house."

Now on to dinner...I love Bryan and Sinclair's house. Everyone does. It is one of those places that makes you feel completely comfortable the second you are there. It is beautiful, stylish, and gracious just like them. And a dinner party with them is always on my must-do list when I visit Seattle. Dinner parties are different in Seattle than in NYC. People are less hectic and people are barefoot. I always say I don't miss Seattle, I miss the dinner parties. I miss my friends. Seattle and I never really got along so well. We were like a bad relationship. It was doomed from the start but I really did try to make it work. Eventually our fundamental differences became too glaring and I had to move back to NYC. See, I have my own personal holy trinity that I was not willing to let go of (dresses, highheels, and waxing) and these things constantly clashed against the backdrop of fleece, sandals, and unwanted bodyhair in sad, little rainy Seattle. But, my friends are pretty great.

We walk in to see the usual sights. Mi Suk and Bryan are prepping. Sinclair, Laura, and Schmoo are all outside by the grill drinking rose. Angie, Baby Jo and I start frantically looking for wine. There is a table full of beautiful bites of food...heirloom tomatoes, basil, fresh mozzarella, goat cheese, prosciutto, olives, crostini. On the grill were Dungeness Crab, Lamb, red carrots. We were drinking champagne, rose and chablis. Later drinking rhone. Later drinking vintage Chateauneuf du Pape. Vieux Telegraphe. 1995. We had such a beautiful dinner. And for dessert we enjoyed the coconut cream pies from Spencer's lap and Mary made peach cobbler with the peaches Baby Jo brought from South Carolina. Mi Suk toasted the gents for hosting us, as always, and putting so much thought and work into the dinner. More friends kept stopping by for a bite to eat or a glass of wine to say hello or to share a story. Baby Jo and I remarked how cool everyone at the table was, how fortunate we felt we were.

It didn't take long for the dinner party to disintegrate into something we lovingly call "Drunk Pilates". These parties are famous for it. I am not even kidding a little. We literally all start doing pilates and yoga, tipsy. No one has the same balance or strength they have while sober so it's quite hilarious. We usually get the few who don't normally do these exercises involved and we fall down and laugh. This then is quickly followed by more party music and dancing. This time it was Dolly Parton. Madonna came on later. We dance, we sing, we laugh, we drink some more.

Eventually, people start to head out. It is a Monday night, after all. Some people have to get up early. I have to get up early. Angie and I head out...completely drunk. We drive...completely drunk...for the one block to her house and go to bed. We actually hit a car while parking and Angie parked nowhere near the curb. Not pretty. Oh well. I love Angie for many reasons. One of them is that while I am a complete hyper-active spaz she is so mellow. She is one of those people who loves to lie under the blankets and read and curl up and sleep. I am one of those people who never got out of that stage of "do I have to go to bed?" Angie has to tell me to go to to bed. Or to take a nap. Or to calm down. It's sweet. And true. I probably would have stayed up and had another drink or two if she hadn't made me go to sleep.

Ah, the party was over. But, it was a success. The whole day was a success. And now, I needed to sleep. Well, I had court in the morning anyways. And I would need a fresh batch of magic for that so I needed to get some rest. I lay my magic wand down next to me for safekeeping. I had done what I came to do. I got to spend August 25th almost exactly how I had envisioned it. And I had done it, I made the sun come out...for one magical day, August 25th.

Voulez-vous "Kusshi" avec moi?

2008-09-09T09:43:00.005-04:00

Awww, Kusshi oysters. Have you ever had them? Now, I love oysters. Really, I love them. If you're ever sitting across from me at a table and you've been talking awhile and notice that perhaps I'm not listening, that I seem to have that far-off glance to nowheresville; it is probably because I'm thinking of oysters. And Champagne. Sorry, it's true.

Oysters are my island food. What's yours? You know, that game you play when it's a slow night at your restaurant and you're all hanging around waiting for customers. If you could only bring one food to a deserted island with you and had to eat that and nothing else forever, what would it be? Oh, you don't play that game? You must work in a different field.

You probably play a different version like, who would you rather screw? Or if you could only take one celebrity to the island who would it be? You see, in the restaurant industry; we're a different breed. We work at night, we work around booze and food in a perpetual party atmosphere, we are overly sexualized, and our boundaries get blurred nightly. Sex or at least the flirtation of sex is around all the time. Sex is a given. So instead, food becomes our porn. And Chefs are the stars. The more exotic and pleasurable the item, the better. The more unique and hard to get, all the more exciting.

In my time, I've worked in several restaurants that serve things like Milt (the male "roe" or "sperm sack" of cod). Hearts, stomach parts, brains, feet, liver are all fair game, of course; fried pig's ears and tails...heck I ate the whole head with my friend Austin one night.

But even being surrounded by all this uniqueness, I still find the oyster the most alluring, mysterious, and sexy of all the foods. I love that we eat them alive. I eat mine completely raw, naked, usually forgoing any lemon juice, tobasco, or mignonette because I get a certain pleasure out of knowing that it is my teeth sinking into it's body that is actually killing it while I eat it. Basic knowledge of chemistry would illustrate that adding lemon juice is a form of curing, therefore cooking the oyster, ending it's blissful state of raw. And even to look at it, lying there quivering and glistening in its shell you begin to understand why one of your best friends is a lesbian.

I recently made a trip to Seattle, WA. Whenever I'm in Seattle, I'm sure of a few things. I'm going to be ridiculously jacked up on caffeine, because there really isn't anything else to do but escape the rain in a coffee shop. And I'm going to eat a lot of great seafood with my friends. But, what I didn't expect was to have an oyster I had never eaten before!

Somehow the magic of the Kusshi oyster from nearby British Columbia had elluded me. My last night in Seattle, I had dinner at Spring Hill. A newly reviewed restaurant in West Seattle. The food, in a word, was amazing. The wine list, all Washington, needs help. As most of you know, I know my American wines...and I'm ok with the kitsch factor of a gimmick wine list. Just do it right. But, I was with my favorite person in the world drinking Billecart-Salmon brut rose (not from Washington) followed by Michel Chapoutier's rose (not from Washington) and we enjoyed those just fine all while laughing hysterically and exchanging jokes while we ate our Duck Egg raviolo, our steak two ways (hot and cold), our Cold Ciopino, and of course our oysters. The magic may have occurred in the oysters themselves or it may have lived in the mignonette. I know, I said I eat them naked but I have to tell you...their mignonette is made from beer hops and it's delicious.

I had a few other great meals while in Seattle this past visit. I'm sure I'll be writing about them because there are certainly some good stories. But my favorite meal was at Spring Hill. Everything about my night was perfect, like out of a movie. Maybe it was the company, maybe it was the oysters, heck; maybe it was maybelline. Whatever it was I know one thing, it was magical and amazing.

Mantra for Monday, Sept. 8

2008-09-08T12:04:00.006-04:00

Breathe Carolyn. Don't panic. Whatever you do, do not panic. It'll be okay. There are other roses. There are other wines and things to drink. And anyways, isn't it almost the end of rose season? You don't want to be one of "those people" do you? One of "those people" who drink the "wrong wine" because they don't have the palate to move on to the next season's wine. No, you're not that girl. I know, it's just hard for you to transition out of rose season. Ok, ok...I hear you. You do still have a few more weeks to drink pink. But you do have to come to terms with the fact that you just drank your last bottle of Domaine de Fontsainte rose. It's true sweetie, it's gone. And you won't be able to have any more until next year. And just think, you were able to hoarde so much of it for yourself anyways. You probably drank more of it than anyone else in the city this summer. That feels good, right? Plus, you knew this day would come. You didn't even think it would last you as long as it did. You always panic a little when you pick up highly allocated wines that are difficult for anyone to get their grubby little paws onto but you did know that whatever you had of this was going to be it, right? They did tell you that there was much less of it made this year. And you did have to fight to get as much of it as you did. Every time you put a bottle of it in the fridge you thought of exactly how much you had left, how much was hiding in your closet. Well, last night you did it. You opened the last bottle. You drank it by yourself while watching the first season of Mad Men, you ate beets and blue cheese...all perfect little things for this wine. And you thought to yourself: "if John McCain wins, I am moving to France immediately!" Ahhh, good plan. You are a genius, albeit a pickled one....marinated in french rose! You know what? You should be proud of yourself Carolyn. You actually made it last most of rose season. You should congratulate yourself and celebrate. You should march out at once to the nearest wine shop...you are surrounded by them and find another rose and pour some on the floor for your homies or at least for your main homie, Domaine de Fontsainte.

Food therapy

2008-09-07T21:10:00.000-04:00

What a funny friendship! Well, no I take it back. It's an awesome friendship. It's the middle of the afternoon I had just come back from the grocery store. It's a Sunday. It's so hot outside but an absolutely beautiful day. And here I am putting my just-purchased food away. That's my favorite part of grocery shopping is putting it all away. It not only gives me a special feeling of abundance to have food in the cabinets and in the fridge it's also because I like the little surprises I find in the bags. I know, I know. I just bought these things, how could I be surprised by any of them. But seriously, when I'm at the store I do buy some necessities and then I start picking up things that attract me. I shop by passion. What am I in the mood for right this second? What looks pretty? What looks delicious and fresh? And, now I find myself wanting a snack because I'm putting away the last of the summer corn and heirloom tomatoes in all their grotesque beauty. I'm handling avocados and greens, snacks for later, waters in pretty bottles, juices with curing aides added, and sausages and pates galore! Fruit, coffee, and chocolate. I always buy a dark chocolate bar right as I get to the counter to pay. So, putting my foods away, the phone rings and it's Marisa! She is also enjoying the beauty of this day...sitting on her patio in the sun drinking sparkling wine. She tells me she's hungry. I say, me too. She's preparing herself a snack at the same time as I. Then we each sit down and while other girls might talk about what they just picked up at the Barney's wherehouse sale, she and I discuss the snacks and beverages we're having with supreme excitement. I tell her I've just tossed a little locally grown spinach and heirloom tomatoes and bacon and couscous left over from the morning adding fresh herbs and olive oil...squeeze of lemon and seasalt all while drinking a pilsner...very sunday afternoon. It's my pre-drinking, drink. Beer doesn't count as a drink, in my book. Marisa has cobbled together toasted baguette and goat's cheese with a little basil, olive oil, salt. "I'm eating the most delicious snack ever!", she says. And she's still drinking sparkling wine, from Greece. Which prompts us to discuss how great Greece is, how they gave us so much and we're lucky to have learned from them. I also think I'm lucky to have friends who love food and booze as much as I.

Pierre and his very special friend Robert

2008-04-21T13:29:00.000-04:00

The great thing about french names is that they sometimes rhyme. Say it with me...Pierre...Robert. If you can't speak with a french accent don't worry. I'll teach you. It's easy. Grab a pen or pencil and hold it vertically in front of your face, resting it on the end of your nose and very close to your lips. When you speak, try not to move your jaw very much and pout your lips as much as possible. If your lips end up grazing (like a soft kiss) the pencil, then you are speaking with a french accent. Easy. Breezy. Covergirl. Now try it again. Pierre-Robert.

Pierre-Robert is the best cheese in the universe. Period. Well, maybe there's some room for others. It is at least, one of my favorite cheeses. It's a triple cream, cow's milk cheese from France...it's spreadable, salty, and delicious. Max Macalman in "The Cheese Plate" wrote the story of Pierre and his special life long friend, Robert, who decided to make this cheese. Apparently Max feels the perfect wine pairing for Pierre-Robert is a riesling but he quoted the special cheese making friends as saying they feel the perfect wine pairing for their cheese is Champagne. I read that book many years ago and thought it sounded perfect. I read it out loud to Marisa. She thought it sounded perfect too. We tried it. It was perfect! I'm pretty sure we tried it with a Duval-Leroy rose as the restaurant we worked at the time (www.Brasa.com) had both Pierre-Robert cheese and Duval-Leroy Champagne. But that was a long time ago. Yesterday however...

Negroamaro and I arrived at Cafe Fresca carrying a clothing store bag full of wine. It's a bring your own type of joint. There's also only one table and on that table is a plate of cheese and a sliced baguette. Next to the plate is a bowl of chips...genius. It's the little things that make Cafe Fresca special. It's not the new art work, which we were told was done by a crippled junkie, it's not the early spring view of rocks and gravel in a barren garden, I would say it's the service but sometimes you end up serving yourself and that's okay too. But it is the fact that you can sit there and tell really great stories about Pierre-Robert cheese and drink three bottles of champagne and no one bothers you at all. Cafe Fresca is what we call Marisa's back yard.

Marisa and I don't even call the cheese Pierre-Robert anymore. We always refer to it as Pierre and his very special friend Robert. And we always have it with Champagne. Hey, it's their suggestion! We began with Pehu-Simmonet Rose then moved on to Egly-Ouriet Brut, then to Guy Larmandier Blanc de Blancs. It was happenstance that we ended up going from 100% pinot noir, to a blend, then finally to 100% chardonnay. The Brut was the winning combo. But, to be fair we chugged the blanc de blancs as our car was waiting for us outside and we really didn't have any cheese left.

The true testament of the greatness of the combination of the Pierre-Robert and Champagne isn't even that we couldn't stop talking about it the whole time we were consuming them. It isn't the fact that the story of Pierre and Robert reminded Negroamaro about an old Haitian woman who cleans rooms at the hotel who can tell who stays in a room just by smelling when she first walks in. Apparently she once walked in and took a deep breath and said in a thick accent (you might want to grab your pencil for this trick again) they are two men, they are french, and they are gay. And it turned out that there was a pile of condoms in between the bed, two separate suitcases filled with men's clothing and Air France flight stickers all over everything! The testament to the power of the combo is that when we first sat down to snack and toast, Marisa asked if we thought it was weird that she walked a mile to get the cheese. I said no. I can see it happening. Marisa's a little obsessive sometimes, so am I. I would have done the same thing. Sometimes I walk really far to get to a certain wine shop or ribs. I would totally do it for cheese. Lucky for me, I have a remarkable cheese shop called Blue Apron just a few blocks from me.