Pie for Research (But Mostly Dessert)

How spoiled am I? My friend just got back from a hiking trip in Maine, and she brought back a beautiful blueberry pie from Bartley's Dockside in Kennebunkport. They have the best blueberry pies ever. I wanted a slice for research purposes since I'm planning my own wild blueberry pie using frozen wild Maine blueberries, but of course I just spent the whole time moaning in ecstasy. It was perfect hot with a scoop of Haagen Dazs Five Vanilla Bean ice cream.

Fruits of the Season

As part of my new effort to not eat preservatives, strange chemicals, and things I can't spell or pronounce, I have started canning my own food. Since apricots and California cherries were on sale this week, they were the first things to make it into a jar. I pulled my recipes from an amazingly simple cookbook called the Ball Complete Book of Home Preserving. The two recipes I made were the Sweet Cherry Jam (with all suggested additions, including amaretto liquor) and the Brandied Apricot Preserves. And yes, I love liquor in my food. I've got to admit, from what I tasted while filling my little jars, these recipes turn out some pretty fabulous jams and jellies. Next up is Carrot Cake Jam and possibly some Blueberry Butter? And no, that's not butter as in cow's milk, but butter as in a smooth fruit spread. Yummy!

Sushi on a Conveyor Belt

Ever had sushi off of a conveyor belt? It's called kaiten sushi, and for my birthday my friend took me to a place called East. The restaurant is owned by Japanese, and the sushi goes around a central sushi bar on a conveyor belt. You have to pay attention to what's going by and be quick enough to grab anything that looks good. Everything is priced by the plate, and each plate is color coded for the price.

Tonight the conveyor belt was packed with dishes, and everything seemed pretty standard. I had some eel and salmon nigiri sushi, a Philadelphia roll, spicy scallops, and spicy crawfish. Only one thing I picked up surprised me: it was a spicy roll of some sort, and the chili oil burned its way down my throat. Water did nothing to stop the pain, and it took two more plates of sushi before I was able to taste again. I'm not sure what I ate, but I hope I never pick it again! The dangers of the conveyor belt system...

Daring Cooks: Ricotta Gnocchi

So when I saw the first challenge for the new Daring Cooks group, I couldn't help but groan. What is it with people and Italian food? Can we please cook something else? I hate Italian food. But like a good little daring foodie, I marched right out to the grocery store to round up some ricotta cheese. Unfortunately a trip to the farmer's market was not in my immediate future, so I had to make do with some Sargento ricotta. But I splurged and got full fat! That helps make up for the fact it was sitting on the shelf for at least a week before I bought it, right?

Well, the first step in the instructions says to drain the ricotta. In a big strainer. Or cheesecloth. Neither of which my kitchen has. So off I went to the overpriced but very lovely cook's emporium store to round up some cheesecloth. Luckily they carried it, and I was able to set up a draining contraption in my refrigerator. Just to be good and safe, I left that cheese to drain for almost a full 24 hours.

Tonight I pulled everything out and whipped up the dough. I put in fresh sage leaves from my little Aerogarden, ground nutmeg, and fresh grated lemon rind. It actually looked and smelled pretty good. Then I slowly made all the little gnocchi, laying each delicately on a piece of waxed paper. I tossed one volunteer into the simmer water to test out. It held together and floated (as I prayed), and when I pulled it out, it seemed okay. But as I reached for a spoon to taste it, it slowly started to disintegrate on the plate.

Glaring at the hateful gnocchi, I re-read the directions, which stated that if your gnocchi refused to stay in one piece, you could either 1) add 1 tsp of egg white (which personally seemed like a waste of an overpriced free range happy chicken egg), or 2) stick them in the refrigerator for an hour. At this point it was already 7:30 and past my dinnertime, but I stuck them in the fridge and waited. As soon as the hour was up, I whipped them back out and stuck them in the boiling water.

I had a frying pan full of tender turkey Italian sausage and sauteed shitake mushrooms in browned butter waiting for the gnocchi when they made it out of the pot. I slapped them into the frying pan before they could disintegrate on me, only to find that despite a heavy hand with the butter, they insisted on sticking to the bottom of the frying pan. Boy, was I irked. I managed to scrape some off the pan and into a bowl for a nice beauty shot before trying some of my creation.

These things stopped me cold. What was in my mouth was very unpleasant. They were light and fluffy, but also slimy and strange. And immediately the perfect description came to me. It was like eating boogers. Nasty. Never again. My ricotta is staying in lasagna where it belongs.

Let a Little Spring In

On a recent trip to the New York Union Square Greenmarket I acquired a couple of bunches of ramps, a type of wild leek that you only really see for sale in the Spring. I had never had the opportunity to taste one or cook it, so I jumped at the chance. The only problem was finding something that sounded yummy.

Finally I settled on some good old pasta. I got the idea from A Good Appetite blog, but I changed it up a little. I used Buitoni fresh whole wheat linguini as the pasta, and then I got some turkey Italian sausages to use instead of pork sausages. I also chopped up some Shitake mushrooms and added them in. I also used Romano instead of Parmesan. And despite the fact that I really dislike pasta dishes, this was pretty amazing. The ramps added just the right amount of bite and aroma, and I'm hoping they're still available so I can make some more. Super fast and easy, too.

Steak Burger, Anyone?

When my friend asked if I wanted to join her for a jaunt to Brooklyn for a burger at one of the best steakhouses in NYC, you know what my answer was. Who could turn that down? So I made my way through the maze of trains and subways to the edge of Brooklyn, barely out of Manhattan, the other end of the Williamsburg bridge, to a slowly decaying area near Marcy Avenue. My destination? Peter Luger's, a German steakhouse with a 100-year pedigree that has outlasted the neighborhood.

The restaurant itself didn't open for lunch until right around 11:30, so we weren't the only ones prowling the sidewalk outside the entrance. When the doors finally swung open, we all paraded inside to form a line that filled the entryway. Slowly everyone was led to their tables, and we, pleasantly, received one near the front windows. Two waiters rushed to the table with homemade bread, butter, and Peter Luger's famous steak sauce in a ceramic boat.

I think we disappointed the waiter by ordering hamburgers and tap water while other tables ordered steak for three, but he memorized everything and then hurried away to place our orders. I asked for a bacon cheeseburger, medium, with fries. We then spent the next twenty minutes staring at the bread basket, desperately trying to ignore the little voice saying "EAT ME".

When the burgers arrived, I was a little bit taken aback. The burger itself looked great, but the only vegetable on the plate was a slice of white onion. Where was the lettuce, tomato, pickles? I quickly asked the waiter for some foliage. His reply? "We only have wedges of lettuce." I couldn't believe it. A top steakhouse, and the waiter couldn't (or wouldn't?) bring me a leaf of lettuce. He did offer a slice of tomato, so I took him up on at least that part.

It was at that point that I inspected my plate more carefully. I had ordered french fries, but there didn't seem to be much on my plate. I counted...seven fries. Three dollars for seven french fries. That's 43 cents a fry. Maybe this place hasn't heard the economy is in the toilet, because that's not even close to being appropriate. And I've had much better fries.

The bacon I had ordered was not actually on the burger itself, but on the side. It was luxuriously thick, almost obscenely thick, and somehow managed to be crisp and chewy at the same time. It was fabulous. But it wasn't on my burger, and with the giant 1/2" slice of tomato I was brought, I didn't see how it could be put on my burger without making the sandwich so thick that I wouldn't be able to put my mouth around it. So the bacon became a side dish.

Somehow I managed to work my way through the burger. It was cooked more on the medium-well side, but still good. It tended to crumble as I ate it, which proved there was absolutely nothing but beef on my bun (no breadcrumbs, eggs, or other fillers). I finally had to peel the bun off the second half of the burger to make it through, because I had a plan. I was in a German restaurant with a dessert menu. You don't pass opportunities like that up.

As I was waiting for my apple strudel mit Schlag (aka with amazingly thick and rich whipped cream), I surveyed the other tables. Most were eating huge T-bone steaks that the waiter cut into pieces and divvied out. But I was horrified when the waiter actually scooped up the grease (I'm sure they call it "juices") circling the plate and poured it over the steak pieces. Then he picked up a plate of what looked like cubed potatoes and started scraping them onto the individual plates. Only problem? The potatoes were pretty much burnt onto the bottom of the dish. And this was a $100+ dinner package. I had to turn away to stop my arteries and my wallet from screaming obscenities.

Luckily my strudel arrived and calmed me. The apples were soft but not mushy, and the pastry was crisp and flaky. The Schlag was like eating a cloud. Unfortunately I was totally stuffed, so I had to get the rest packed to go. Then we had to pay, which was an ordeal unto itself. (What kind of steakhouse doesn't take credit cards??? Is this a New-Yorkers-are-crazy thing??? In Dallas that kind of policy would last the two weeks it took you to go out of business.) Finally we were paid and done and out. Final thought? Bacon was good, strudel was good, burger was okay, but Five Guys is better, and I HATE snotty restaurants that think you have $100 in cash on you at all times.