NYC

http://www.theawl.com/2010/12/dining-out-in-new-york-city

I've been through this too many times......

Girl Scout Cookies

Let's put 'em all out of business.......

http://www.mnn.com/food/healthy-eating-recipes/blogs/homemade-versions-of-girl-scout-cookies

That's right, you can make all of them at home!

After ThanksGibbon

This is a little gruesome, but very amusing.

Read the rest of the article here :

http://io9.com/5699171/serving-man-how-to-eat-like-a-cannibal-this-thanksgiving

News?

Personally, I think we've always known this.....

Meat calms you down.

http://www.iheartchaos.com/post/1577532639/according-to-a-new-study-seeing-meat-may-calm-you-down

Why We're Fat Volume 2

All I'm sayin'.........

Armistice Day

For Anyone Whom Has Ever Served.......

Thank You!

Why We're Fat Volume 1

I've been laying low for these past few months because I'm really having a hard time processing all of this.

Look, I get it.

Going to the extreme is a great novelty.

But, even in my University days.....

Couldn't do it.

Apparently, this is the only way to get noticed these days.

The Kitchen

After four weeks of  World Cup, withdrawal sets in...........

Soupy New York City apartment, no stomach because the worthless Italians got knocked out early on, and MTA bonuses.

 But, it’s time to get back to the Kitchen.

Summertime is here after all.

Time to stock up.

Kitchenware

Why is everyone so afraid of these things?

They’re pots and pans, y’all; they’re tools; it’s not that complicated.

It seems that every recipe from every “Celebrity” chef requires you to have one of their specialized cooking gadgets or appliances in order to make their “James Beard Award Winning” recipe for Sassafras Boiled Cuttlefish.

It’s just not the case.

A Place For Ribs??

One night I was out with some of the boys and we went to our favorite ribs joint across town. At that time there were not that many places for ribs in New York City so, we had to make do with what there was.

The mood was festive, the pitchers of beer and bourbon flowing, and stacks of ribs coming out of the kitchen in a seemingly endless stream. Baby backs, beef ribs, St. Louis ribs, all slathered in their signature sauce. As the bones began to pile up, we all became pensive. How could these ribs be so good? How could they be so fresh?? This is New York City, not Texas???

I posed a question to the table, “So, these ribs are fabulous. How do you suppose they get them?”

Everyone was quiet.

My buddy George thought for a moment and said, “Did you notice that tall parking garage behind this building?”

My friend Harry said, “Yeah, I live across the street. I see it every day.”

George went on, “I bet that’s how they do it.”

“I’m lost. What are you talking about?”, I said.

George wiped the barbecue sauce off of his chin and said, “Vertical Farming.”

Tony looked at him like he had three heads and said, “You’ve had too much Bourbon. Farming on the Upper East Side???”

George went on, “Think about it. A parking garage is perfect. You put the young, small, immature cows on the top level. As they get bigger and fatter you move them down a ramp to the next level. So, by the time they reach the bottom they are perfect. When an order goes to the kitchen, a cow is pushed down a chute, through the knives, and into the oven.”

The table was silent as George went for another rack of ribs.

This conversation took place in 1983.

Nearly thirty years later I come across this -

A Birthday Wish

This is for Sue Baby.

She and I have been through way too much over the years; and I wish that there was more that I could do for her.

So, on her Birthday, she needs a trip.

Camarão do Bahìa

Tonight's Meal

So, I was talking with a friend of mine this afternoon. He was in a rut. Was bored with all of his recipes and all of the things that he likes to make; he’s a good cook on top of it, too.

It was a Monday afternoon, after all, at the bar.

He said, “I really don’t feel like doing anything for supper and I’m bored. I’m tired of all of the same ingredients.”

After taking a medicinal slurp of his Guinness he said, “I’m only going to Zabar’s. I’m not going shopping. I need advice.”

I looked up from my crossword puzzle, and took a slug of my whiskey, “Well, here are some options.” And thought for a moment.

“Coconut Shrimp?” I said.

“I made Thai last night.”

“Butterflied barbecue chicken?”, I countered.

“Too much work.”

“Chicken thighs?”

“Do they even sell them there? I know they have whole birds”

“There’s always the pre-made stuff, you know, like chicken cutlets Milanese which you can toss over a baby arugula salad?”

“They’re too salty.”

“True.” I said, “But, in a pinch, they’re good for a picnic.”

I took another taste of Old Thought Provoker and said, “Salsa Verde?”

“Don’t you need Tomatillos for that?”

“Nope. Chimichurri style with some simple roasted potatoes and whatever type of chicken parts you are in the mood for. Thirty minutes soup to nuts.”

“Done.” he said.

“Personally I would butterfly the chicken, but that’s just me”

“Time to polish this off, and get out of here. I’ve got Salsa to make.” he said as he downed his pint.

I returned to 35 Down, what's a five letter Yiddish word for bed-bug??


Recipe after the jump...

The Subway Inn

One evening, after a long night of chasing “debutants” at some black-tie holiday ball at The Plaza Hotel and, subsequently, blowing all of our cash at The Oak Bar on Beefeater Gibsons, we came to the loaded question of the evening. Here we were, young and tuxedo clad, at one in the morning, with only five dollars and a subway token left in our pockets. Home was clearly not an option, but we really couldn’t afford anything else. What were we to do?

The Subway Inn.

The Scorpion Bowl

Anything that comes in a giant bowl with four extremely long straws and a gardenia floating in the middle must have something going for it, besides a whole lot of rum.

Buried in the basement of The Plaza Hotel in New York City was the legendary Trader Vic’s Polynesian lounge and restaurant. This was everything that you would expect from a 1950’s style “Hawaiian” inspired nightmare. Lots of dark wood, thatch covered bar and ceiling, tall tiki idols separating the tables, and a “genuine” King Kamehameha dugout canoe in the front foyer. The South Pacific at its Americanized kitchy best. This included such “island” specialties as the Menehune Pork Sliders, Crab Rangoon, and the ubiquitous PuPu Platter. Not to mention, the signature Scorpion Bowl.

The Scorpion Bowl is a “festive concoction of rums, fruit juices and brandy with a whisper of almond”, this according to the Trader Vic’s drink menu. In reality, it was an easy way to wind up on the floor with your friends rooting through your pockets to pay for the bar tab.

One particular evening, after our fourth Scorpion Bowl and realizing how little money we had left in our pockets, a very loud and very drunk party sat down at the table next to us. They ordered two Scorpion Bowls and a Rum Keg, another potent communal drink. My friend and I looked at each other and at our empty Scorpion Bowl and the half a dozen 18” long straws strewn on the table and immediately saw opportunity. When the other table got their cocktails and began sucking away, we began to piece together the straws. Three straws later we could reach the next table. We began nipping into one of their Scorpion Bowls. Victory! They were too drunk to notice an extra long straw leading to the next table siphoning one of their Scorpion Bowls, especially after they ordered two more full rounds.

Needless to say, we enjoyed two more Scorpion Bowls before reeling out of Trader Vic’s and nearly falling into the canoe on the way out.

My Weekend

“She’s a nice girl.” Bobby said.

“No, . . . really, . . . she’s a nice girl.”

Absolutely no one looked up from their newspapers, or down from the ballgame on television.

A Saturday afternoon at the Bar.

Business as usual.

The alcoholic's section of The Christian Science Reading Room.

“So which one is this?”, I asked Bobby, not taking my eyes off of Page Six, something about Britney Spears...

“Nina.” Bobby sighed.

“Which one is Nina?” . . . Cindy Adams, gossip, more about Bernie Madof...

“From over at the Cozy Spa.” he said.

Bobby prattled on about his latest sexual conquest.

“She was wearing these little red panties with matching bra, you know. She let me eat her out. She loves me.”

“She’s a whore, Bob. She works in a massage parlor giving hand jobs at sixty bucks a pop.” . . .  Liz Smith, sanitized gossip, a truly frightening photograph of Chelsea Clinton...

“But, she’s a nice girl.”

This was a familiar conversation. Last week it was Wendy. She was a nice girl too. Before that, it was Amy, and before that, Mona, I was beginning to have trouble keeping track.

I took a sip of whiskey.

“But what about Wendy?” . . . The Post’s Op-Ed page, some opinions...

“Oh, fuck Wendy.” he said.

“Didn’t you do that already?” . . . "The Mayor's", latest draconian plan on sex shops...

“Yeah, but that was months ago.” Bobby said.

“What about last weekend. Didn’t you go up to Chambers Street?” . . . More Op-Ed pieces, Staten Island wants to secede, again...

“No, I went up to Canal Street.”

“Now which one was this?” . . . school’s chancellor caught in threesome...

“Wendy.”

Now I looked up.

“Wait a minute, I thought that the last time you saw Wendy was months ago, but now you tell me you saw her last weekend??”

“Yeah, the Canal street Wendy.”

“Hold on. You mean to tell me that there are two Wendys?”

“Yeah.”

I took a long pull at my whiskey. This was getting complicated. I would definitely have to start writing this down.

That Time of Year

Twice a year, in my kitchen, this happens...

The sunset hits the beveled leaded glass mirror over the mantle in the dining room and floods the kitchen with the colours of the world.

This means only one thing :


Der Budding Bronx
By Anonymous


Der spring is sprung,
Der grass is riz'
I wonda where dem boidies is?
Da little boid is on da wing;
Ain't dat absoid.
Da little wing is on da boid.

The Jet Age

After all these years of traveling around the globe, I thought I had heard all of the excuses that the commercial airlines use for flight delays. You know, bad weather, faulty equipment, pilots strike, rabid passenger, geese, etc. So, on my way home from my Auntie's funeral over the weekend this came up. SeaTac airport Seattle, clear-ish day there and clear in NYC despite various rain/snowstorm combinations, but no plane at the gate. A natural assumption, in that part of the world, is that the connecting flight was late leaving Anchorage, Juneau, or some other northern oasis. Approaching the scheduled 8AM departure time, an announcement was made changing the departure to 9AM. No worries and no explanation given, but this was to be expected.

At about 9AM, the airline clerk at the desk gets on the PA, and very hesitantly says this :

"We are sorry for the delay, but the plane is stuck in the mud."

I am not making this up.

The Olde Homestead

This is for my cousins.

Sarah, Anna, and Kristen.

Enjoy all of you...

The Perfect Roast Chicken

FAT Tuesday

It's that time of year again.

So, what are you going to give up??

Paté? Frappucinos?? Hog Jowls??? Talking to your In-Laws????

The world wants to know.

SNO DAY!!

So, after hitching up the sled dogs, braving the gauntlet of feral children armed with ice-balls who were given a day without their keepers, and the treacherous ice floes on every street corner requiring a kayak and harpoon to negotiate, I ventured to the local über-mart.

During times of mass hysteria, you know, 9/11, an in-store appearance by Justin Timberlake and Miley Cyrus, a snowstorm, etc., what is left on the shelves can often be an indication as to the general attitude of civilisation. My neighborhood is very family oriented; so, one might expect the normal things like milk and eggs to be gone from the shelves. Not so. There were no frozen waffles, no english muffins, no cookies, no ice cream, no bread, few frozen veggies, and plenty of toilet paper, cleaning products, and beer.

What could this mean?

I ask you.

UGH

All I'm sayin'..........


Please Click on the above for the Link.


This must be seen to be believed. Even when we were at "Universtity" and our tummies were invencible, or when we were during our "Damn the Torpedoes" years cramming for a "Gradual" Degree Oral, this was not a problem.


However, Yeowza!


There may be a limit.


I'm all for extreme, but all of these seem as if they are catered toward the masses as opposed to being a novelty.


I nee advice........


http://www.orlandosentinel.com/health/sfl-mark-calorie-killers-pg,0,3750803.photogallery?index=hc-kfc-double-down-sandwich-picture-foto


Comment please.

The Deli Counter

Have you ever been behind a couple at your favorite Deli counter?

You know the type I'm talking about.

They shop in pairs and are constantly in conference with each other about whether this is the right ingredient for the special recipe; that, they just downloaded from the inter-web because some idiot recommended it; which, they are making that very night, because they have eight people coming over; and, they need to show off their spanky new gourmet kitchen, that they took out a second mortgage to get; which, has only ever been used to re-warm last night's Chinese take-out in the microwave; since, they order in every night of the week, anyway; and, all they have in their over-and-under stainless steel fridge are various condiments and some 2% milk that has seen better days.

They wander through the aisles clutching their recipe printout like the bible and question every ingredient to the micro-gram; "Well, it says 28 oz. (800 g.) of canned tomatoes in the recipe, but all of the cans are 35 oz. (1000 g.), is this okay??". This "consulting" gets even worse when they actually reach the Deli counter. Then there is a bickering over what's the difference between Speck, Pancetta, and Proscuitto. Not to mention that they need exactly 4 oz. (115 g.) of one of them, or nothing will work. Because, that's what's the recipe says; and it must be true. The problem is all they have at this Deli is Smoked Bacon, so now it's time to panic.

Salad Dressing

          After taking my daily journey through the local "über-mart", I was daunted by the sheer amount of different salad dressings available. It then ocurred to me that I’ve never been able to figure out why people actually purchase commercially made salad dressings in the first place. If you take the time to actually read the list of ingredients in a commercial salad dressing, at least the ones that you can pronounce, chances are, you have just about everything in the cupboard that you need to make your own, Xanthan Gum and Sodium Benzoate aside.

Here is a basic dressing that can be used eight ways from Sunday and easily keeps for a week, if you happen to make too much of it.

The technique is so frighteningly simple, the variations limitless, and it takes all of a minute to do, that I really don’t know why everyone doesn't be creative and make their own versions of this.

So, here goes and let's put Kraft in the poor-house.

Don't Be Upset

It may seem that I have not updated as I promised the crew over at Project 52 (http://project52.info/), but not so!

I have been revising the previous posts, and, in particular, the Tortellini in Brodo, which everyone should be eating, naturally, to make them available for comment and consumption. As usual, things are often posted in haste and are incomplete, however, that shall be rectified.

I am working on a book, television programme, and web site to showcase all of these recipes that I will be doing over the next year; so, please, keep tuned.

Comments and derision are expected and encouraged.

Take a look at the next missive, I will give you a "mission statement" next week.......

Back From Italy

So, I've just returned from the continent and came across a great project for us bloggers.


http://project52.info/

The gist is this, publish one new blog post a week for the next year, and let's see who makes it. It's a great personal challenge, and I highly recommend it.


I discovered this from my web-aquaintance (is that even a term??) at kitta.net to give all of us a kick in the pants for the coming year, Twitter begone!


Regardless, I'm going to up the ante with my participation, and not so much as post a new entry every week, but a new recipe every week from the book and television show that I am working on.


So, eat well my bretheren, and keep checking up on me.


l.