Extreme Home Makeover!

As you can see my site is undergoing a little make-over. We’re still working out kinks, so in the interim hold tight, more great stuff to come!

Work In Progress

As you can see my site is undergoing a little make-over. We’re still working out kinks, so in the interim hold tight, more great stuff to come!

Between 2 Slices, Please

My Pop-Pop has always said, “everything tastes better as a sandwich.”

Granted usually his definition of “sandwich” puts emphasizes on the MEAT (just meat) sandwiched between two pieces of Wonder-Bread-like bread … but I have to agree with him. Everything does tastes better as a sandwich.

If you really think about it, everything can either be construed as a sandwich, or made into a sandwich. Case-in-point, a pizza when folded over (no matter what toppings you may prefer) is in essence a sandwich, a pizza-wich. Take the contents of a salad, greek, caesar, or cobb, and viola! sandwich, a salad-wich. Everything can be better if made between two slices of bread.

Sandwiches also tell a lot about the ingredients themselves. The bread, the spread, the meat, and the toppings. The combination is what makes someone’s mouth water. It’s what makes no one mind eating a meatball sub and having sauce ooze down their chin. It’s that good! In fact, my best friend believes that ANY occasion is an occasion for a meatball sub, even if its 90 degrees out and we’re at the shore …

Personally, the creation is the about the texture and harmony between flavors. I’ve learned a lot of tricks over the years, but one thing that I believe true in most cases is that bread should be toasted. Ideally on one side as to not scrape the inside of ones mouth. The one exception to this rule is extremely fresh banquettes and/or loaves. They’re too perfect, don’t you dare put that thing in the toaster. But by fresh, I mean REALLY fresh.

The other wonderful thing about a sandwich, is that it’s a perfect meal to make for one. And since most of my meals prepared at home are for me and my lonesome, I eat a lot of sandwiches. My latest creation is a play on the sweetness that I love oh-so-much. A pear, goat cheese, frisee sandwich with toasted pecans and a honey lemon oil. It’s fabulous, and totally subjective of my taste buds.

- Get fresh bread.
- Toast chopped pecans until fragrent.
- Allow the goat cheese to come to room temperature and spread generously on both sides of the sandwich.
- Slice pear (so seasonal!) into thin slices and place on top goat cheese.
- In a small bowl combine about a tablespoon of honey, a quarter of a lemon, and enough olive oil to create an emulsified sauce.
- Add frisee and pecans to bowl and toss in dressing. This way the dressing doesn’t spill out of the sandwich.
- Place frisee on top sandwich and enjoy!

On Twitter today I forwarded an article I found interesting about the sandwich movement of New York. The fad in NY Mag right now is Vietnamese sandwiches called Bahn Mi, fabulous at Num Pang. They’re delicious, so trendy. BUT the new movement is towards what is know as, Beef Wellington Sandwich at the new restaurant Rye House; filet mignon, foie gras pâté, and mushrooms on a buttery brioche bun that replicates a puff pastry.


This sounds like heaven, a heart-attack on a plate, and complete art in my opinion. I cannot wait to drag a red-meat lover to try it.

If New York’s sandwich is pastrami on rye, Nola’s is the muffaletta, and Philly’s is the cheesesteak, how can one decided where to live? My current favorite is Olive’s shitake mushroom sandwich with herbed ricotta, watercress, and roasted tomatoes on ciabatta. Fabulousness. Eating it as we speak, didn’t even have time to take a picture I was so enamored by its power.

So tonight, make a sandwich. Either AS your dinner, or with what you make for dinner later INTO a sandwich. I doubt you’ll be disappointed.

I Ain't No Gisele

My room mate doesn’t love her job. But then again, do most people my age, or any age do? I don’t think I can give a resounding answer either way, but the stereotype of “hating” your entry-level job at 23, goes hand-in-hand with taking the 6 train and having happy-hour Thursdays in crowded mid-town bar.

I’m an odd ball, always have been. I get up most days before the sun, take the odd numbered and/or lettered trains to areas foreign to most upper middle class white bankers my age, and work my butt off, on my feet, all day. And I love it.

The biggest misconception about being a chef (or training to be one) is that it’s glamorous. There is no doubt that the squeaky-clean images on food network have promoted this notion, but more than that, food is something almost everyone loves. Loves to love, AND loves to hate. It’s the story of our nation’s obsession with everything from fad diets, food trends, and ideals that links our very society. But the actual craft of cooking is intense, and never mastered, just continually learned.

So between the Rachael Rays and the Ina Gartens of the world, there’s a vast divide within the food world. Everyone from the delivery guys, to the men who wash dishes, serve food, and prepare 4 star meals are part of this underground system of food workers. And they all work hard. Everyday. Everyday someone and everyone needs to eat.

Forget happy hours, forget sleep, forget dates, and forget holidays. Your new family is your food family. And if you’re lucky enough to love working it, and/or who you’re with, it doesn’t matter how unglamorous the job gets.

Case in point. On Thursday night The Dinner Belle catered an event to launch the newly Pop: The Genius of Andy Warhol, by a New York social club in the home of famous fashion designer. The host lived in a Soho loft that was bigger than my house. Large scale Warhols hung on every wall, in an awe inspiring, take-off-your-pants kind of way. Just as Andy would have liked.

The party drew socialites, artists, writers, celebrities, and press. It was beautiful. Want to know where I was? Wearing an apron and pulling over 200 crab appetizers out of the oven until 11 PM at night for the rich and fabulous of New York’s downtown social scene. And I loved it.

It wasn’t glamorous. I wasn’t in any pictures, didn’t sip any cocktails, and sure as heck didn’t get to mingle with the tens of skinny beautiful women in sparkly cocktail dresses and Louboutin shoes. Nope, sure not. In the kitchen, working, and cooking BUT watching and listening.

I can’t tell you that what one person does for a living is more or less justified, but I can say this. If you’re lucky enough to find something that makes you tick, work at it. Keep going, and when you get tired (it happens, believe me I was “cooked” at 11 PM that night after being up since 5 AM) keep going.

And when you realize that you have to miss Thanksgiving for events and school, smile, don’t be bitter. Be happy that your friends and family are enjoying the joys of food on the holiday … and so are you in reality, just in a different way.

I Ain’t No Gisele

My room mate doesn’t love her job. But then again, do most people my age, or any age do? I don’t think I can give a resounding answer either way, but the stereotype of “hating” your entry-level job at 23, goes hand-in-hand with taking the 6 train and having happy-hour Thursdays in crowded mid-town bar.

I’m an odd ball, always have been. I get up most days before the sun, take the odd numbered and/or lettered trains to areas foreign to most upper middle class white bankers my age, and work my butt off, on my feet, all day. And I love it.

The biggest misconception about being a chef (or training to be one) is that it’s glamorous. There is no doubt that the squeaky-clean images on food network have promoted this notion, but more than that, food is something almost everyone loves. Loves to love, AND loves to hate. It’s the story of our nation’s obsession with everything from fad diets, food trends, and ideals that links our very society. But the actual craft of cooking is intense, and never mastered, just continually learned.

So between the Rachael Rays and the Ina Gartens of the world, there’s a vast divide within the food world. Everyone from the delivery guys, to the men who wash dishes, serve food, and prepare 4 star meals are part of this underground system of food workers. And they all work hard. Everyday. Everyday someone and everyone needs to eat.

Forget happy hours, forget sleep, forget dates, and forget holidays. Your new family is your food family. And if you’re lucky enough to love working it, and/or who you’re with, it doesn’t matter how unglamorous the job gets.

Case in point. On Thursday night The Dinner Belle catered an event to launch the newly Pop: The Genius of Andy Warhol, by a New York social club in the home of famous fashion designer. The host lived in a Soho loft that was bigger than my house. Large scale Warhols hung on every wall, in an awe inspiring, take-off-your-pants kind of way. Just as Andy would have liked.

The party drew socialites, artists, writers, celebrities, and press. It was beautiful. Want to know where I was? Wearing an apron and pulling over 200 crab appetizers out of the oven until 11 PM at night for the rich and fabulous of New York’s downtown social scene. And I loved it.

It wasn’t glamorous. I wasn’t in any pictures, didn’t sip any cocktails, and sure as heck didn’t get to mingle with the tens of skinny beautiful women in sparkly cocktail dresses and Louboutin shoes. Nope, sure not. In the kitchen, working, and cooking BUT watching and listening.

I can’t tell you that what one person does for a living is more or less justified, but I can say this. If you’re lucky enough to find something that makes you tick, work at it. Keep going, and when you get tired (it happens, believe me I was “cooked” at 11 PM that night after being up since 5 AM) keep going.

And when you realize that you have to miss Thanksgiving for events and school, smile, don’t be bitter. Be happy that your friends and family are enjoying the joys of food on the holiday … and so are you in reality, just in a different way.

Hold the Bagel Please

I’m going to burn a lot of bridges when I say this, BUT, the one thing I’ve found distinct about most (not all, I haven’t tried them all yet), New York bakeries is that they DO NOT know how to do southern desserts. Cream cheese icing? Pish. Bread pudding? What’s that?

Sorry Magnolia, Cupcake, Little Hen, or any other various cupcake chain, sincerely I am, but you need to take a lesson from your “sista-friends” down in the dirty-dirty. A little less cream cheese, a little more sugar. And butter …

I’m not from the south, so I can’t say that I’m better than any other New York in preparing these fine delicacies, but what I do have is tons and tons of tasting practice. Since I ate everything I could get my hands on for four years, I think I’ve got an upper hand on what’s delicious and what’s not.

I think if there is one truly “American” cuisine it Southern Cooking. In my opinion, the south is the true epi-center of all American food. If New York is the melting pot, the south is where they cast that iron. Home-grown, you bet. Historic, without a doubt. Incredibly rooted in what IS American, done.

In order to love southern desserts, you have to love dessert to the utmost. This isn’t a category for the “oh I’m so full, I can’t possibly fit dessert” people. Bless your precious hearts, though …

When I think of southern desserts I think of three things in particular; butter, pecans, and cream cheese (in no particular order). That and … buttery pie crusts, luscious red velvet VELVETY cake, hummingbird goodness with macadamia nuts, carrot cake so thick with fruits and vegetables you’re basically eating a “southern salad,” bread pudding hot out of the oven with Maker’s Mark ice cream, bananas foster with rich pound cake and more brown sugar and butter than a cholesterol laden heart, chicory coffee, toffee, beignets, home-made whipped cream, ahh, I could go on for hours. But let’s stick with one specific thing …

Cream cheese icing.

Anyone who says they don’t like it, hasn’t had it done well. That’s all I have to say. I don’t even LIKE cream cheese, and having the prefect icing transforms your life. In New York, I think people are too used to smearing bagels rather than icing cakes. The icing shouldn’t taste like cream cheese. It shouldn’t be thick enough to pull off cake, and it shouldn’t be piled mile high on top.

Ratio’s are crucial. The perfect racial between cake and icing, and for the icing between cream cheese and sugar. So I went in search for these ratio’s in New York. My favorite use of this icing is on a red-velvet cake, so that’s what I went looking for. Apparently the best red velvet in the city is from Little Hen … I’m keeping mum, just like my polite southern mothers’ taught me … it was “nice” but not great …

That being said, I’m going to pull out the big guns, my all-time favorite red velvet is from Dewey’s bakery in North Carolina. This small chain is as authentic as authentic tastes – divine! Here’s recipe for their icing which I think is pretty similar to theirs, although they refuse to give it out. Batter this on just about any kinda of cake but my favorites include carrot, red velvet, and hummingbird cake … like any true southern.

Cream Cheese Icing

8 oz cold cream cheese (full fat)
5 TB soften butter
2 tsp vanilla extract
2 1/2 cups powdered sugar (sifted before added)

Temperature is crucial here. The cream cheese should be right out of the refrigerator and the butter be room temperature. Add as much sugar as you like sweetness. I prefer mine on the sweeter side, rather than the creamy-cheesy side, obviously.

Paddle attachment on mixer, and mix first three ingredients, add sugar gradually and beat until JUST combined. There’s a threshold in which can be crossed into over-whipping the cream cheese and creating a “whipped cream cheese” icing.

Enjoy!

Hoot! Hoot!

As a lifelong “sister” of Chi Omega sorority (yes, a sorority girl lies within me somewhere…), I spent most of my college years surrounded by owls or owl insignias. Creepy right? Well that was our mascot, so yes, owls galore. Rumor has it we were locked in coffins with dead owls for initiation … I’ll never tell …

So the idea, or look of owls never thrilled me. That is, until dinner on Tuesday night at the West Village’s, The Little Owl. Hoot! Hoot! me ANY day.

Having received tons of hype about a year ago when the economy tanked, this truly is the new New York restaurant. Or type of restaurant. It’s small, warm, homey, cheap(er), locally supplied, unpretentious, delicious and of course, hard as hell to get a table.

Since my parents have recently joined the early-bird-special-crowd at the ripe young age of 49 … I decided our best bet for getting a table without a reservation (which I tried to get for weeks), was to show up at 5:30 PM … on the dot. That, and I smiled. What can I say except to use all tactics when needed? And it worked.

Not only did we love the ambience, the food (lamb shank is TO DIE FOR), the chef personally told my father the red snapper special was the best cut of meat he’s seen in years. The kitchen is the size of my Soho kitchen, and it impressively produces some of the best food in the city that I’ve had in years.

Beyond charming and delicious, The Little Owl is smart. Here are some few pointers that I’ll take with me when I open my own restaurant:

1. When a table orders a bunch of appetizers the chef plates each portion to each individual’s plate. Not only does this reduce clutter of sides plates for each person but prevents people from reaching, mangling, and digging into appetizers. This way everything you’d want to take a bite of it already prepared for you. Genius!

2. When you ask for a “doggy bag” the server holds it in the kitchen wrapped and warm so that it doesn’t sit at your table and look tacky, get cold, or clutter your surroundings. Again, so thoughtful and smart.

3. Checks arrive in a small journal where everyone can write comments, compliments, and (yes, I’m sure there are) complaints. A little hoot! for everyone to share. I personally spent the time look for signatures of famous people.

These, among many other small touches marked my meal at The Little Owl as one of the best I’ve had in a while. With the warmth and genuine wholesomeness of someplace like Gramercy Tavern, on a smaller scale, budget, and venue. Worth the time, money, and wait.

And that’s hard for three VERY critical diners to say. The owl flies on … hoot! hoot!

Top 3 Recommended Dishes: sliders, lamb shank, fried chicken

90 Bedford St., NY, NY

Sticky Buns Bitches

If Sunday isn’t code for “brunch” and “lounging,” then I don’t know what is. This week during our first week in bread (enriched breads, i.e. breads with the addition of fat) we made a dish that is PERFECT for a lazy Sunday. Spiked. Pecan. Sticky. Buns.

And because I was too busy brunching … this recipe comes Monday …

Having gone to school in the south, the idea of anything spiked with bourbon that uses pecans and butter sounds divine. I’ve modified the recipe so that it can be made in a MUCH quicker time than it took me, and it draws on a technique I used in puff pastry. Instead of actually making the bread, I suggest buying frozen puff pastry. So in a way its a puff pastry type sticky bun … don’t worry it’s fabulous.

Spiked Pecan Sticky Buns (Makes 1 9” angel food pan or bunt pan)

The Dough
Defrost and lightly flour a work surface. Roll out sheet into a 12”x16” rectangle

Spice Mixture (for inside the log)
Combine all of the following ingredients together

1 cup packed light brown sugar
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
1/4 teaspoon ground all-spice
pinch of ground nutmeg

Melt and set aside

2 tablespoons of butter

The Carmel Topping Mixture
Place all ingredients in a saute pan. Stir and cook until melted. Cool slightly. Place inside the bottom of a greased 9” pan. Set aside (it’s okay if it cools and hardens, do not worry)

1 1/4 cup packed dark brown sugar
6 tablespoons butter
1/4 cup honey
3 tablespoon good Bourbon
1 cup chopped pecans

Shape the dough into rectangle on a lightly floured surface. Spread the 2 tablespoons of melted butter on rectangle with a brush. Top the buttered surface with the spice mixture. Roll the rectangle gently into a spiral log. Cut into 8 equal pieces. Place 8 pieces in the carmel topping lined pan. Bake at 375 degrees Fahrenheit for 20-25 min. Unmold almost immediately when gets out of the oven by flipping the pan right side up. Voila!

My Mother vs. Ground Beef

There’s a “throw down” in the kitchen, and it doesn’t involve Bobby Flay. What it does involve though, is my mother, a grill, and an unlimited source of ground beef. I don’t think there’s a person in this world who loves burgers more than my mother. She’d eat them for breakfast, lunch, and dinner … everyday.

In my honest opinion, burgers are very “in” in the food world. It’s like what cupcakes are to the fad baking world. Vomit. Move on, on both accounts. Overdone, overemphasized, and reaching its fad peak super fast. If Rachael Ray makes one more burger book or another artisanal burger joint opens up on 7th Ave, I’m going to scream. What’s so great about a piece of ground beef?

The thing is, and I believe it to be true about 99% of the time, a burger is just a piece of ground beef … unless its fabulous. And there’s one burger I find to be exceptionally fabulous as I’ve toured the city and dabbled in my mother’s interest. And let me preface this, I do NOT like eating burgers, getting burgers at restaurants, or even making them. It’s not my thing …

But damn girl, April Bloomfield’s got it going on. And so does her gastro-pug burger at The Spotted Pig. And yes, its so trendy it makes me nauseous, but its legit.

I’ve heard it so many times its almost deafening, “The Spotted Pig has the best burger in New York City,” It almost raised the bar too high. It’s like the hype of New Years Eve, all the talk, the planning, and then a sub-par night. Was this going to be a sub-par burger, like all the others I’d tasted in the city?

Absolutely not. In fact, I had to test it three times to make sure it wasn’t bad … Or that’s the excuse I used.

The sensation of eating is this: burger arrives, the rosemary and garlic infused fries overwhelm the plate, you sample one, amazing, just enough salt. Slice the burger in half, the juices flow, but not too much, no soggy bun here. In fact the bun is beautifully round and egg-washed, toasted lightly and not too bready. The burger itself entrances you to nirvana. It’s so warm and fresh you can’t help but eat incredibly fast to preserve the intensity of that first bite. Simply blissful. And the blue cheese – the perfect soul mate to red meat (medium rare, ideally), adds the kick. The pow. The cheese’s tang remains while the juiciness of the meat slides away.

Since that experience … tripled … I have tried burgers elsewhere in attempt to prove the hype wrong. I can’t. And quite honestly I’m done trying. There is no worse feeling than going to a hyped-burger place (high or low end) and realizing that you just spent $18 (and probably 600 or so calories) on a burger that doesn’t hold a flame to The Spotted Pig.

So there it is in a nut shell. After this profound discovery I took my mother, the lover all of things ground beef understood. It won’t stop her from eating or making other burgers, but it is a memory of hers that I hope stays with her. That I hope sets a new standard for what constitutes the best burger, not only of the city, but for the moment.

Making a Difference

There are few things that I will political advocate or even talk about but when it comes to the environment, sustainability, and eating locally I have a lot to say.

It annoys people, I can tell. And I don’t care.

The reason why I think it bothers people is because words such as “organic” and “sustainability” and even the idea of eating “local” have become buzz-words lost in translation.

This country is in serious need of a health makeover. I know at the moment things such as the economy and the war overshadow the need for becoming a healthy nation, but it needs to start somewhere. People need to take action into their own hands and learn about REAL food, grown by REAL people, that can make a real difference on their lives. I don’t agree with many of Obama’s healthcare reform logistics but his core idea is a legitimate one. We need health care, not sick care. And right now we have the latter.

Good health care and good health begins with real food. Finding out where it comes from, how it’s made, what it’s made with, and how it impacts your life and the world.

I could go on for days … I won’t, don’t worry. Not yet …

One thing I can say is that many people in the country (celeb chef included) are doing their part to make it an issue. My boss Kimberly Belle passed this wonderful petition on to me and now I’m passing it on to you. The petition is Jamie Oliver’s Food Revolution which is to invigorate healthy school lunches and teaching for students. It’s a great idea no matter what you think about all the buzz words.

Drown out the noise, and sign the petition.