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Last week, I did two important things: I got a digital camera with which to capture my eating adventures and I visited my mother. She moved to the middle of nowhere in Connecticut two years ago and ever since then, trips to her neck of the woods have turned into mini culinary tours of towns I’d most likely never have cause to visit. This past Saturday, my mother, my camera, and I spent the day wandering around a small hamlet several miles across the Connecticut border. Katonah, New York is one of those places evenly divided between curmudgeonly locals and disturbingly wealthy people with opulent summer houses. As such, the restaurant scene is pretty excellent and not as pricey as one might imagine, given the fact that Katonah successfully managed to keep the behemoth that is Martha Stewart from trademarking its name.
We ate lunch at the Blue Dolphin (175 Katonah Avenue, 914-232-4791), which was reviewed by the New York Times back in May. The ambiance was terrific–the place is situated in what looks like a converted caravan with wood-paneled ceilings and bouquets of dried peppers. The Blue Dolphin takes its cues from the cuisine of Capri and was surprisingly affordable. Never having been to Capri, I can’t vouch for the authenticity of the cooking, but the orecchiette with pesto and marinara was at once comforting and refreshing.
I also managed to have the best donut of my life at The Katonah Restaurant (63 Katonah Avenue, 914-232-9241). This cruller, with its crumbly, cakey flesh encased in a thin layer of cinnamon, barely managed to survive the time it took to take its photo. I think I devoured the entire thing in 5 seconds flat.
Filed under: Food Writing
I haven’t eaten much Korean food in my life, but when I get a craving for it, nothing else will do. Last night, a friend and I went to check out the relatively new Miran Restaurant in Center City. Because there were only two of us and we were both feeling a tad lazy, we didn’t take advantage of the fascinating-looking DIY tabletop barbecuing apparatuses and instead got down to business.
We ordered chive and pork dumplings, a kimchee pancake, and two bowls of dolsot bibim bap. Aside from the spectacularly friendly waitress, it was a mediocre eating experience. The pork and chive dumplings just lay atop their steam-dampened napkin as though expiring from a serious case of ennui. The kimchee pancake had a lot of potential in terms of taste, but failed in the texture category–too mushy. The dolsot bibim bap was served with scrambled eggs, which was a bit of a letdown. I’ve always eaten bibim bap with a sunny side up egg and I missed the sensation of a runny yoke mingling with red chili paste and crispy rice scraped from the bottom of the pot.
Filed under: Food Writing
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This summer, I manage to finagle my way into a local community garden. It’s pretty much the best decision I’ve made in a long time. I planted a bunch of herbs (basil, oregano, cilantro, dill, and parsley) because the things are so damn expensive when purchased at places such as the Whole Wallet. I’ve spent about a month gardening and the plants have totally exploded which means I’m in hardcore harvesting mode.
The thing is, what to do with the bounty? I’ve been trying to incorporate fresh herbs into everything I cook, which is actually easier said than done. I mean, it worked well in this chicken feta sausage frittata, but what about the package of hot dogs sitting in the fridge? Wilt cilantro on top? I think not. The other method (above, middle) is drying herbs for later use. It’s rather festive looking in my living room now. I also made a huge batch of pesto which I am freezing in ice cube trays. During the freezing process, the basil turned black and it looked like I was making cocktails from witch vomit. Now that the cubes are fully frozen, they have magically become green once again. Thank goodness.
I debated posting about this yesterday, seeing as every food critic and their mother have been getting sued for actually voicing opinions about people’s cooking. But then I realized that no one would ever sue me because all they’d get would be some stale almonds and the horseradish mayonaise I bought when I was feeling creative in the kitchen and then promptly forgot about. I now ignore that mayonaise. Which is all to say, the prepared foods selection at Whole Foods is really hit or miss.
I have a soft spot for the “Whole Wallet” and its apple-cheeked hypocrisy (plastic abounds and nearly every spit-shined apple is flown in from half way across the globe) because the inventory is such that inspires a particularly American sense of hopefulness and waste (hence, the flavored mayonnaise). That and the fact that it’s somersaulting distance from my office. Like a commitment phobic lover, that place has a way of holding me at arm’s length, reminding me never to rely upon it for consistent satisfaction.
Yesterday, I ordered a sundried tomato risotto cake and a piece of pork encrusted with something mysterious. After a quick nuking in the microwave, the risotto cake emerged tasting like hot tomato paste. Yummy. The pork was covered in a layer of oil, which I blotted and reblotted. And reblotted. Every attempt at cutting the thing bent the knife in new and illegal ways. Eventually, I wrapped the whole mess in a napkin and ate it with my hands. The person seated across from me looked on in sympathy. And she was eating something that looked like mashed yeast. I felt ashamed.
