Redirecting to Avenue Food

2006-09-03T21:51:00.000-07:00

Please visit us at our new home:

http://www.avenuefood.com

We look forward to seeing you there!

2006-08-21T18:35:00.000-07:00

Ah, exalted New York restaurants with their grass-fed beef, artisanal cheeses and local produce bicycled over from the farmer’s market—how lucky you Manhattanites are! And us outer-borough dwellers, if we don’t mind trekking in and scurrying back to our provincial hovels when the meal’s over.

Out here in Forest Hills, restaurants haven’t yet grasped the concepts of “local,” “seasonal,” or “good” food, for that matter. With the exception of one excellent pizza joint and a Kosher Uzbeki restaurant Brian and I are quite fond of (but that’s closed on Fridays and Saturdays for the Jewish Sabbath) the places around here tend to either be TGI Friday’s or Applebee’s or serve food indistinguishable from TGI Friday’s or Applebee’s—gallingly, at twice the price.

After many, many bad meals, it’s finally sunk in that if we want to eat well in the neighborhood—let alone enjoy the bounty of the season—Brian and I are best off doing the cooking ourselves. So on Saturday, we trolled the farmer’s market in Manhattan, picking up some colorful heirloom tomatoes, sweet corn, and a red onion. We made a quick stop at Whole Foods to buy some scallops, and headed back to the sticks to see what we could whip up. We combined the tomatoes, corn, and a bit of the red onion into a simple salad topped with curls of parmigiano and dressed with balsamic vinegar and extra-virgin olive oil. The scallops we just seasoned up and seared. We were glad we stayed in.

2006-08-14T19:06:00.000-07:00

These days, the bulk of my summer produce comes from the Union Square Farmer’s Market in Manhattan. I work just a few blocks away, and it’s easy to zoom there on my lunch break and buy a few tomatoes, a couple ears of corn, a shiny eggplant, or whatever looks especially appealing that particular afternoon. For an apartment dweller like me, a farmer’s market is a fantastic resource indeed—and I’m lucky to have easy access to probably the best one in New York City.

But when my mother sent me this picture of tomatoes from her garden in northern California, I was reminded that even a great farmer’s market does not compare to a home plot. The market may have more variety, sure, but one’s own garden offers so much more: a deep sense of pride, for one thing. That hefty tomato in your hand? You nurtured it and, in all likelihood, observed it as it grew day by day. And there’s nothing like that sense of joyful abundance when everything finally begins to ripen—creativity kicks in (how can I showcase a zucchini, two eggplant, ten jalapeno peppers, and three cherry tomatoes?), meals become more colorful.

Brian and I had a garden for two blissful summers. We lived in Brooklyn, in a damp basement studio that we not-so-affectionately nicknamed “the cave.” Its one saving grace was the yard. We bought a brand-new Weber gas grill for the patio, raked out a square plot in the enormous garden, and began planting. Being garden neophytes, we had no idea how much to plant that first summer. I bought one green bean plant, which never yielded more than five or so beans at once. The cucumber plant was an utter failure. For whatever reason, I decided to put in eight cherry tomatoes, so at one point we had buckets of fruit—and more seemed to ripen by the minute. It was a chore keeping up with them, but I don’t regret my gardening mishaps at all. In fact, I would quite happily trade a four-dollar heirloom tomato from the farmer’s market for a bucket of those cherry tomatoes, grown by my own hand.

2006-08-10T21:10:00.000-07:00

SALMONELLA SURPRISE? OR JUST A REALLY GOOD DRINK?

I’ve ingested plenty of raw egg in my life (mostly via cookie dough, which I gobble like candy during baking sessions), and I’m happy to say that I am, as of yet, a salmonella virgin. Have I been extraordinarily lucky for the past three decades? Or is salmonella, perhaps, less of a threat than most of us assume? Trolling online for answers, I encountered an August, 2000 New York Times article that put the chance of an egg being contaminated with salmonella at 1 in 20,000. So there is a slight risk, but it’s a risk I can live with. (It should be noted, however, that the article did stress that children, the elderly, and others with compromised immune systems should never eat raw eggs.)

Now, this post is not about eating cookie dough—though I intend to continue that practice with abandon. The real reason I’m interested in raw eggs is for their use in drinks, an old-fashioned trick that seems to be enjoying a resurgence, thanks to the current popularity of classic cocktails. At the Pegu Club, a slick new bar in New York that takes its mixology very, very seriously, egg white is a component of many cocktails. The white provides body—just a slight viscosity—and a pleasantly foamy cap. Maybe I’m a reckless fool, but I believe it's well worth taking that 1 in 20,000 chance.

Give this drink—the Ramos Fizz—a try. It’s tangy, yet mellow from the cream, and the orange flower water gives it a distinct floral bouquet. And yes, you can omit the raw egg and it’ll taste fine, though it will lack body and the foamy head won’t be as smoothly integrated with the rest of the drink. A better idea: spring for pasteurized eggs.

RAMOS FIZZ

1 ½ oz. gin
2 tablespoons powdered sugar
Juice of ½ lemon
¼ teaspoon orange flower water
1 fresh egg white
1 oz. cream
Club soda

Combine all ingredients except for club soda in a shaker. Add ice. Shake vigorously for two minutes (it’s best to have at least one other person around, as the shaker will get too cold to handle for long). Pour drink into a chilled old-fashioned glass, with ice if you want. Top with club soda.

2006-08-03T21:06:00.000-07:00

Ugh. The weather this week has been killer. 100 degrees each of the last three days (more like 110 with humidity factored in), and no letup likely until tomorrow. You know it's bad when you get so sweaty walking the two blocks home from the subway, you have to take a shower first thing in the door.

On Wednesday, squeaky clean and happily cocooned in our air-conditioned apartment, Brian and I decided to celebrate with a mini tapas party. Okay, it's a stupid reason to celebrate—really just an excuse to do something fun. But there's nothing wrong with that, is there? This is food fit for grazing—and it's perfect for triple-digit days, when the last thing you want is a heavy meal. My Tortilla Espanola is thick with potatoes and onions, a bit custardy from the egg. I actually cheated a bit with the tortilla—I made it the night before so we could enjoy it at room temperature. Luscious Pan con Tomate is a glorious way to showcase flavorful farmer's market tomatoes. Those tomatoes looked so good, in fact, I had to buy a couple extra to slice up. Is it possible to improve upon the perfect tomato? With just a sprinkle of crunchy fleur de sel, I’d call it a draw.

For the tortilla, I used a recipe (someone else’s, that is) and because A.) I respect copyrights and B.) I don’t want to get sued, I won’t reprint it here. But tortilla recipes abound, and you shouldn’t have trouble tracking one down. Fine Cooking issue number 43 has a great rendition, if you can find a copy.

For the Pan con Tomate: toast or grill slices of country bread, rub each piece with the cut surface of a halved garlic clove, then rub fairly vigorously with the cut surface of a halved ripe tomato—the juice and pulp will soak into the bread. To finish, drizzle with olive oil and sprinkle with a bit of kosher or sea salt.

2006-07-27T19:12:00.000-07:00

HOT DAYS, COOL FOOD

Recently, I’ve been in a salad rut. This no-brainer side is quick to whip up and goes with practically anything; as a result, I end up making one at least twice a week. And, as far as salads go, mine are pretty good. But even though I mix it up a bit—varying the lettuces, using different types of vinegars, adding a grating of ricotta salata, a sprinkle of nuts, sliced avocados, orange segments, or whatever’s on hand—at the end of the day, it’s still pretty much the same ol’ salad. And week after week, that gets boring. In fact, it took a heat wave to reacquaint me with how fabulous a salad can be.

I don’t mind cooking on the hottest days—we do have air conditioning in our apartment—but, like most people, I tend to crave food that’s cooler, lighter, more refreshing. On a particularly brutal evening last week, a main dish salad fit the bill perfectly. I decided to go with a fairly straightforward Salade Nicoise for one very good reason: it’s filled with so many of the things Brian and I love to eat—eggs, tuna, anchovies, green beans, olives. But, of course, salads are great when improvised, too. Just make sure it’s filled with stuff you love to eat.

HEAT WAVE SALADE NICOISE

Tuna steak, about 1 ½ inches thick
Vinaigrette (I made mine with shallots and white wine vinegar)
Baby potatoes
Hard-boiled eggs, peeled
Green beans
Nicoise olives
Anchovy fillets
Baby arugula (or green of your choice)

Season tuna with salt and pepper. Sear for about 1½ minutes on each side. Halve scrubbed potatoes and cook until tender. Season still-warm potatoes with a little salt and pepper and toss with some of the vinaigrette. Cook trimmed beans until tender, then plunge into ice water to stop the cooking. Dry and toss with a little vinaigrette. Cut eggs in half. Slice tuna. Mix arugula with some of the vinaigrette, and arrange on a serving platter. Place everything else on top of the greens. If you want, spoon some of the remaining vinaigrette over the tuna and eggs.

2006-07-19T18:25:00.000-07:00

THE LEG O' LAMB PROJECT

Perhaps the heat had something to do with it. Or maybe I’m just crazy. But recently, after reading an article in The New York Times on cold roasts, I decided to buy a 7-pound butterflied leg of lamb. Keep in mind my household consists of all of two people. But, being highly suggestible and not particularly rational, I just couldn’t help myself. To complicate matters, Brian and I hate leftovers. This has less to do with how food tastes on its second go-around than with the fact that, for us, the making of the meal—the chopping, the sizzle, the building aromas and, of course, the anticipation—is probably 75% of the pleasure. Eating something pulled straight from the fridge or the microwave is a huge letdown. Almost not worth eating at all.

But back to the lamb. After the initial meal, I wasn’t going to let this $60 prize hunk of meat go the way of so much of the other leftover food in our kitchen: that is, from the pot to the Tupperware to the fridge to, three weeks later, the garbage can. We were going to eat it. The whole thing. We were going to enjoy it, too. So my challenge was this: could I serve the lamb several nights in a row without both of us keeling over in boredom? And here’s what happened:

DAY 1:
Squeezed sausagelike into its packaging, the lamb looked encouragingly compact. But when I turned it out onto a sheet pan, it filled the whole damn thing, even threatening to hang over in spots. I blitzed some herbs, garlic, salt, and olive oil in a blender and spread the resulting mixture all over the meat. I roasted it and let it cool for a couple of hours. That night, we ate the lamb sliced, at room-temperature, sprinkled with a little fleur de sel and drizzled with olive oil. We accompanied it with cold asparagus. Verdict: tasty!

DAY 2:
Just as everything tastes better wrapped in bacon, I believe pita bread and tzatziki sauce can make any food shine. Okay, I’m exaggerating. But I do love these two things, and we all know lamb is a natural partner for them. So I decided to bake homemade pita bread, and I stirred grated cucumber, garlic, salt, and a little lemon juice into plain yogurt for an impromptu tzatziki sauce. I stuffed the warm pita with thinly sliced lamb, cucumber rounds, red onion, and drizzled the tzatziki over the top. Verdict: even tastier!

DAY 3:
I had on hand a few pita breads that hadn't properly formed their pockets. And they weren't quite large enough to do the wrap-around thing. Hmmm . . . pizza, anyone? We brushed the pitas with olive oil, topped them with finely chopped lamb, red onion, tomato, fresh oregano, and feta cheese. We then popped them under the broiler. Verdict: almost as tasty as the pitas!

DAY 4:
When I was growing up, my mom rarely made pot roast, but when she did, my favorite part of the experience was the hash she would make with the leftovers. So, hash seemed a natural conclusion to our leg o’ lamb experiment. I had planned to use regular potatoes, but Fresh Direct, our online grocery service, delivered sweet potatoes instead. Undaunted, we forged ahead and made a hash with sweet potatoes, lamb, onion, green pepper, and thyme, topped with poached eggs. Well, I’m not much of a sweet potato person to begin with, and this didn’t help their case. The lamb was a little too chewy, the potatoes a little to sweet. Verdict: edible, but definitely not a winner.

CONCLUSION:
At the end of day 4, there was still some lamb left, even though I had also been bringing it to work with me for lunch. I chucked the remainder into the freezer, probably, realistically, to suffer a drawn-out death by freezer burn. Will I be buying any more oversized roasts for the two of us? Probably not. But I did learn how to make a killer lamb pizza.

2006-07-13T08:26:00.000-07:00

WE ARE ON VACATION . . .

But we'll have a new post for the week of July 17th.

2006-07-05T21:01:00.000-07:00

IT'S NOT ALWAYS ABOUT THE FOOD

That's not to say the food at Le Sans Souci, a cozy French bistro in Queens, is bad. It's actually pretty good. But it’s not why we go there. We go there because the place is so damn adorable. Even the outside, with its embroidered awning and cute little porch, beckons you in. The interior features craggy stone walls, exposed rafters, and rustic wooden floors and furniture—a French farmhouse on Astoria's Greek row. The food is straightforward and for the most part done well. That is, you can get a good steak au poivre, a perfectly reliable salade nicoise, and a super-juicy pork chop. Not to mention housemade pate—how can you argue with that? But this isn’t cuisine that will dazzle, surprise, or, in all likelihood, bring The New York Times knocking (though we’ll wait and see).

Of course, that's just fine with us. Brian and I love Le Sans Souci. Once we sit down, we feel like we could stay for hours. Sometimes we do—and the waiters are always happy to let us. One may swing by to chat about her upcoming trip home to Brittany, and another to suggest we try the new rose they’re offering, but they’ll never hover or rush us out the door. As much as we enjoy checking out new places in Manhattan with their pedigreed chefs, spots like Le Sans Souci—welcoming, comfortable, and totally laid back—are the ones we tend to return to, again and again.

LE SANS SOUCI
44-09 Broadway
Astoria, NY
(718) 606-1126
“R” or “V” train to 46th Street stop

2006-06-27T21:34:00.000-07:00

SURVIVAL TACTICS

Summer in the city sucks. Too much asphalt and too few trees make warm days uncomfortable and hot days positively hellish. That’s until you descend into the subway and discover what Hell really feels like. There's nothing to make a body wilt like a blast of that heavy, overheated subway air. And as much as I love to romanticize New York’s gritty character, I can do without the intensified smells of the summertime—the rotting garbage heaped at the curb, the urine scenting an alley, the sweaty guy on the train whose armpit is two inches from my face.

Sadly, unless you’re a certain species of New Yorker that I will never be (the species that migrates to the Hamptons for the season), there is little in the way of escape. Swimming pools accessible to people like myself tend to be overchlorinated “Y” affairs that are more slimy than refreshing. Packed beaches are anything but relaxing. Most of us can’t even cool off in a kiddie pool or with a run through the sprinkler (no yards).

So we sit in our too-small apartments, bask in the frigid blast of our window-unit air conditioners, tell ourselves that a grill pan is as good as a Weber, and fantasize about the suburban lifestyle many of us rejected. But not for long. Because with the perfect cocktail in hand, summer—even in the city—rocks.

Our Limoncello Lush is a super-refreshing treat featuring Limoncello, a sweetened, lemon-infused vodka, and Prosecco, an Italian sparkling wine. The mint is subtle, more of a supporting player than a star.

LIMONCELLO LUSH

1 shot vodka
5 mint leaves, plus a sprig for garnish
1 shot Limoncello
Juice of 1 lemon
Prosecco

Muddle vodka with mint leaves in a cocktail shaker. Add Limoncello, lemon juice, and ice to shaker and shake well. Strain over ice into an old-fashioned glass. Top with Prosecco and garnish with a mint sprig.

2006-06-21T21:26:00.000-07:00

LOVE AND ANCHOVIES

What would I do without Brian? He rubs my feet whenever I ask and doesn’t mind when I sign him up for early-morning golf lessons. He happily takes long treks across the city with me (provided he gets a meal or at least a frosty beer at the end) and tackles big piles of dirty dishes with gusto. And there’s this: it’s not easy finding a special someone who shares your enthusiasm for anchovies.

We eat the fishy kind from a jar and the wimpier ones that come in a tin. We eat boquerones—Spanish marinated anchovies—and sardines, too, even though they’re not really anchovies. We eat them draped over salads, dissolved in spaghetti sauce, tucked into sandwiches. And yes, sometimes we even eat them on pizza.

That we don’t recoil at the very mention of anchovies makes us two of an apparently rare breed. Even friends who happily slurp oysters and possess insatiable appetites for sushi draw the line at these salty little fish. Is it their disconcertingly leech-like appearance? Is it their taste? Possibly—but I don’t think so. After all, how can you dislike a flavor you’ve never experienced? Yes, I suspect most anchovy-avoiders wrinkle their noses without ever having tried the little fishies. If you really don’t like anchovies, fine. However, if you just assume you don’t like them—but haven’t actually tasted them—please give anchovies a chance.

This sandwich—a takeoff on the classic Italian treat Mozzarella in Carrozza—is a terrific showcase for anchovies. Their salty, fishy flavor stands out, but is tempered somewhat by the creamy mozzarella cheese. The red pepper flakes add a lively jolt of heat. Traditionally, Mozzarella in Carrozza is fried, but Brian and I like our panino version just as much. If you don’t own a panini press, try making it in a pan, like a grilled cheese.

MOCK MOZZARELLA IN CARROZZA

Olive oil
2 thick (about ½ inch) slices of rustic Italian bread
Fresh mozzarella
Flat anchovies from a tin
Red pepper flakes

Brush outside (the part that will touch the press) of each bread slice with olive oil. On one piece of bread, layer mozzarella (just enough to cover), 2-4 anchovies, and red pepper flakes to taste. Top with other bread slice. Cook in panini press until bread is golden and cheese is gooey.

2006-06-14T17:57:00.000-07:00

DON’T TRY THIS IN FRANCE

It’s so wrong. But it tastes so right. Brian and I first encountered kalimotxo—a distinctly Basque concoction of red wine and Coca-Cola—at Bar Carrera, a fabulous little tapas bar in the East Village. “We Spaniards give wine no respect,” said the grinning bartender as he poured wine, and then Coke, into a small carafe. Perhaps. But if disrespect tastes this good, who cares? I think of kalimotxo, best served over ice with a cinnamon-stick stirrer, as sangria for wine lovers. It’s a terrific summer refresher, but less sweet than its fruitier, juicier cousin. The wine’s tannins still come through, and you are treated to a spicy whiff of cinnamon with every sip. An oversized wine glass makes for perfect presentation. About cinnamon sticks: like all spices, these lose potency over time. If yours are left over from the twentieth century, dump them and buy a fresh supply!

KALIMOTXO

6 oz. chilled red wine (we used Rioja)
2 oz. chilled Coca-Cola
Cinnamon stick
Ice

Mix wine and Coke together, without ice, in a small carafe or measuring cup. Fill a glass with ice. Gently rub the cinnamon stick against the ice and around rim of the glass. Pour in wine and Coke and serve with the cinnamon stick.

2006-06-13T18:52:00.000-07:00

HAPPINESS IS A TASTY TACO

Sometimes, the worst restaurants have the best dishes. Case in point: my local Tex-Mex joint, which I will not name, but could be a bad Tex-Mex restaurant anywhere. You know the place: nasty, cloying margaritas; stale chips with bland salsa; indistinguishable entrees served with gobs of sour cream, chewy rice, and beans smothered in cheddar-jack cheese. The perfect formula to attract hordes of barely legal kids who—let’s face it—aren’t there for the quality of the food. Did I mention that every frozen drink comes with a large rubber souvenir lizard?

So why is it that Brian and I eat here at least once a month, despite having a cityful of choices? You see, this restaurant, which does so many things wrong, does one thing right. That would be their tacos al pastor—flavorful and succulent shreds of pork in a corn tortilla with just a little red onion and cilantro. Never mind that they’re not really authentic tacos al pastor, which are typically filled with meat cut from a spit, much like Greek gyros. They just taste really good, and that keeps us coming back for more. We tried to recreate the tacos on our own last weekend, and came up with this recipe, a fair imitation:

JUICY PORK TACOS

Meat:

1 or more tablespoons vegetable oil
2 lbs. pork stew meat, cut from the shoulder
4 cloves garlic, smashed
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1 tablespoon ancho chile powder
1 onion, quartered
6 sprigs thyme
2 bay leaves
1½ cups chicken broth
Salt and pepper

Heat 1 tablespoon of oil in a pressure cooker. Brown the pork in batches, adding more oil as necessary. Remove meat to a bowl. Add garlic, cumin, and chile powder to pot, stirring for a few seconds. Add thyme, bay leaves, onion, reserved pork, broth, 1½ teaspoons salt, and a few grinds of pepper. Cook at high pressure for twenty minutes, relieving pressure with the natural release method. The meat should be falling-apart tender. With a slotted spoon, remove meat to a bowl and shred a bit with a fork. If it seems dry, mix in a little of the cooking liquid. Taste, adding salt if necessary.

Taco assembly:

Pork
Warm corn tortillas
Chopped red onion
Chopped cilantro
Limes

Fold about a quarter cup of pork in each tortilla. Sprinkle meat with red onion, cilantro, and a squeeze of lime juice. Yum!

2006-06-07T09:57:00.000-07:00

TAPAS FOR TWO

Brian and I can pass many happy hours in the kitchen, cooking, drinking wine, and listening to The Restaurant Guys podcast. Sometimes, though, we want a special meal but don’t have a whole lot of extra hours. That’s when we turn to garlic shrimp—or, more alluringly, gambas al ajillo—to save the evening. This dish of garlic, fruity olive oil, and succulent shrimp is satisfying beyond its uncomplicated ingredients, and it’s quick enough to whip up on a weeknight. But despite its simplicity, gambas al ajillo is quite rich, and I tend to think of it as a Saturday night pleasure. Served with a green salad, good crusty bread—the bread is imperative—and a crisp Spanish white, it anchors a meal that begs to be lingered over and savored, not scarfed down in front of Law & Order.

The olive oil is a big player here, and must be a flavorful, good-quality extra-virgin. I’m a student of the more-garlic-is-better school and use up to ten cloves. Adjust downward to your liking. If I’m feeling lazy, I slice it; otherwise, I mince. (It’s not that there’s anything improper about sliced garlic, I just prefer the look and texture of the minced.) A touch of smoked Spanish paprika adds depth and a wonderful smoky nuance to the shrimp. A word about the whole dried chiles: do not break these, as subtle warmth—not searing heat—is the desired effect. And the idea is not to fry the shrimp, but to cook them gently in the olive oil. The shrimp juices will mingle with the oil and create a luscious sauce. And that’s where the bread comes in, the perfect sponge to soak up the garlicky, oily goodness.

GAMBAS AL AJILLO

¾ cup extra-virgin olive oil
5-10 cloves minced garlic
3 whole dried hot chiles (or a pinch of crushed red pepper flakes)
1 pound peeled and deveined shrimp
¼ teaspoon smoked Spanish paprika
Salt to taste
2 tablespoons chopped parsley

Heat the olive oil in a skillet. Add the garlic and cook until soft and fragrant. Add the shrimp, chiles, and smoked paprika and cook just until the shrimp is pink and cooked through. Season to taste with salt and stir in the chopped parsley.