January 22, 2007

from c to shining c

I am often accused of having a too-refined a palate. Sure, I could wax poetic about foie gras or drone interminably about different ways to prepare a port reduction, but throw a bag of Cheetos my way and some Fanta (hey, orange is a good theme!) and I’m a happy woman. I say, there is a time and place for everything. And perfection in things both elevated and pedestrian.

Last weekend, the BF and I took a trip up north to meet my parents (him, silly not me, I’ve met them, duh.) and to spend some time with his friends who are lucky enough to experience the wonder of wonders that is Salem, MA. Being a New England patriot that I am (and yes, I am devastated about the Pats losing to the Colts, but that’s another matter), I adore Salem and its neighboring towns – this is, after all, where I grew up.

Mere minutes after we started to drive on West Side highway, the BF turned to me and said “You know, this roadtrip is a perfect opportunity to snack at a Cracker Barrell.”

A what? I thought Cracker Barrell was that tub of simulated butter you saw in commercials where a man and a woman’s hands were characters and you overheard their voices while the hands were gesticulating about how they should eat more of that buttery spread because they’re (gasp!) expecting an addition to their family.

Apparently not. My scope of chain restaurants wasn’t worldly enough to realize that Cracker Barrell was also name or a chain where you could eat. I saw some of those places on highways, but often thought they sold the spread. And while I couldn’t ever figure out why you needed an entire store to carry one brand of buttery spread, nevermind not carrying real butter, I didn’t pause to think that there could be more to this mysterious establishment.

And so lo and behold, we pulled over to one CB en route to Boston and to the very same one on the way back to New York. And I totally got a kick out of both of them. And I had a pulled pork sandwich too! And some eggs and bacon! And coffee! And the whole thing cost me like $6!! I couldn’t even buy a Happy Meal with $6 nowadays.

So of course, I thought the whole experience was so unique and fun that I blurted out in the car “This is SO going on the blog!!” to which the BF, who prefers to stay the nameless mystery that he is, balked.

“You know, you might want to mention Chanterelle too, while you’re writing about Cracker Barrel, or your readers might get the wrong impression about me.”

Which is true. I’d never want to send the wrong impression about a man who took me to what is probably the most incredible meal of my life at Chanterelle. It’s just that, we both have these palates, where one day (for a special occasion, of course) we’re eating the most divine potato stuffed ravioli in white truffle sauce, among other things, and then a few weeks later, we’re stuffing our pie holes with chicken fried steak at Cracker Barrel. This is how we roll, people.

And in our efforts to be financially savvy and responsible, we’ve been cooking up a storm together. We’ve even made tomato sauce from scratch in order to prevent mushy tomatoes from going completely spoiled and thus thrown out. Our inner Italian mama was so so proud of us.

So from Chanterelle to Cracker Barrell – from one shining “C” to the other, we eat whatever our palates crave at that instant. Cheesy poufs one day; foie gras the next. We like variety, what can I say?

December 12, 2006

of spoons and other demons

Growing up in Russia, we had access to very few processed foods. For that reason, all foods had to be prepared at home with fresh ingredients. Everything was homemade. We used butter and oil, never once thought about cholesterol and if anyone mentioned “transfat”, one would have asked for the word’s definition.

Perhaps it is for the reasons of freshness, simplicity and all things organic, that I instantly fell in love with Le Pain Quotidien the first time I set food in there. A Belgian chain, scattered all over the world, the eatery turns out simple pastries, soups, salads and sandwiches. Most of the ingredients, including their teas, are organic and there are plenty of vegetarian options, complimented by reasonable prices. Plenty of fresh vegetables and radishes (radishes!) on sandwiches! It’s pure heaven for me.

So when a friend of mine and I made a lunch date at my local Le Pain, I thought it’d be a perfect opportunity to take a few pictures, make a few notes about what I ate, and turn it into a blogging post. Not quite.

Immediately after I sat down and pulled my camera out and put it to the side, a waiter came over.

“That’s a nice camera,” he commented.
“Yes, I quite like it.”

While normally happy to chat, I wanted to get some water and to be left alone so I could finetune the camera for its inside use. It just wasn’t happening.

“I also like photography,” the waiter continued, “I like to take pictures of flowers.”
“Flowers are nice,” I responded.
“So you like to take pictures too?”
”Yes, I do.”
“Me too.”
“Yes.”

And then there was silence. He lingered. I fidgeted with my camera and reached for my cell phone to keep busy.

The waiter wandered off.

Still waterless, I turned to my camera again, this time able to focus it on a spoon to test a few shots.

“So, you like taking pictures of spoons?”

Another waiter was standing by, no water in sight.

“Um, I was just tuning my camera.”
“Sure you were. You like like to photograph spoons.”
“You got me. Yes. Spoons are my passion.”
“I bet you have a whole collection of spoon pictures at home.”
“Naturally, they hang all over my apartment. May I have some water please?”
“Certainly, right away.”

And with that, I diverted attention and pretended to be making phone calls. And still, before my friend showed up, a few other waiters came over to have the I-too-like-photography chat.

And with that I was too annoyed to think about food. I understand chatting with waiters, and I understand being friendly, but sometimes you are just not in the mood to talk. Sometimes you just don’t have that “talkative” body language. And sometimes you just want to be left alone with your camera playing with the settings and functions.

Oh yes, and the food was lovely – mine was a curried chicken salad sandwich with a berry relish and my friend’s was a mozzarella prosciutto one drizzled with pesto. We had tea to finish off the meal and it was delightful. But I was truly derailed in my food focus – and I’m still annoyed by how the waiters were way too familiar and informal. Le Cirque this is not, and need not be. But I simply couldn’t take pictures of our food when half the wait staff were asking me questions about photography, what lenses I used, and what my inspiration was. So you get pictures of spices and a fork, which I took in an act of defiance.

Because sometimes, you just gotta photograph a spoon. Or in my case, a fork.

September 07, 2006

Food for Thought - the Return of Mega-Restaurant

I've been tinkering with a longer piece on this, but work and studying have been running my life a little too much in the last months hence the lull. I also refuse to post anything inconsequential, so voila - a big, gaping hole in my posting. I didn't think anyone cared, until a voice from the past brought it up to me a few days ago. "You haven't posted in months," he said.

'Tis true.

In any case, living in New York and being fortunate to eat some of the most exotic food without having to so much as take a taxi, since everything is so close, I take a keen interest in following the new restaurant openings. What I've been observing for the past year (at least), along with 80s fashion revival, has been the 80s restaurant revival. Gargantuan, ostentatious, impersonal restaurants opened by large names who have otherwise established themselves either in New York or elsewhere (I'm speaking to you Buddakhan). These restaurants are impeccably, often ingeniously, decorated. Nothing is out of place. The lighting is subdued. The furniture - muted. Plates - geometric, white, simple.

But what seems to be missing from these larger-than-life, in-your-face places is the intimacy of a simple meal with friends. Everything, it seems, is a production, including which friends you go with there.

So at the moment, I'm mulling over a longer piece on the return of the 80s dining. Feel free to add your own thoughts while I polish off the real piece on it.

January 09, 2006

Corrado Bakery

In the city where many a bakery/patisserie shops boast fancy and delightful cakes, few escape fame and publicity. The most celebrated ones, Payard and Fauchon being the most famous and posh places to sample your bon bon or croissant.

Corrado Cafe on 960 Lexington Avenue (70th & 71st) is the kind of place you want to cozy up with a book on a wintry day or sit outside on a summer afternoon. It's tiny, quaint, offering nothing short of the intimacy you get in a European cafe. The inside can hardly house more than fifteen people. In the summer, that number barely doubles.

All space constraints aside, Corrado's cakes and pasties are nothing if not sublime. The sweet butter creme is not too overwhelming and offers a balance to a thick, but not dense cake.

I won't even mention the sheer aesthetic appeal of the cakes themselves, as pictured above. Granted, my use of a paper plate isn't ideal, but while I am lacking beautiful dishes to display the goodies, I am trying my hardest to create a nice background for these delicacies.

If you find yourself in New York, on the Upper East Side (granted not the hippest of all places) I highly recommend a stop at Corrado for a snack and a treat.