tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-74706846774836915302024-02-06T21:42:09.099-06:00passionfruit butterRémy Roberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04329957954850709207noreply@blogger.comBlogger53125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7470684677483691530.post-38702132545211191082009-02-01T16:21:00.007-06:002009-02-01T17:48:23.199-06:00Excitement and relocationHello, all! So, I've got exciting news... I bought a domain name. From now on, I'm just <a href="http://passionfruitbutter.com/">Passionfruit Butter</a>. No .blogspot or anything. Incidentally, this makes it easier for you to visit and easier for me to tell more people about it. As of right now, it is COMPLETELY under construction: I'm using a pre-made layout, and while I'm not in the least bit satisfied with it, I'm keeping it until I can figure out something better.<br />See y'all there!<br />-RémyRémy Roberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04329957954850709207noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7470684677483691530.post-64921887482038553402009-01-30T00:01:00.000-06:002009-01-29T23:12:49.903-06:00Should I be more disturbed or giddy at the sight of this?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTzGEDxZSQ-XJ02h_x-IFQxxdmEITcwHuUnkPTVF7OMFx5ayG20iopfQKFvB61KzH68LwhqRYTV_c-DdLE9se_EBr_x2wQB-ZwO4U1veqBgcd928MV3iUJN9INyYbotOdl9t4_zkuM3_M/s1600-h/IMG_0233.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTzGEDxZSQ-XJ02h_x-IFQxxdmEITcwHuUnkPTVF7OMFx5ayG20iopfQKFvB61KzH68LwhqRYTV_c-DdLE9se_EBr_x2wQB-ZwO4U1veqBgcd928MV3iUJN9INyYbotOdl9t4_zkuM3_M/s400/IMG_0233.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295278030572977474" border="0" /></a>I don't even know what these are. I'm guessing they're actual ROMAINE -- it's starting to click that all this time, the Romaine I knew was only the heart. So maybe this is the whole behemoth of a body... I think, sadly, I am sheltered when it comes to produce.Rémy Roberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04329957954850709207noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7470684677483691530.post-60204092098728698802009-01-29T19:01:00.001-06:002009-01-29T19:01:35.027-06:00Anthony Bourdain proves to Mario Batali and the rest of the world that his heart is not made out of stainless steel.<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/-toZolnujn0&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/-toZolnujn0&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Rémy Roberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04329957954850709207noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7470684677483691530.post-62509652683411880352009-01-29T18:32:00.000-06:002009-01-29T18:31:46.002-06:00My latest box of chocolates<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimAn5PEYzdnp8UHrA3d4GRMxk-xEqK9NdeVpaY0ygHmdHN69ACrsSWkZKvczmTUZUu1w3HZ0NB6tyi75I2NLh49bDkOQxdwqWTMPe5BK0YoXCLBGXplRswYtQA4qu156vf4qk1RQfHSO0/s1600-h/IMG_0222.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimAn5PEYzdnp8UHrA3d4GRMxk-xEqK9NdeVpaY0ygHmdHN69ACrsSWkZKvczmTUZUu1w3HZ0NB6tyi75I2NLh49bDkOQxdwqWTMPe5BK0YoXCLBGXplRswYtQA4qu156vf4qk1RQfHSO0/s400/IMG_0222.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295279752511102178" border="0" /></a>TOP ROW, FROM LEFT:<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Malted milk palet d'or:</span> Luscious little coins of milk chocolate ganache infused with malt and coated in a shell of the adorable printed chocolate you see here.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Avery: </span>My personal favorite, this is a ganache of chocolate (mixed milk and dark) and caramel, swirled on, covered in a thin layer of chocolate, and topped with a succulent flake of salt from the Avery mines here in Louisiana.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Gianduja crunch:</span> I keep making a mental note to send in a request for something creamy and hazelnutty, but since there's nothing of the like currently at Sucré, this is what I always get to satisfy my hazelnut-chocolate craving. What's inside are caramelized cacao nibs, hazelnut gianduja, and something crispy -- essentially a crunchy, wafer-y, dense inside, coated in dark chocolate.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Avery</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Bolivian palet d'or: </span>A monthly staple, this is plain and simple bliss. Silky dark-dark chocolate ganache that's thisclose to being a liquid (so yummy), swathed in a matching outer layer of Bolivian dark chocolate.<br /><br />MIDDLE ROW, FROM LEFT:<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Gianduja crunch</span><br />A space formerly occupied by the <span style="font-weight: bold;">Crown:</span> One of Sucré's more popular chocolates is the Magnolia, which is distinguished by the flawless pecan half that tops each one. I've tried it and, while it is of a lovely quality, never really fell in love -- I like nut flavors but am despicably and involuntarily deterred by nuts themselves (how many times have I tried to enjoy snacking on almonds!). That said, this Mardi Gras-time special is really just wonderful, and I wish they'd carry it year-round. The inside is silken pecan ganache starred with bits of caramelized pecan, and it's all inside that cute little dark chocolate crown. It's yummmyyy and Southern.<br />A space formerly occupied by the <span style="font-weight: bold;">Wedding cake: </span>In case I wasn't obsessed enough with weddings as is (totally impractical, as I'm not even finished with high school), I tasted this for the first time this month. Predictably, I fell in love, not only with the wedding association but also with the flavor: the inside is smooth, creamy white chocolate, infused with the flavoring of lightly toasted almonds, and it's all housed in this utterly adorable white chocolate sculpture that looks like a wedding cake for a mouse.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Crown</span><br />A space formerly occupied by the <span style="font-weight: bold;">Gianduja crunch</span><br /><br />BOTTOM ROW, FROM LEFT:<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Avery</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Bolivian</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Meunière: </span>This is another Sucré classic, and while I don't love it enough to stock up on it every month, I do find it quite delicious and I was inspired to get it this month. It's named after <span style="font-style: italic;">sauce meu<span style="font-style: italic;">ni</span></span><span style="font-style: italic;">ère</span>, a New Orleans native brown butter sauce. Sucré's version is a brown butter and white chocolate ganache inside of a dark chocolate fleur de lis, New Orleans' symbol. I like to eat it in TINY nibbles (wait, what am I saying? I like to eat all good chocolate this way) so I can look at the pretty ganache on the inside.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Bolivian</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Je ne sais pas.</span><br /><br />As I was packing up this lovely little mint-colored box of joy, my eyes fell upon the passionfruit and I realized I'd totally forgotten to get one of my favorites. To me, of course, this was cause to get an entirely new and additional box:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9oALzsAj9IcBzut0ScUPZbvRLG2UbeWHW1WTsP5EhwDMlK3AZ3Qmw6vpeU-dqg2OhPNETLQvfXgmr780omhFEI_248QR4Q2nTiPvNfwagYDEZgk8518o6ZgOXsCMacMNWrPCZ6SdWVB8/s1600-h/IMG_0224.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9oALzsAj9IcBzut0ScUPZbvRLG2UbeWHW1WTsP5EhwDMlK3AZ3Qmw6vpeU-dqg2OhPNETLQvfXgmr780omhFEI_248QR4Q2nTiPvNfwagYDEZgk8518o6ZgOXsCMacMNWrPCZ6SdWVB8/s400/IMG_0224.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295281404211116178" border="0" /></a>The green ones are <span style="font-weight: bold;">Sicilian pistachio</span>, recently remodeled so that they're taller and more square shaped. This means that the ganache filling (white chocolate infused with pistachio flavoring and, thankfully, a hint of cinnamon) is denser and more abundant.<br />The yellow ones are <span style="font-weight: bold;">Passionfruit</span>, which, if you couldn't tell, now comes in the same proportions as the Sicilian. This one, though, is initially more subtle, and when you first bite in, it tastes and feels like any top-notch dark chocolate ganache. But don't be fooled. Wait for it... and ah, yes, after a second, you get this yummy pang of passionfruit, enough that you are pleasantly surprised but not overpowered.<br /><br />$46 dollars later, I am a happy foodie.Rémy Roberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04329957954850709207noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7470684677483691530.post-23879907717151096822009-01-28T22:31:00.002-06:002009-01-28T22:44:20.170-06:00Rémy Eats: BoucherieIn case you're just now seeing this, I went to Boucherie this past weekend, where I ate my first meal as a... food columnist. Wow. Bizarre to actually write that out, but it works for me.<br />Anyway, I posted a preview of my blog a few days ago, but it's finally up on Blake Makes. If you want to read the whole synopsis (psst... you do), head on over <a href="http://www.blakemakes.com/remy-eats-boucherie/">here</a>. SO exciting!Rémy Roberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04329957954850709207noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7470684677483691530.post-32640986080743381482009-01-28T22:24:00.002-06:002009-01-28T23:17:33.382-06:00Top Chef spoiler alert*<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSSCMNYUsj-adZwFp-U8417mECRwFPYgUl_rOjLW12FSQ7DMdMQwu0zt0DQH9llN30o7Ifs5ANYtC5R1q9x2fo8qp_S_EBU2nx1V4KxHpRfyyoIQjK8Iro7qGw9PDjMPuT-wGoUQ698C8/s1600-h/jeff_mcinnis.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 276px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSSCMNYUsj-adZwFp-U8417mECRwFPYgUl_rOjLW12FSQ7DMdMQwu0zt0DQH9llN30o7Ifs5ANYtC5R1q9x2fo8qp_S_EBU2nx1V4KxHpRfyyoIQjK8Iro7qGw9PDjMPuT-wGoUQ698C8/s400/jeff_mcinnis.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296573751978922018" border="0" /></a>I am struggling to conceive of an adequate expression of the emotions I am feeling right now in a way that wouldn't offend anyone. I think the best analogy is a break-up.<br /><br />Sure, at the beginning of the season, everyone** loved Jeff because, well, he was the hot one. It probably happened a little bit after Jeff whipped up that marvelous, glorious, innovative tomato sorbet for Gail's bridal shower that it dawned on us, one by one, that Jeff was married. We probably would have been upset by this news if we'd noticed in the first episode, when Jeff had little more significance to us than as eye candy, but we were truly crestfallen to be hit with the news after Jeff had begun to prove himself in the kitchen as a really solid talent.<br /><br />Top Chef is as much a frothy reality TV show as it is a gourmet cooking show, so it would be appropriate for me to take a minute out to focus on that other aspect. In a nutshell, Jeff was characterized for his creativity. In the quickfire challenge when the chefs had to whip up a dish using only packaged, processed foods that would be found in the average pantry, I felt certain that most of those chefs were doomed, but for a couple flukes. Jeff proved me wrong with his very well-plated, interestingly conceptualized dish of deep-fried conch and a pina colada-esque blend of flavors. If making a colorful, memorable, genuinely tasty dish out of crappy packaged food on a VERY strict timeframe isn't a test of talent, I don't know what is. In any case, he was eliminated tonight for crafting a ceviche that was "too watery" and had "too much going on."<br /><br />I will now stop with my elegy and focus now on my emotions. First off, tonight's episode was psychologically exhausting for me, as I was very sentimentally/emotionally/gastronomically tied up with each of the three men on the chopping block. Stefan is far too talented to be cut until the bitter end of the show, in my opinion. Fabio is admittedly not a genius and in fact committed a culinary sin in the way he cooked that venison, but he's so charming, and his personality is part of why I look forward to the show every week. And then there's Jeff... oh Jeff. Two weeks ago, I wrote down my fantasy Top Chef bracket, and Jeff was in the final three (with Jamie and Stefan).<br /><br />It looks like I will have to re-write that.<br /><br />What it comes down to is that I feel a bit of a void. He is the background of my phone (obsessive, yes, I know, but if everyone else gets the <span style="font-style: italic;">carte-blanche </span>to obsess over <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw4jxfeLYqc1gq_p9cy1HISTAjVHxrc9DKJ66FwqRqO6wbboNpcndpdwi22tcxqH5QAWHKdzx8KJERmeOPpoChSiZI2Xkxu-JivJnwO5n25vwRmihYCmUIfnxRITCxsd1J9fK662iJm-0/s400/Robert+Pattinson+Edward.jpg">Robert Pattinson</a>, I think it's fair enough for me to harbor an irrationally extreme crush of my own)... but, again, as much for his looks as for his talent. After the show was finished, I looked at my phone and started faintly tearing up.<br /><br />I'm taking that as a sign that my heart is involved in this show to an unhealthy degree.<br /><br />It's bittersweet, for sure, considering that two of my favorite cheftestants are still in the running -- and, I'd speculate, on solid ground. I feel hopeless and upset at the injustice of the judging/elimination conditions (do they not weigh past successes/failures into their deliberation at all?) and think it's a travesty that Jeff didn't at least make it further.<br /><br />But I guess you win some, you lose some... Because guess who's guest judging next week!?!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8nB9v0MUOEj8xLQ0-CEKSPA9CFzdsOi_1kwWtZGZ6ny70fBmrln4tWnNQOEBitHwYD2O0SPpcxnRhyphenhyphenAegAuG58caVWlXZ3RyA25451FnH1RQeR-WZd0UNT24nr7cNgzbksjRofmG0cWI/s1600-h/Eric+Ripert+Chef+Jacket.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 298px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8nB9v0MUOEj8xLQ0-CEKSPA9CFzdsOi_1kwWtZGZ6ny70fBmrln4tWnNQOEBitHwYD2O0SPpcxnRhyphenhyphenAegAuG58caVWlXZ3RyA25451FnH1RQeR-WZd0UNT24nr7cNgzbksjRofmG0cWI/s400/Eric+Ripert+Chef+Jacket.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296578559476483122" border="0" /></a>*: For the record, the melodrama in this entry is entirely intentional and mostly for the sake of rhetoric.<br />**: By everyone, I mean teenage girl Top Chef addicts everywhere.Rémy Roberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04329957954850709207noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7470684677483691530.post-42317838578216399282009-01-28T00:17:00.000-06:002009-01-28T00:17:32.714-06:00Cochon: A Pig Field FollyEssentially, it was a festivity assembled to celebrate food as art as well as the success of Prospect.1, which was coming to a close at the same time (last weekend). Mom and I arrived at the Brickyard, which looks exactly how it sounds: a large space of piled bricks, the remains of a former factory (was it molasses?) situated right by NOCCA. A man sat at a table right at the entrance, soliciting donations to save endangered pig species.<br /><br />But the center of attention was rather a giant ball game going on. As it turns out, it was human foosball, with members of two opposing teams (Swine and Sausage) placed in rows across the field, each row of players connected by a rope that was manned by people on the sidelines, who'd pull towards themselves when they wanted to move their players. When a ball neared a player, that person would kick and squirm about (from the confines of his or her roping) and attempt to kick it towards the team goal.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaRvTVlBNZTjGnr5i11e9XLfe95hZxyT-V0FxKxHEspa3NSFq_EfQPDtGsjEEVusZhDiCqHb8ODYwtOZ5ggUgi1LYJr8vpKCd0HwwzlzIiRp4qfnpRwwBTG5FF8NWI9QneKEOmzjf7xZo/s1600-h/IMG_0227.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaRvTVlBNZTjGnr5i11e9XLfe95hZxyT-V0FxKxHEspa3NSFq_EfQPDtGsjEEVusZhDiCqHb8ODYwtOZ5ggUgi1LYJr8vpKCd0HwwzlzIiRp4qfnpRwwBTG5FF8NWI9QneKEOmzjf7xZo/s400/IMG_0227.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295287799000239202" border="0" /></a><br />And I ask myself, would this happen anywhere else?<br /><br />In the background, a whole pig was being cooked by none other than Donald Link, who served up hot boudin and pork sausage in the meantime for hungry bystanders.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBzrmpAjvHgMWZCMrNKenXspISOF7IZP1qkogc5Kgp-tmSppGQCSxZ9i7cg8_1DyU2josyjDZAKYSOBkDA9XfUpy-_e0DlW1VqUIgU8bhfTrT41WpLkVH6w9uBi3qPalqf1s6Kj90ekvs/s1600-h/IMG_0228.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBzrmpAjvHgMWZCMrNKenXspISOF7IZP1qkogc5Kgp-tmSppGQCSxZ9i7cg8_1DyU2josyjDZAKYSOBkDA9XfUpy-_e0DlW1VqUIgU8bhfTrT41WpLkVH6w9uBi3qPalqf1s6Kj90ekvs/s400/IMG_0228.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295287951523976946" border="0" /></a>Rémy Roberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04329957954850709207noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7470684677483691530.post-47991264051085469352009-01-25T15:01:00.000-06:002009-01-26T01:48:39.517-06:00Rémy Eats: Tales from a Teenage Gastronome -- Boucherie<span style="font-style: italic;">My first official adventure as Rémy Robert, Teenage Gastronome was to Boucherie. Many New Orleans foodies are familiar with Iris, a beloved jewel of a restaurant that was located on Jeannette right off of Carrollton until it relocated recently to the French Quarter. As it happens, Boucherie has filled its spot.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">My friend Lexie and I walked into the main dining room (adorably small and quaint, with a compact little bar in the back corner). A waiter smiled and greeted us immediately, and we took our seats at a small table near a window. The room was clean and well-lit, with just a couple of other tables of diners (I imagine it'll get much more popular as more people hear about it, but as of right now, it's still just a nebular little newcomer that's not on most radars).</span><br /><br />Helloooo, everyone. This is just a little taste-test of my first full-length column (!), which should be up on <a href="http://www.blakemakes.com/">Blake Makes</a> later this week! Stay tuned on his blog and mine.Rémy Roberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04329957954850709207noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7470684677483691530.post-34604138501330408472009-01-25T10:01:00.022-06:002009-01-26T01:48:20.735-06:00Galette des rois, or French king cake...!I'll be the first to admit how lucky I am to live within ten minutes of La Boulangerie, an adorable French bakery that is so charmingly authentic that it inspires acute nostalgia.<br /><br />It's Mardi Gras, which means that La Boulangerie, bakeries, and grocery stores citywide are producing their own variations on the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/King_cake">king cake</a>. Although I am a sweet tooth, I have zero tolerance for the cloying white icing that is glopped onto many of these- the kind of icing that just screams diabetes, that tastes of nothing except processed sugar... gross.<br /><br />What I do love, however, is La Boulangerie's <span style="font-style: italic;">galette des rois, </span>which bears so little resemblance to these garish others that it's humorous:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr3Ph-Q2oqYWpPIqJEYvNtVnLszBQb1sXpNEkj5cI2kIuGnml7Ims9JxX2W0GEXb7K7dDsRURvasNJDpL28mJ_2oG5_ywSRPhTQMHL4jTZJ8__m7Mqj5fMeouwPgfu74htRr1rPa1sJPo/s1600-h/IMG_0275.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr3Ph-Q2oqYWpPIqJEYvNtVnLszBQb1sXpNEkj5cI2kIuGnml7Ims9JxX2W0GEXb7K7dDsRURvasNJDpL28mJ_2oG5_ywSRPhTQMHL4jTZJ8__m7Mqj5fMeouwPgfu74htRr1rPa1sJPo/s400/IMG_0275.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295294708880936962" border="0" /></a>Its crust is that of a quiche in love: flaky, ecstatically buttery, brushed with a tasteful lick of sweetness. On the inside is a creamy almond filling like you'd find inside the best almond croissant in all of Paris. And instead of a plastic baby, lodged somewhere inside is a porcelain trinket. In the past, I've gotten everything from a little tile to an actually very beautiful navy-blue and gold-painted heart-shaped pendant, which I wore everyday on a silver chain until, sadly, it broke off and was nowhere to be found... sad.<br /><br />I also stocked up on pastries to eat for breakfast this week. First, the almond croissant:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPe4XD0YRZKfFFmD-wjMAkyNdOI8hVz2dqX9R1qP-w_sm_laG3LdX97jeG4Vf4tC-8etU1yFn8wxHE3XACUh8pGCa2mA3VVS5IfPniS4FIYZmaq0vk3n5mcE5N7YSxgReAqjsPjjEvjLg/s1600-h/IMG_0279.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPe4XD0YRZKfFFmD-wjMAkyNdOI8hVz2dqX9R1qP-w_sm_laG3LdX97jeG4Vf4tC-8etU1yFn8wxHE3XACUh8pGCa2mA3VVS5IfPniS4FIYZmaq0vk3n5mcE5N7YSxgReAqjsPjjEvjLg/s400/IMG_0279.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295294713004198242" border="0" /></a>With something like this, there isn't much to say. It is everything a croissant should be, and the dusting of powdered sugar is just enough to get on your nose.<br /><br />I also got two each of these scones:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDAGLIgr9ugj5lZN6R9ADCcz64jYfWVPUpQKIr93NkBnrsj9rr67qIxM1ASPRz_v9JXyboRtNyHWmh1SokcPW8bZ-qqSofgAA18lEG-c-3PfWeYSV8OyR82lY7UDOdqbz7ek-lT2w5dYU/s1600-h/IMG_0281.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDAGLIgr9ugj5lZN6R9ADCcz64jYfWVPUpQKIr93NkBnrsj9rr67qIxM1ASPRz_v9JXyboRtNyHWmh1SokcPW8bZ-qqSofgAA18lEG-c-3PfWeYSV8OyR82lY7UDOdqbz7ek-lT2w5dYU/s400/IMG_0281.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295294719278719586" border="0" /></a>The one on the left is apple cinnamon; the one on the right is white chocolate raspberry. Let me say first (underline this) that <span style="font-weight: bold;">THESE ARE NOT YOUR AVERAGE SCONES. </span>As a child, I had many a bad experience with that awfully dry variation of scones. I thought it made sense that these scones were to be eaten with tea, because their utter lack of moisture and personality required the heat of tea to detach the concrete glop from the roof of my mouth.<br />These, though... they're as fluffy and edible as cupcakes, but you can eat these for breakfast and still have it be socially acceptable! The white chocolate raspberry was a bit burned, as you can see, but I ate one of those for breakfast today and the inside is still as good as can be.Rémy Roberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04329957954850709207noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7470684677483691530.post-70027689919273310752009-01-25T10:01:00.010-06:002009-01-25T11:02:14.646-06:00Laurel Street BakeryThese are the remains of the first bagel I had there:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKk_rhFpQGTdZjw4wmJ_QuNb1s-FdsWxECKKjhzm__dAYehUF7l-xFrKLFQ3NIrDEz8Adslq3RZUXgtQOGUFtju3ArhhxI8LPi2VKf0dXKZvZjCvY3DA3avMd9Fyi5vRjj6JUYRhKtmNI/s1600-h/IMG_0167.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKk_rhFpQGTdZjw4wmJ_QuNb1s-FdsWxECKKjhzm__dAYehUF7l-xFrKLFQ3NIrDEz8Adslq3RZUXgtQOGUFtju3ArhhxI8LPi2VKf0dXKZvZjCvY3DA3avMd9Fyi5vRjj6JUYRhKtmNI/s400/IMG_0167.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295262383681693298" border="0" /></a><br />I loved it so much I forgot to take a picture! Worry not, though; I went back just two days later (this was less than a week ago, and I've returned once since then) and remembered that time around to commemorate photographically... I'll be uploading photos soon, but until then, imagine: a freshly baked bagel, still piping hot out of the oven, less dense and insurmountable than every single bagel (even the ones I thought were good) I've ever had in my life. Instead, these seem to have a slight family history of brioche, as evidenced by the tender biteability and the tiny little crispy buttery pinpricks that freckled up all over the bottom as it was baking. Add to this a thin but thorough spreading of sundried tomato cream cheese (garlicky and savory and oh so housemade) and you've got all the makings for a perfect breakfast. Now I know why they call it the most important meal of the day.<br /><br />...Thanks for waiting. Here's more adequate imagery.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMlYs7RpFcDn7M7_7GXAZzAj84yQttKcOOk4_3BGHmbgi-pPud2HKN6R6iUQ-g2lFyWRpjEqxe8LgZwf9X2gIKnSCsKv5Qx2QcySVQDAIOyFcJqn5Z4xvZGmuSetBHRrcLLFmDwvIa7zI/s1600-h/IMG_0226.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMlYs7RpFcDn7M7_7GXAZzAj84yQttKcOOk4_3BGHmbgi-pPud2HKN6R6iUQ-g2lFyWRpjEqxe8LgZwf9X2gIKnSCsKv5Qx2QcySVQDAIOyFcJqn5Z4xvZGmuSetBHRrcLLFmDwvIa7zI/s400/IMG_0226.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295277657858367938" border="0" /></a>!Rémy Roberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04329957954850709207noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7470684677483691530.post-13904467647781887072009-01-25T09:31:00.006-06:002009-01-25T09:58:58.181-06:00Mmm... tapas.Last year, I mentioned Baru <a href="http://passionfruitbutter.blogspot.com/2008/09/it-makes-me-sad.html">in passing</a> during a time when I was feeling very melancholy about the absence of a working camera in my life. I will remind you that I have nothing but exuberant, grateful feelings toward this restaurant, and it was precisely that attitude that made me feel so glum about the prospect of not being able to include photos in what would inevitably become a novella of tapas raves.<br /><br />How ironic it is, then, that I returned to Baru wielding a new and high-tech and adorable digital camera, and all I have to say for myself are a few photos that exhibit no sense of aesthetics whatsoever. In any case, that must be better than nothing.<br /><br />After amusing our bouches over at <a href="http://passionfruitbutter.blogspot.com/2009/01/free-wedding-cake-for-all.html">Sucré</a>, Baru was the perfect place to go. Think about it! Rather than commit ourselves to a single appetizer and/or entrée, we could nibble on some delectable little snackings and decide later on how many tapas we'd need to fill our tummies. On this night, three was the perfect number of dishes for us to split.<br /><br />First on the lineup was the mazorca:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhruUJ4JVqEf3ZkiCQa88j3rQX_rmrsNWBFfaAff_X4aN3-KT-OqZ5kNNSvAC_vJbRUpO3JTGy9_Ds-UA7fm3-nzClRjskict6lSoIM4NVbJbdb-q9puC2q-JsiU3SPgUC2tf-ay2-MpBw/s1600-h/IMG_0161.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhruUJ4JVqEf3ZkiCQa88j3rQX_rmrsNWBFfaAff_X4aN3-KT-OqZ5kNNSvAC_vJbRUpO3JTGy9_Ds-UA7fm3-nzClRjskict6lSoIM4NVbJbdb-q9puC2q-JsiU3SPgUC2tf-ay2-MpBw/s400/IMG_0161.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295256360984036802" border="0" /></a>I first got this on the very same night I was feeling so dreary. At first, I was skeptical: roasted corn, "pink sauce" (what is that anyway?), and potato sticks did not sound as thrilling as, say, the grilled skirt steak with chimichurri. But my brother insisted, and at about the same time it arrived at our table, it disappeared. That's how good it was. We couldn't eat it quickly enough. As it turns out, the roasted corn exuded freshness and commingled happily with pink sauce (made pink with a whisper of tomatoes... duh). Salao cheese, a salty farmers' cheese, adds another dimension of flavor and texture, and potato sticks -- fried bits of goodness, like the ideal French fries if they were shrunken x10 -- completed the mix. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Heaven on earth.</span><br /><br />Next up were the empanadas:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8sKNJt7-s_o3QkxDc-C5bgP-woWhuzTy0z1jjeoF6G3oqXQXRyrUaZTaHAeNY5u5bHRWvLSKOnG53riXH49JliY5fNNLbvgJkDGaZeeUgNebj0dXOi0di33lFhbDR4TIwcwSesoYa_14/s1600-h/IMG_0166.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 286px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8sKNJt7-s_o3QkxDc-C5bgP-woWhuzTy0z1jjeoF6G3oqXQXRyrUaZTaHAeNY5u5bHRWvLSKOnG53riXH49JliY5fNNLbvgJkDGaZeeUgNebj0dXOi0di33lFhbDR4TIwcwSesoYa_14/s400/IMG_0166.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295257535935298674" border="0" /></a>Normally, these are filled with spiced ground beef, and they are delicious. On this night, though, the waiter informed us that they were improvisationally filled with chicken instead. We were set on the empanadas, so we decided to keep them on the line-up. Unfortunately, they were definitely the low point to the meal. The chicken was ground to a degree that must have humiliated it. What did this mean for us? We bit through the scrumptious corn-cakey outside and arrived at a core of mushy fill that vaguely resembled canned pet food. I hate to be so harsh, since I have faith it could have been good. It just goes to show you that having just one thing off -- in this case, consistency, to which I previously hadn't given much thought -- can ruin a plate. That stuff opposite the empanada was a fruity, sweet-then-spicy salsa.<br /><br />Last up was the ceviche:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuk659SfVqa-j0comVloGsv4s6PVhSLw5QbQnd_I5PH1Rw1cSYL63cPH36WfA-kqH-WdUgkbxIJ4JHyTgjNdNV9W7zjwWtbca-ziTrDQbl_kJV65AY0p5Uc6cZd17aH3NK_6ECnMg5xYw/s1600-h/IMG_0164.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuk659SfVqa-j0comVloGsv4s6PVhSLw5QbQnd_I5PH1Rw1cSYL63cPH36WfA-kqH-WdUgkbxIJ4JHyTgjNdNV9W7zjwWtbca-ziTrDQbl_kJV65AY0p5Uc6cZd17aH3NK_6ECnMg5xYw/s400/IMG_0164.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295258876651618162" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">Oh my god. </span>I have gotten this every single time I've been to Baru, and never once have I regretted it. Each time, it has metamorphosed a bit. For example, the first time I got it, it came in a martini glass with slightly different ingredients and crumbly saltine crackers rather than the thick tortilla chips you see here.<br />Inside the bowl is a serendipitious rendezvous of redfish that breaks apart in one's mouth in the most gratifying way. In case you didn't know, ceviche is raw fish that is "cooked" with citrusy juices (lime and the like). It's worth noting, then, that the fish tasted less fishy than some cooked fish dishes I've had in my life. It was buttery in consistency and full in flavor. There were also chunks of perfectly green, dazzlingly fresh avocado, cut into cubes the same size as the fish (not too big -- good for me, since I don't go wild over giant scoops of mushy avocado). Pickled onion makes another appearance here, and in case you didn't get my point when I mentioned this in my last entry on Sucré, I'll say it again here: <span style="font-style: italic;">I am obsessed with this. </span>They were present here in a completely different context (in an already QUITE tart broth-esque of lime juice rather than atop some velvety crab), but they remained my favorite part of the dish, thoughtful and crisp, eye-squintingly tangy with a lingering hint of the onion's sweetness. I liked to eat this stuff straight on the fork, but it was also yummy scooped up with those chips over on the side.<br /><br />For the adults out there, if you decide to hightail it over to Baru like we did, you should know that it is, as of right now, BYOB. This didn't matter to us, but it could quite possibly matter to you, and I want to give you fair warning, as I know that the sometimes-justifiable anger that would ensue at the lack of a wine menu would unfairly spoil what could be a delightful dining experience!Rémy Roberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04329957954850709207noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7470684677483691530.post-33490964504779751832009-01-21T20:44:00.004-06:002009-01-25T09:31:09.265-06:00Free wedding cake for all!Let me start by saying that I was wildly surprised that the party at Sucré was as relatively intimate as it was. Make no mistake, it was busy and quite a success, but I guess I am dogmatic at least to the extent that, as a fervent foodie and sugarholic, I could not comprehend why the rest of the world wouldn't be as enthusiastic as I would about this turning-out of free wedding cake and hors d'oeuvres!<br /><br />In any case, Jenna and I arrived at our favorite dessert place. Tariq Hanna's cake ideas ranged from the tried-and-true, conventional all-time favorites (white-chocolate almond) to salted caramel (mmm) to this elaborate concoction of coconut and other ingredients (sorry for the ambiguity; there were no slices left on the plate, so I didn't get a taste or even a look). There was even one dark chocolate cake (imagine devil's food to the power of six) slathered with a gooey chocolate buttercream frosting. Mmmmmm. I don't know why it didn't occur to me to take photos.<br /><br />Hors d'oeuvres were also present -- i.e. vegetable crudités in dill cream cheese and truffled quail eggs (like tiny, tender deviled eggs... with the flavor of truffle... <span style="font-style: italic;">mmm, </span>so help me God). Here's my favorite:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglMtoysDMe8taQVpJCEVpohrut6H27QBc7SMEEo311Ecc3hugOW2DKrmVBabX5x2iaToShXWuYva_CjIthJepvjBcmVJUafXZqOIEt-vpydciYXCNh7j_FzPr1InrRPDKQZ6gT3G_V7Pk/s1600-h/IMG_0159.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglMtoysDMe8taQVpJCEVpohrut6H27QBc7SMEEo311Ecc3hugOW2DKrmVBabX5x2iaToShXWuYva_CjIthJepvjBcmVJUafXZqOIEt-vpydciYXCNh7j_FzPr1InrRPDKQZ6gT3G_V7Pk/s400/IMG_0159.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295253690810339922" border="0" /></a>In case you can't see the photo, it's a little shot glass of crabmeat salad over tiny yummy greens topped with a smattering of pickled onion and a single beet chip. The pickled onion was my favorite, as the tartness was the perfect foil to the creamy crab, not to mention the fact that my mother craved vinegar when she was pregnant with me. Isn't there a theory floating around that people love what their pregnant mothers craved?Rémy Roberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04329957954850709207noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7470684677483691530.post-86618550081188736242009-01-21T19:19:00.001-06:002009-01-21T19:19:53.782-06:00Anthony Bourdain and Mario Batali making a valiant effort to cross as many lines as possible.<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/I2Di19RFmgs&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/I2Di19RFmgs&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Rémy Roberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04329957954850709207noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7470684677483691530.post-63916884895497711852009-01-19T16:23:00.002-06:002009-01-29T18:27:18.560-06:00I need to visit:Alinea -- top of the list, mostly because it's more accessible than...<br />...El Bulli, headed by Ferran Adria, the king of avant-garde cooking. El Bulli is only open from April to September each year, and 300,000 people annually try to snag one of the 8,000 seats available. I guess I should start planning my rehearsal dinner now? I'll just take a shot in the dark when I plan the date.<br />Le Doyen<br />The French Laundry<br />The Spotted Pig<br />Le Bernardin<br />Cochon<br />MiLa<br />Tony Angelo's<br /><strike>Herbsaint</strike><br />Restaurant August<br />Luke<br />Boucherie<br />Kanno California Sushi Bar<br />Stella!<br />Savvy Gourmet<br />Bayona<br />Iris<br />La Petite Grocery<br />Elizabeth's<br />Rock-n-Sake<br />La Cote Brasserie<br />7 on Fulton<br />Marigny Brasserie (I've only been for brunch... and it was the essence of perfection.)<br />Vizard's<br />Hip Stix?<br />Slice (would you believe I still haven't been!?)<br />Theo's (clearly I am not a pizza connoisseur)<br />Pascal's Manale (mmm BBQ shrimp)<br />Mimi's in the Marigny<br />Coquette<br /><br />This list is totally under construction and I will be constantly adding to it... which may stress me out, although fortune has recently happened upon me in a most becoming way. Sucre had a little party on Wednesday night where we could taste samples of pastry chef Tariq Hanna's wedding cake creations as well as snack on hors d'oeuvres from Joel Dondis' catering. While I was there, I happened upon Blake of <a href="http://blakemakes.com/">Blake Makes</a>, etc. (he's got a whole empire, of which Blake Makes is just the foremost), and we got to talking about a magazine he's got in the works. We exchanged contact information, one thing led to another, and now we've concocted a plan for me to write a weekly column that'll be featured on his blog. This means I'll have the budget to go to many more restaurants much more frequently. Definitely head over to his blog; the man positively churns out creative ideas. Check out his latest idea, the Food Chain. Fun!<br /><br />I'm tremendously busy today reading up on Emerson (yeah, yeah), but I'll be posting some entries this week on Sucre, Baru, Herbsaint (possibly my new favorite?), and other random quips. Hope the three-day weekend and DELICIOUS weather in NOLA is treating you well, loves.Rémy Roberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04329957954850709207noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7470684677483691530.post-1137671758536402712009-01-15T11:44:00.009-06:002009-01-15T12:35:07.242-06:00LiletteAs those of you who care may have noticed, Jenna is in town. For those of you who don't know, Jenna (my partner in the fluffy luv patty extravaganza) is my culinary accomplice, and although she doesn't channel her passion into writing, she's as much of a foodie as I am. The fact that we're in her last week of vacation before heading back to college called for commemoration, so we headed to Lilette with Dad, Caroline, and Raphe.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzNfFEji7rUmmKEtLeRu3Zhmvyat6onNUddu9N_9Vkbs5DmSQOS9XfVOgqqg4_EKHO46iBuK00_uT2WGAVbwz1u4fb6owpzGUj6XiyoeeXfnjH_MUmqJWI9J-v7lXtEvjqpEdxCw9Ce1M/s1600-h/IMG_0110.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzNfFEji7rUmmKEtLeRu3Zhmvyat6onNUddu9N_9Vkbs5DmSQOS9XfVOgqqg4_EKHO46iBuK00_uT2WGAVbwz1u4fb6owpzGUj6XiyoeeXfnjH_MUmqJWI9J-v7lXtEvjqpEdxCw9Ce1M/s400/IMG_0110.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291579766407675538" border="0" /></a><br />I faced my usual dilemma, which goes as follows: WHAT IN GOD'S NAME SHOULD I ORDER FROM THIS MOST LUMINOUS OF MENUS? Beyond a shadow of a doubt, this is one of those restaurants so near and dear to my heart that I have developed some habits with the menu that are very hard to break. So I narrowed it down to four things: grilled beets with goat cheese and walnuts; shaved fresh hearts of palm with lemon juice, olive oil, and parmigiano reggiano; Alaskan king crab claws in passionfruit butter; and the special of Kobe New York strip with duck-fat roasted potatoes and gremolada. I decided to just indulge, since it doesn't happen everyday that someone takes me to a meal at Lilette. Prepare yourself for a veritable deluge of photographic wonder, lovelies!<br /><br />My appetizer (note that this nectary butter was the muse for this blog):<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbqXnU2NFuTcCC74WB7RrgahSw1xSwNXnUg5Ke-Q3tiYuAZe7Py2du-6wqmyGUcZUTWUZBcskwbMe1oPE4qq9b2ek3gHhfSYHaqiOihAUH6me6T4uaEmrQddBVLotQ1rTebg8gPJb-f-s/s1600-h/IMG_0116.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbqXnU2NFuTcCC74WB7RrgahSw1xSwNXnUg5Ke-Q3tiYuAZe7Py2du-6wqmyGUcZUTWUZBcskwbMe1oPE4qq9b2ek3gHhfSYHaqiOihAUH6me6T4uaEmrQddBVLotQ1rTebg8gPJb-f-s/s400/IMG_0116.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291581592993680594" border="0" /></a>Aren't the crabs just beautiful? The colors nearly make me tear up. The portions, the simplicity... this just does not look like food to me. It looks more like a pseudo-sculpture. What I like to do is toil away on extracting every last morsel from the insides of those really hard claws and to stir them around the butter so that the white meat becomes passionfruit yellow. It feels like soup to me, but of course it trumps chicken noodle. Since the meat extraction takes so long, everyone else is usually just finishing up, which is serendipitous since it provides me with an audience as I dig into this most wondrous of appetizers. Below is the result of my toil (just some dregs).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqxrLUBqNiiUqyfaj6QROZVVPRt2NwaOQrA53RqA0IacXHGVgzkkzbYWJhsZ9bTtB4BezhQA7hoPJXzhn-K818nPaAo8b9q4rh0mgm7yrSkJuVHZhaPP7FqOo8FhDUR8m9Q_9pg1TvnGI/s1600-h/IMG_0122.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqxrLUBqNiiUqyfaj6QROZVVPRt2NwaOQrA53RqA0IacXHGVgzkkzbYWJhsZ9bTtB4BezhQA7hoPJXzhn-K818nPaAo8b9q4rh0mgm7yrSkJuVHZhaPP7FqOo8FhDUR8m9Q_9pg1TvnGI/s400/IMG_0122.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291582229084328866" border="0" /></a><br />These are the grilled beets, which both Jenna and Caroline got. Just really, really good -- a testament to talent in its artful combination of dense-fruity-earthy beets, crunchy walnuts, and creamy, almost tangy goat cheese. The bright purple oiliness left at the end is good for bread-swirling (fortunate, since the bread at Lilette is SO. GOOD.).<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVgEVZRGgXbFgfqY7B13GTPZpx32TT00OKVfJI5cfRMGSY-imhF0H3sOBTw8ZJhLOR-ISjWAcXjQUW0bFcF0VL5lsW4AUnKwWqmt8L6FXSGPfKIQ_WpqJynTFcX1c_ljx50-Ngd6sE-04/s1600-h/IMG_0120.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVgEVZRGgXbFgfqY7B13GTPZpx32TT00OKVfJI5cfRMGSY-imhF0H3sOBTw8ZJhLOR-ISjWAcXjQUW0bFcF0VL5lsW4AUnKwWqmt8L6FXSGPfKIQ_WpqJynTFcX1c_ljx50-Ngd6sE-04/s400/IMG_0120.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291582218176998882" border="0" /></a><br />These are the hearts of palm. They are tart, unexpected, and fresh to an extent words can't encapsulate.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZjuWNn3T4YUeO6hUuv5pcA1dnTQwHAdRmSxrwlQxemSKJTGdRymA7u6CDaa0C8YqIoYdT_8IStkkN-EYqt28m4Own3E_O5Tk9vKzGzYIqjlYy_dufqJLzM5jOzn9xxFMvfkFaQw9V8To/s1600-h/IMG_0118.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZjuWNn3T4YUeO6hUuv5pcA1dnTQwHAdRmSxrwlQxemSKJTGdRymA7u6CDaa0C8YqIoYdT_8IStkkN-EYqt28m4Own3E_O5Tk9vKzGzYIqjlYy_dufqJLzM5jOzn9xxFMvfkFaQw9V8To/s400/IMG_0118.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291582218721775058" border="0" /></a><br />Here's the gnocchi. See my previous post on Martinique to read my thoughts. Basically: thick Italian gnocchi, sage brown butter, lovely slices of reggiano, chives. Mmmm.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFVEF9IVef4pecDuNEB49qwp_3wJz_RL6U8hyD_klQ5ZIi-tB4HV21baOV_8Rpx5rTPZEJc_tIpIswDYzQN7FmfsAVWDh3Kf4m-E-QkfxyIuf8XIjlxI33vSl4riOc30dYT3_rLQUBZGE/s1600-h/IMG_0117.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFVEF9IVef4pecDuNEB49qwp_3wJz_RL6U8hyD_klQ5ZIi-tB4HV21baOV_8Rpx5rTPZEJc_tIpIswDYzQN7FmfsAVWDh3Kf4m-E-QkfxyIuf8XIjlxI33vSl4riOc30dYT3_rLQUBZGE/s400/IMG_0117.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291582212693590386" border="0" /></a><br />Moving on... main courses! This is a special that Dad got. It's called bracciolo -- Google the name and almost all the results will be Italian, so that should tell you something. Basically, this dish consists of pounded-thin beef and pork, rolled together with hard-boiled egg and garlic, and cooked for a bit, then covered in red sauce. The dish was good, but it perturbed me for a few reasons. Part of what makes Lilette so fantastic is that the dishes there are singular and stunning and utterly unique, in one way or another. This seemed like a classic dish that your hypothetical Sicilian grandmother would make you while you were home for the holidays, and for that reason, it was a bit contrived and awkward. The spices were aromatic, perhaps to a fault, but the meat and the red sauce were both done very well.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy1Ut-6umSaNB9MfrM9DHq14cPqjKOSJ4TcdMuiJJkiHRZw7daaxnWCC6t8D6aRED8Isl8tAXuQ3o2W0Sawaulf0jAyQ1nmzpWSDzHt7_hyphenhyphen-siC499JrxuKKnKvUnkTU8jLJRYGx7Iz4Y/s1600-h/IMG_0129.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy1Ut-6umSaNB9MfrM9DHq14cPqjKOSJ4TcdMuiJJkiHRZw7daaxnWCC6t8D6aRED8Isl8tAXuQ3o2W0Sawaulf0jAyQ1nmzpWSDzHt7_hyphenhyphen-siC499JrxuKKnKvUnkTU8jLJRYGx7Iz4Y/s400/IMG_0129.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291584151019459602" border="0" /></a><br />Raphe got grilled hanger steak in marrowed bordelaise and housemade French fries. The hanger steak and fries were indisputably good, but the bordelaise truly made the dish -- perhaps it's embarrassing that I'd drink a small shot glass of it? It was very wine-y and the marrow gave it a profound depth that was a nice complement to the meat.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp74S1bX7KM2S9tri9vC4Kqj2-tzldNg9uv2K3-t1OYBXKn93k86HzHJMA6E6XFXRkaDPKGeBw5Yjk1iWx3cXu652WnuPNWZ_0JKeWkvUCP3Ehs_ex5JzWIPskHOSWFXZqotqS0XxYe18/s1600-h/IMG_0128.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp74S1bX7KM2S9tri9vC4Kqj2-tzldNg9uv2K3-t1OYBXKn93k86HzHJMA6E6XFXRkaDPKGeBw5Yjk1iWx3cXu652WnuPNWZ_0JKeWkvUCP3Ehs_ex5JzWIPskHOSWFXZqotqS0XxYe18/s400/IMG_0128.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291584145330698802" border="0" /></a><br />This is the roasted poulet breast -- the only dish on the menu that employs French (presumably because "chicken" is too base?). Mom gets this nearly every time she's at Lilette (it means to her what the beets or the crab claws mean to me) and it's just stunning. The chicken is unfailingly moist, topped with/soaked in a mushroom vinaigrette, over a bed of superbly tender brussels sprout leaves and balsamic glazed onions that I'd buy in a candy shop if they were there. Everyone says to pass up chicken dishes at restaurants since they're almost always not worth it, but this is one of the few very qualified contenders.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCIYTaHZUyLSvh7MGpuasgSAymCOLL37m0FeD6q9jKawQu27HT9m8y3TbxFCpIBIfUCYKpLP5-zIwaafR7YXGaBAT72dBgjrAnCxjmL12lbaCYBvbgVYn9xZNJHxPB-TpwpYzWTVx6yyc/s1600-h/IMG_0127.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCIYTaHZUyLSvh7MGpuasgSAymCOLL37m0FeD6q9jKawQu27HT9m8y3TbxFCpIBIfUCYKpLP5-zIwaafR7YXGaBAT72dBgjrAnCxjmL12lbaCYBvbgVYn9xZNJHxPB-TpwpYzWTVx6yyc/s400/IMG_0127.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291584137384272914" border="0" /></a><br />This is my Kobe NY strip. I asked for it to be cooked however the chef would have it; as you can see, it was quite rare. Normally, I don't like this, but with a meat like Kobe, there are bound to be exceptions. I was ultimately quite pleased (particularly because I felt so European with my super-rare steak), although a smaller portion would've been ideal for my palate (which, in its heightening snobbiness, grew a bit bored by the end of the meal) and my stomach (which needed all the room it could save for dessert). The gremolada was a tasteful accent, like a perfect pair of shoes on an otherwise minimally accessorized, super-chic French girl. The potatoes may actually have been the highlight, especially when they were swirled around in the steak-y juice and the lingering bits of gremolada. Duck fat is heavenly, the potatoes were cubed in perfect proportions that saved them from being too fatty or too potato-y, and the outside was crisp in a way that really just melted my heart. How lovely it is to encounter a glorified meat-and-potatoes dish like this one. I could learn how to cook something similar and win the heart of any man I pleased.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia0PTaws2AM19BBpIVAsV6jbfLJPCdqJAT7Ui59_MbukYXjHLK1wJ2vtf4dl5nP3Ausm7iqgmOAdVPrWnngC8zjQgwScOx4ZkqcwyuWHb2YCbFSUwcwzyIql2NO5cwueWPVxINmJ7aP3o/s1600-h/IMG_0123.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia0PTaws2AM19BBpIVAsV6jbfLJPCdqJAT7Ui59_MbukYXjHLK1wJ2vtf4dl5nP3Ausm7iqgmOAdVPrWnngC8zjQgwScOx4ZkqcwyuWHb2YCbFSUwcwzyIql2NO5cwueWPVxINmJ7aP3o/s400/IMG_0123.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291584134476818418" border="0" /></a><br />Believe it or not, we actually had just a bit of room (and plenty of motivation) to tackle dessert... I got Nutella custard with fleur de sel, caramel cream, and chocolate-hazelnut brittle. I was SO, SO, SO jubilant with how it turned out. The custard had definite Nutella notes, but it refrained from being overwhelmingly sticky, dark, and nutty, as the spread itself is prone to do. Ultimately, it retained only its best assets, and the consistency of the custard was thick without sticking to my ribs. I couldn't see the fleur de sel but it was definitely present, and it surprised me up through the very last bite. The caramel cream was fluffy, not gooey or dense -- perfect for glorious harmony with the custard, since the two textures played off each other. The nuts you see were candied and salty-sweet. I only had room for one stick of brittle, and I took home the other stick but lost it. :[<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjINkF4TPT0Mh-i3NpTj23VXooGW_8eMlXQo6UPT9ZasFibztNuhN6cYqjwJwLSgZOq160deUep0kwNTzAlHyVzUO5OmyRvRua2sXJA2SsrsM0MvHSFAD_4FwkscCxJ3cBS76s400clHIE/s1600-h/IMG_0146.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjINkF4TPT0Mh-i3NpTj23VXooGW_8eMlXQo6UPT9ZasFibztNuhN6cYqjwJwLSgZOq160deUep0kwNTzAlHyVzUO5OmyRvRua2sXJA2SsrsM0MvHSFAD_4FwkscCxJ3cBS76s400clHIE/s400/IMG_0146.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291588144692133986" border="0" /></a><br />Here's Jenna with her mascarpone panna cotta, which almost looked fake since it was so smooth and glossy. It came atop an anise shortbread cookie with Louisiana strawberry sorbet and a sauce that tasted like red wine and balsamic vinegar. I loved everything except the cookie, which gave a nice crunch to the panna cotta but which left far too strong of a licorice aftertaste for my taste (though, to be fair, I hate licorice, so any aftertaste is too strong for me). The sauce was a very nice foil to the sweet creamy strawberriness- LOVED the red wine.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1SLA6sL4BtxAPyI4ZV9Dpwmos65o3hf2ciNYnZkjKlEDURhbvAFMIul5HOE6b9N2Wvl80AGa4p1BOZzvho71EOfO5st0do18EJdJvtLM-ldE3rLhMo_YHt6YhcZrcFcK25G_4JrAf4dw/s1600-h/IMG_0142.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1SLA6sL4BtxAPyI4ZV9Dpwmos65o3hf2ciNYnZkjKlEDURhbvAFMIul5HOE6b9N2Wvl80AGa4p1BOZzvho71EOfO5st0do18EJdJvtLM-ldE3rLhMo_YHt6YhcZrcFcK25G_4JrAf4dw/s400/IMG_0142.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291588139234744482" border="0" /></a><br />Here's Caroline's satsuma sorbet. Pretty self-explanatory- very, very, very true to the satsuma from whence it came. I couldn't have eaten a whole bowl since it was very single-noted, but the bites that I had were exciting and zingy.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF39sjMdL0GrOPoE0BeY0h9uODLL7O30eHvp2m5uqhqC-PYTrcBAbiBFwTyZDukkjg9YQFdH4AbZM9va3ulOw3tQL9wVdavflW-WlyVlsM6yS8PVsys3sKBYbJCbP0Y9nA4l7ECBp00a0/s1600-h/IMG_0141.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF39sjMdL0GrOPoE0BeY0h9uODLL7O30eHvp2m5uqhqC-PYTrcBAbiBFwTyZDukkjg9YQFdH4AbZM9va3ulOw3tQL9wVdavflW-WlyVlsM6yS8PVsys3sKBYbJCbP0Y9nA4l7ECBp00a0/s400/IMG_0141.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291588129062673522" border="0" /></a><br />Raphe got this impressively plated assortment of, from left, chocolate cookies, ricotta ice cream, pistachio ice cream, and milk chocolate ice cream. I was let down by the ricotta ice cream, which didn't taste like I thought it would. The other two ice creams were more the consistency of gelato, which of course I went crazy over. I loved the pistachio the most.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7VrrpOejMZFjUbjY1RqSqXpHpTMVlEKwnEmOjFUy4ljSH9iarc4WwYMxaPNTPuGyf1fU3VolwgI0QgVhno0jY1o3X2HEV7z1jgP3tAQhw9RpYyF6Imlgd9EA1UkPpjY2OnFJiLYWJNN4/s1600-h/IMG_0140.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7VrrpOejMZFjUbjY1RqSqXpHpTMVlEKwnEmOjFUy4ljSH9iarc4WwYMxaPNTPuGyf1fU3VolwgI0QgVhno0jY1o3X2HEV7z1jgP3tAQhw9RpYyF6Imlgd9EA1UkPpjY2OnFJiLYWJNN4/s400/IMG_0140.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291588116892464930" border="0" /></a><br />Of course, after this ridiculous epic of a meal, I never thought I'd eat again. But I did manage to eat at both Sucre and Baru the next night... stay tuned.Rémy Roberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04329957954850709207noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7470684677483691530.post-56598174774204487362009-01-14T23:22:00.002-06:002009-01-15T11:43:03.893-06:00Martinique, finally.It happened one night when I suggested that my dad, stepmom, brother and I go to Mila for Dad's birthday dinner. As it turned out, Mila was closed for the holidays. Were we up a creek? Who was to say? We tossed around other ideas but ultimately settled on Martinique. Martinique is that neighborhood bistro: upscale but familiar, indulgent but low-key. Maybe it's not as thrilling as reservations at Restaurant August, but it is reliably yummy and that's what matters most at the end of the day. <br /><br />I should mention the menu first. It's not rife with innovation, but it's ALWAYS full of things I really want- imagine French homestyle cooking with a facelift. The soups are hearty and the salads thoughtful. One of my favorites has always been a goat cheese salad, a variation of which is ever-present on the menu. It's got a warm goat cheese crouton, crusted in a certain nut (sometimes hazelnut, sometimes macadamia, you get the picture) and dressed in a certain vinaigrette (strawberry, pomegranate-molasses, etc.).<br /><br />That day was just damp-damp-damp, and as I drove home to get ready for dinner, I could smell the earth through my car windows. (Wow, that sounded much more hippieish than I meant.) My point is that the smell of soil was pervasive, and I was struck with this very carnal craving for beets. So I got a salad with watercress, beets, chive-scented goat cheese, and toasted hazelnuts. It was good enough that I ate the whole thing but not remarkable enough that I still remember the dressing. Caroline got a tomatoey soup that was smooth and rich and tasted of bacon. Dad got a salad which I will talk about in a second. I don't remember what Raphe got.<br /><br />The point of this entry is the gnocchi- an appetizer I ordered for my entree. This gnocchi was <span style="font-style:italic;">à la parisienne</span>, which means that the adorably stumpy little dumplings are made without flour, unlike their Italian counterparts. They came in a warm sage cream sauce redolent of Lilette's gnocchi in sage brown butter, but in some ways I prefer this gnocchi to Lilette's. First of all, the dumplings are smaller; at Lilette, it would seem a bit gluttonous to eat two gnocchi in one bite, whereas they are more compact at Martinique. This dish comes with thin ribbons of fresh spinach and prosciutto (cut to roughly the same size so each bite has the perfect balance of flavors) as well as little bits of autumn squash, an appropriate and pleasantly seasonal accompaniment. A good shaving of parmigiano reggiano cheese was duly in the mix as well.<br /><br />But that's not all! Because the next day, my mom calls me and asks if I'd like to go to dinner with some family friends. "Sure," I said, never passing up an opportunity to eat out, "where are we going?" She informed me that we'd be going to Martinique. Like I said above, though, everything on the menu has appeal if not whimsy, so I looked forward to dinner. To start, I got the same salad my dad had gotten: a jumbo lump crab Cobb salad with baby spinach, arugula, applewood-smoked bacon, avocado, hard-boiled egg, and blue cheese tossed together in a creamy, earthy green goddess dressing. The plating is part of the fun, since the salad comes shaped in a perfect little cylindrical tower that one can then demolish and devour. I'm just now training myself to like blue cheese, and that made it slightly harder for me to truly adore the salad -- although it did give me progress in my training.<br /><br />For our entrees, Mom and I decided to split the gnocchi (she'd heard my raves and wanted to see what the fuss was all about) and the soup du jour, an artichoke-brie soup. The gnocchi were good, of course, and so was the soup, although I felt it had far too much artichoke and Mom thought it had far too much brie. Go figure. In any case, there was not a good balance of flavor, and I also had to put in lots of black pepper, which I hate doing since I think any dish should come properly seasoned.<br /><br />In total: Martinique is a blessing to have in the neighborhood, particularly for the nights when other nearby places (Reginelli's, Taqueria) just don't cut it. The service could be better but the restaurant itself is well in tune with its identity, and it produces quintessential, delicious bistro food every time.Rémy Roberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04329957954850709207noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7470684677483691530.post-22520847524408631832009-01-14T22:41:00.003-06:002009-01-19T15:38:29.840-06:00The glory of the noodle.It's been a deplorably long time since my double feature at Martinique (dinner two nights in a row! Would you believe?), but anyway. All I'll say now is that I had some really fabulous gnocchi that prompted the thought: what does gnocchi translate to in Italian? I had heard that it came from the Italian word for "pasta," but of course I had to check my sources before I could blog about it. I was ultimately led into an extravagant process of tracing linguistic roots that involved conceiving of every pasta name I could think of and attempting to translate each one back.<br /><br />Without further ado, here goes... I apologize if your favorite noodle has been excluded; most likely, the reason is that the translation was far too boring or redundant to be of any interest to anyone. Pictures of some of the more intriguing pasta shapes are underneath the names.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Campanelle</span>: little bells<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.industryplayer.com/images/licrespic/gigli3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 260px;" src="http://www.industryplayer.com/images/licrespic/gigli3.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Conchiglie</span>: shells<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Fusilli</span>: from "fusile," or rifle, in reference to a rifle's screw-shaped barrel?<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Orecchiette</span>: little ears<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.pizzicodisale.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/09/orecchiete_broccoli.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 260px;" src="http://www.pizzicodisale.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/09/orecchiete_broccoli.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Strozzapreti</span>: priest-stranglers (!!!)<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.casaitalia.com.au/products/pasta/pa441_strozzapreti.png"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 260px;" src="http://www.casaitalia.com.au/products/pasta/pa441_strozzapreti.png" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Cannelloni</span>: big reeds<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Cavatappi</span>: corkscrews<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.dkimages.com/discover/previews/759/350853.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 260px;" src="http://www.dkimages.com/discover/previews/759/350853.JPG" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Manicotti</span>: sleeves<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.thatsanice.com/tan_images/recipe_pics/SicilianSpinachManicotti.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 260px;" src="http://www.thatsanice.com/tan_images/recipe_pics/SicilianSpinachManicotti.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Mostaccioli </span>(like smooth penne): mustaches!<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Penne</span>: pens (boring)<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Rigatoni</span>: from riga --> line<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Spaghetti</span>: from spago --> twine<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Vermicelli</span>: little worms (appetizing)<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.mgpasta.co.za/Products/Long/Pictures/vermicelli.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 260px;" src="http://www.mgpasta.co.za/Products/Long/Pictures/vermicelli.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Capellini</span>: thin hair<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Fettucini</span>: little ribbons<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Linguini</span>: little tongues<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Lasagne</span>: cooking pot<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Agnolotti</span>: lambs' ears<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.xylzg.com.cn/wspx/yanwsh/agnolotti.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 260px;" src="http://www.xylzg.com.cn/wspx/yanwsh/agnolotti.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Gnocchi</span>: from gnocco --> a knot in the wood<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Ravioli</span>: little turnips<br /><br />Also, just a quick to-do list, so I don't forget:<br />Martinique<br />Lilette<br />Sucre<br />Baru<br />HerbsaintRémy Roberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04329957954850709207noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7470684677483691530.post-42402273890437050782009-01-07T23:53:00.005-06:002009-01-08T00:02:46.309-06:00FLUFFY LUV PATTIES......or the greatest chocolate chip cookies known to mankind. How many people can honestly say that they themselves created the best chocolate chip cookie they've ever tasted? I am a lucky girl indeed. Jenna and I make these whenever we're together. They are so called because, well, they are chewy and perfectly fluffy (which is to say, not dense in the least bit), so full of love that one can even misspell the word, with a flavor vaguely redolent of tollhouse cookies but infinitely better because, duh, they're fresh. Mmmmm the butter. There's just enough salt in there that you get that very subtle aftertaste that prevents the cookie from being cloying. Here we are with the cookies; obviously, we hadn't stirred in the chocolate chips during the photo shoot, since they looked so much prettier in that freshly-poured puddle:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg3QXIrJZLvV2Zj9lXz_q25qgXlrjJLlK4YQzDzCHaJc6Kc_Xqu03eFbS0xPvl3Cq2b4csgK55SgskB5GZ2jDipGBEJVkr_AdqMjKaj4RJUbpnOAvqn2p2g1ey4Y8oeb3qLmHtomx8-yU/s1600-h/IMG_0096.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg3QXIrJZLvV2Zj9lXz_q25qgXlrjJLlK4YQzDzCHaJc6Kc_Xqu03eFbS0xPvl3Cq2b4csgK55SgskB5GZ2jDipGBEJVkr_AdqMjKaj4RJUbpnOAvqn2p2g1ey4Y8oeb3qLmHtomx8-yU/s320/IMG_0096.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288798049986584706" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjiA2f00WgB9_-6Hg9w0e97DoFQxMTOIVhTAoIghzIs__-kO4ufewnEMw7-WXmZoa68T2UoT-j5MsLDdrD9-FiTioL41oLPBoMPgwgJy49VCfiOI1SW7M8EDO9TguTF3g9YJhxcDP7KeM/s1600-h/IMG_0095.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjiA2f00WgB9_-6Hg9w0e97DoFQxMTOIVhTAoIghzIs__-kO4ufewnEMw7-WXmZoa68T2UoT-j5MsLDdrD9-FiTioL41oLPBoMPgwgJy49VCfiOI1SW7M8EDO9TguTF3g9YJhxcDP7KeM/s320/IMG_0095.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288798046054135506" /></a><br /><br />Okay, yeah, we were too hyper to scrape that little clump of flour off the side of the bowl (honestly, we didn't even notice it was there; I'm just now noticing it), but the cookies didn't suffer for it, I promise. The patch of white on my cheek is thanks to the flour that Jenna hurled at me vindictively.Rémy Roberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04329957954850709207noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7470684677483691530.post-59242817374906859912009-01-06T18:31:00.009-06:002009-01-08T00:02:19.597-06:00St. James, and an overload on hyperlinksI really don't need to write yet another blog entry about either this place or this sandwich, considering the relative frequency at which they appear in my thoughts and in my <a href="http://passionfruitbutter.blogspot.com/2008/12/iberico-bellota.html">writing</a> (also <a href="http://passionfruitbutter.blogspot.com/2008/11/ode-to-sandwiches.html">here</a>)<br /><br />So a picture (or a few) will have to suffice, courtesy of the fantastic and utterly adorable digital camera that was given to me for Christmas by my fantastic and utterly adorable mother! As you may have surmised, I got the mozzarella. After having tried sandwiches with roast beef and smokey blue cheese, with turkey and avocado and basil and tomato and sharp white cheddar (varying between Beecher's and Grafton), and with gruyere and caramelized onions on a really nutty grainy bread (like a dressed-up, all-grown-up grilled cheese), I see now that this one is my favorite. As I wrote that last sentence, "gruyere" was just on the tip of my tongue and I was going crazy trying to think of the name of this fantastic cheese that I eat all the time. I found the St. James <a href="http://stjamescheese.com">website</a> and was blown away by how engaging and interactive and well-designed it is. It's only fitting, I guess. You should definitely investigate. Now I'd die for the <a href="http://www.artisanalcheese.com/prodinfo.asp?number=10404">piave</a> with salami rosa, spicy radish sprouts, garlic mayo, and dijon mustard on toasted rye. MMMM. Next time, I might just try that one (although I keep saying that about literally every single thing on the <a href="http://stjamescheese.com/menu.html">menu</a> and really just hope one day I'll be brave (and rich) enough to walk in and order each and every thing.<br /><br />But I digress. Hopefully my pictures are sufficient testimony to the Fra Mani salami and fresh basil pine nut pesto and lovely white meltiness that completely blankets the ciabatta. There's also a photo of my really yummy blood orange soda, simply because it tastes the way a sundress feels at Jazz Fest.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNIucxwqQCgDs6moL0ULuKMQRStsqDXpfozjZ10R7oz0dsk3nGzBfQ2l_N_QHdVrAXhtXjcA13sZIG4XSwnkkSpbKym493OK4mxOC7lcy2YLaG-2GrA9H2kMPxvLTKHyYBbb_FBVG5vL8/s1600-h/IMG_0087.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNIucxwqQCgDs6moL0ULuKMQRStsqDXpfozjZ10R7oz0dsk3nGzBfQ2l_N_QHdVrAXhtXjcA13sZIG4XSwnkkSpbKym493OK4mxOC7lcy2YLaG-2GrA9H2kMPxvLTKHyYBbb_FBVG5vL8/s320/IMG_0087.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288795535526225698" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOQayWcAgCYRLqip8ayGXiVEM_0DJDWVYhvRCHxcXXQrlRv78c9ObGiYVamiI0cC7YCP8anzeZLXfpiLbGBNFI7URbgnGZspg6LZg11czMhYcwe6WIpr5tR1td25_j9fM-U9XWFDxAjLQ/s1600-h/IMG_0089.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOQayWcAgCYRLqip8ayGXiVEM_0DJDWVYhvRCHxcXXQrlRv78c9ObGiYVamiI0cC7YCP8anzeZLXfpiLbGBNFI7URbgnGZspg6LZg11czMhYcwe6WIpr5tR1td25_j9fM-U9XWFDxAjLQ/s320/IMG_0089.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288795540735891506" /></a><br />Note the impossibly poetic layers of salami and cheese, with the pesto as a tasteful and artfully executed garnish that isn't overpowering at all. It's the ultimate sidekick -- supportive but not overbearing.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtkgucHIP3XnHRBv3th-hnPofgo6DEiJSg3bW8BfI2ZlP-ji1Vmp5hw-YHixp4rOURszkquEFleg1exdd9-APsTC2jm6WinjdszDEP2idONoyamm1gBttLBpC714f7wSuJLLxtUjwHQrY/s1600-h/IMG_0090.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtkgucHIP3XnHRBv3th-hnPofgo6DEiJSg3bW8BfI2ZlP-ji1Vmp5hw-YHixp4rOURszkquEFleg1exdd9-APsTC2jm6WinjdszDEP2idONoyamm1gBttLBpC714f7wSuJLLxtUjwHQrY/s320/IMG_0090.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288795546349812962" /></a><br />And here's the drink of perfection.Rémy Roberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04329957954850709207noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7470684677483691530.post-61349265248342027422009-01-06T17:43:00.000-06:002009-01-15T11:44:11.763-06:00Not so crabbyOne would think that a restaurant called Crabby Jack's would at the very least have one fried softshell crab po-boy to offer me in my dire hunger. I found no such luck when Mom and I walked into the charmingly squat little shack on Jefferson Highway, which is not to say that I didn't have an overall delightful po-boy experience.<br /><br />The menu at Crabby Jack's is really one to be celebrated. Mom and I decided to split two small po-boys -- same overall amount of food, but twice as much variety. You really can't go wrong. Our first choice was the slow-roasted duck po-boy, a true specialty of Crabby Jack's that I haven't found anywhere else, but the girl ringing us up told us they were already sold out of it (and this was at lunchtime! The horrors). So we decided to get fried green tomatoes with shrimp remoulade and cochon de lait. Turns out cochon de lait is also sold out, so we stuck with half-and-half (fried shrimp, fried oyster).<br /><br />We managed to find a seat, and if you've ever been to Crabby Jack's, you know that that is no easy task. The seating arrangement there is such that there's one looonnggg table in the middle of the room, a long countertop with barstools, and a couple of smaller tables. We snagged two spots at a smaller table and hungrily (HUNGRILY, as it was already 1 at this point) awaited our meal.<br /><br />I had high hopes for the fried green tomatoes and shrimp remoulade. The tomatoes were fried in a very perfect batter, and I was perfectly content and excited by them. The shrimp, however, slightly disappointed me, but I think it was more due to the fact that I really was disoriented by the presence of something cold in a sandwich that is typically filled to the brim with juicy hot fried things. The remoulade sauce was pretty good, although it was more soupy and less spicy than I prefer. Ironically, the old standby of half-and-half ultimately stole the show. Crabby Jack's is famous for filling its sandwiches with so much seafood that you could make a whole sandwich with all the stuff that falls out of the bread. Hands cannot fully contain the immensity that lies within that lovely bread, which shatters at first nibble as any good po-boy bread should. I was more than happy to settle for nibbling on the straggling shrimp and oysters, though it's true that they could easily have comprised a sandwich for someone else.<br /><br />All in all, it's a great po-boy joint. Like I've said before, every po-boy joint needs to have a hook, just as every college applicant needs to have a hook (can you tell I've been brainwashed by all my apps?). My hook is a love for chocolate and gastronomy that borders on the insane. Crabby Jack's' (is that grammatically correct?) hook is that their menu contains all the staples and throws in a few zingers to entertain a palate that might be growing bored. I am eagerly anticipating my next jaunt there -- Mom and I have already narrowed down our selections to three (roast beef, cochon de lait, slow-roasted duck) and are agonizing over which to ultimately eliminate.Rémy Roberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04329957954850709207noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7470684677483691530.post-30282555922435416422008-12-31T01:17:00.001-06:002008-12-31T01:18:46.625-06:00It's been a while.College applications. Lots of them. But they're due by 11:59 pm tonight (December 31) so I'll be back in food writing mode shortly. I've got some writing to do about Crabby Jack's and Martinique. Soon. But not now.Rémy Roberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04329957954850709207noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7470684677483691530.post-57861447933750160572008-12-24T13:00:00.013-06:002008-12-27T19:49:31.536-06:00P1 and other wondersI've realized something recently. 99% of the time, when we decide to allot more attention, time, and effort to something, we burn out, get fed up, and become utterly exasperated with that which previously commanded our extra attention. It can happen with everything from schoolwork to relationships. Things just get old. But here I am, and I've started a food blog on a whim, and given that I'm a pretty driven girl, I'm devoting myself to maintaining this, if for no other reason than that it is hopefully preparing me for my career. Yet I haven't even begun to burn out. The reality of writing this has bolstered my initial interest, and it has lodged food into my permanent consciousness to the point where I deliberately seek out inspiration for my frequent little quips. Amen!<br /><br />Moving on. For those of you who don't know, there's this incredible art biennial here in New Orleans called Prospect.1 (is that properly punctuated? I can't seem to ever get it right). There are literally artists from the world over using every medium you can dream of, displaying their art at tons and tons of venues across the city. It's a big deal. A darling family friend, <a href="http://buckinghamstudio.com">David Buckingham</a>, has his art over at the Universal Furniture Store. He uses found metal to craft these wild, fantastic, sometimes quite offensive wonders. This is what he has at P1 (from Pulp Fiction):<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNWD-VgSb5v3at0aALJMvZlhchA0r9fnlc0ic4y03qnxmIVsmY2b_mX2qISQ0XJibu0F-fN5zidToW8KsLAIbieJ6qdR3PTnhs5nMoTZpst2eEA9ChRRuYoriX4d6ox096CLf3GNrmBFA/s1600-h/david+english+motherfucker.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 171px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNWD-VgSb5v3at0aALJMvZlhchA0r9fnlc0ic4y03qnxmIVsmY2b_mX2qISQ0XJibu0F-fN5zidToW8KsLAIbieJ6qdR3PTnhs5nMoTZpst2eEA9ChRRuYoriX4d6ox096CLf3GNrmBFA/s320/david+english+motherfucker.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5283434099754855458" /></a><br />Anyway, at the CAC, there are these two sculptures of sorts made by Lee Bul. The first is this glorious, delightful, frivolous, borderline garish chandelier-esque structure, draped elaborately with glass and beads and chains that reflect light in every which way. Its framework is spirally and ornate, reminiscent of pirate ships or even a tiny metropolis, bedecked in jewels.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA5HJZjHEWLzIjJO0Ma-hDbiywwL-wOKXOOVmBBhcfru4qdBJGCu3Y_nX94G__vlNNo37C6BWAhXov35q4vG6XUcO4W4tzd8RznZf4JrJXsScDJ7QKH6a3Ppb5eJ8clDEKu1dd6cyNOZ0/s1600-h/lee+bul+chandelierish.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA5HJZjHEWLzIjJO0Ma-hDbiywwL-wOKXOOVmBBhcfru4qdBJGCu3Y_nX94G__vlNNo37C6BWAhXov35q4vG6XUcO4W4tzd8RznZf4JrJXsScDJ7QKH6a3Ppb5eJ8clDEKu1dd6cyNOZ0/s320/lee+bul+chandelierish.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5283434794393692898" /></a><br />Opposite this ostentatious masterpiece is its counterpart, a hulking blackblackblack bunker. It looks like a miniature cave, with a molded fiberglass shell and rocky peaks. On its own, it's morbid and base and slightly confounding at first glance -- an abstract manifestation of the elephant in the room, this gargantuan behemoth that seems out of place on the mirrored floor of the gallery. Two things contradict this first impression, though: first, its simple juxtaposition with what we will refer to as the chandelier calls in a yin and yang perspective that helps add insight and intrigue. More importantly, though, is the realization that the bunker is more than something to look at. Walk inside, put on the headset, and whisper -- strike up a conversation -- break out in a spontaneous tap dance. Every slight sound that is captured in that cave is magnified by about a thousand times, so that even if you're restricting your noise to the most basic and quiet noises necessitated by life itself, you hear this uproarious, unnerving, discordant cacophony in the headset. It's just wild.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe12PHzsOTebQJ2DTYJvDAk2sFNRzeEcESNpL4ebwoUeXwQvJR_BuM_7qYQioYtIJzrjgcDpUeynY3QEYtPiCKh0yJbJ3aOX1rsQNy8S6MnV1vtu1nZaQqa8uSYZFiq0NSEb7_yWTikE8/s1600-h/lee+bul+bunker.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 251px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe12PHzsOTebQJ2DTYJvDAk2sFNRzeEcESNpL4ebwoUeXwQvJR_BuM_7qYQioYtIJzrjgcDpUeynY3QEYtPiCKh0yJbJ3aOX1rsQNy8S6MnV1vtu1nZaQqa8uSYZFiq0NSEb7_yWTikE8/s320/lee+bul+bunker.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5283436911490969714" /></a><br />And, okay, so this is a food blog, not an art blog. I'm here to talk to you about dishes and techniques and chefs on whom I have crushes, not so much about sculptures and structures that have caught my eye. But all this build-up does, indeed, have a culinary purpose. Because in my later reflections on those two pieces, I felt that kind of singular, rare inspiration that makes you truly proud to find. The notion of that dichotomy captivated me, and I started dreaming up flavors that reflected a similar duality. Here's a short list of my inspiration thus far, the first item as the chandelier and the second as the bunker:<br />* Ebullient champagne / dark amber beer<br />* Fluffy vanilla meringue / dense, flourless chocolate cake<br />* Shaved hearts of palm with fresh lemon juice / warm, earthy beets (can you tell Lilette inspired this one?)<br />* Tangy, zingy, flaky-white ceviche / decadent grits and grillades<br />* Tart balsamic vinegar / velvety olive oil<br />* Mahony's ethereal onion rings / Mahony's roast beef po-boy with wine-y dark gravy<br />* Wasabi / roux<br />* Sorbet / foie gras<br />* Passionfruit / eggplant<br /><br />Take the idea and run with it! Let me know if you have any whimsical ideas of your own.Rémy Roberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04329957954850709207noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7470684677483691530.post-32969034204669194542008-12-20T11:17:00.009-06:002008-12-24T15:04:06.670-06:00Iberico bellotaSo now I'm officially done with my last set of high school midterms and I've got an entire two weeks ahead of me to think about food. I'm hoping to visit Lilette, Herbsaint, Cochon, and Tony Angelo's over the break. Of course, the first is a favorite and the others are places I tragically have yet to taste. My very culinary aunt raves about Tony Angelo's frog legs. I'll be writing.<br /><br />I was leafing through the January issue of Food & Wine, reading about food trends of 2009 and new restaurants to visit and great things to try cooking at home. As usual, it was all I could do not to eat off my hand. No kitchen is satisfactory to my obscure cravings after I see glimmering photos of new dishes like Mario Batali's Fusilli alla Crazy Bastard or after I read Lettie Teague's 2009 wine diary.<br /><br />Anyway, St. James sounded fantastic for lunch with my mom -- to me, its spot in New Orleans' restaurant world is as that girl who just throws on an outfit and looks effortlessly, enviably cool. Its cheese assortment borders on the profound, the sandwiches are always elegantly divine in a very simple way, and the chutneys and spreads that line the walls for purchase are adorable in a terrifically sophisticated yet genuine and humble way.<br /><br />I almost got the ploughman's lunch, which has an assortment of cheeses (cheddar, Stilton, and one other kind, which has not yet lodged itself in my memory since I have not yet eaten it), pate, and chutney. The problem was that, while it was everything I had been craving recently, it was not what I was craving right then. I stuck with a sandwich: turkey, tomato, avocado, basil, and a magnificent cheddar.<br /><br />As we were paying, we saw a sign advertising a new shipment that had come to the store. It was called iberico bellota and a sample plate was eight dollars. We wondered, a sample plate? Almost ten dollars? What could this possibly be? As it turns out, it's the creme de la creme of ham, made of hogs who are fed only acorns for the duration of their lives at pasture. It's also $80 a pound. We considered: this is either horrifically indulgent or so supremely perfect that it's worth it. I decided we should have it. I am, after all, an aspiring food writer and should take every chance I get to dabble.<br /><br />As it turns out, the latter of our expectations was the correct one. Oh. My. God. This ham was beyond compare. We got a simple white plate that bore four thin ribbons of this legendary iberico bellota. No oils, no garnishes, no trappings, just unadulterated meat too perfect to be tainted by anything but its own essence.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6q71el5LmkpPIl47HEGzUXh9xT97pTxcD8N21fTQ4MvLRToCtp1q5fzcsjiCtZPChdlEmx03pgIt5N_CG_7RWEXOiecNKJWHQnNHByLORqJkEaqjClDu7iczkEtC1QeCH6_GLp4okwcM/s1600-h/IMG00299.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6q71el5LmkpPIl47HEGzUXh9xT97pTxcD8N21fTQ4MvLRToCtp1q5fzcsjiCtZPChdlEmx03pgIt5N_CG_7RWEXOiecNKJWHQnNHByLORqJkEaqjClDu7iczkEtC1QeCH6_GLp4okwcM/s320/IMG00299.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282037622220174482" /></a><br /><br />It's wonderfully oily in a totally organic way that isn't heavy at all. The acorns lend themselves to the flavor, which is nutty and earthy and briney and ever so slightly buttery. It tastes like salted caramel, and it's so velvety and impossibly rich that I'd snap it up as a dessert in an instant. This is not the type of ham to put on a sandwich. This isn't deli meat or something to fry up for breakfast. This is elemental ham, platonic ham, the form of ham. It's fantastic and worth every cent and, dare I say, reduces prosciutto to the level of Oscar Mayer.<br /><br />Also, as a quick last note: yesterday, I took my dear friend E. Leigh to Gumbo Shop -- she was born and raised here, moved away after her dad got a job teaching at Clemson in South Carolina, and hasn't been back for a year and a half. The Gumbo Shop is the embodiment of food to which locals become accustomed but which is craved by the rest of the world after first taste. I got a small cup of seafood (meaning shrimp and crab) and okra gumbo, which duly came with rice and had an admirable, rich brown roux that was NEARLY as thick as cake batter. I also got alligator sausage, which was a special; I'd actually never tried alligator meat before (!). The dish came with two small sausages with a special, sweet-spicy side of something vaguely resembling creole mustard on the side. And the meat was sweet!Rémy Roberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04329957954850709207noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7470684677483691530.post-31650282458118118732008-12-11T23:56:00.003-06:002008-12-12T00:10:36.687-06:00Feast your eyes, lambs...because unless you're ridiculously fortunate, your eyes will be the only things feasting on this marvelous array of foods from French Laundry in the Napa Valley.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1X412ExLrI3b4ESwptXxK0tMAjrE8nOsdU8jM5c7ej9HRMYI0HcSdzFOLestfGXhANt1bQwB5Ft6EvMBd1Cv3sJJe3VtPbCrAnGwLWwW3dut3wIQH4A7GnFowzthyphenhyphenW5olN8EzgF-t29M/s1600-h/butter-poached+lobster,+king+richard+leeks,+pommes+maxims,+red+beet+essence.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1X412ExLrI3b4ESwptXxK0tMAjrE8nOsdU8jM5c7ej9HRMYI0HcSdzFOLestfGXhANt1bQwB5Ft6EvMBd1Cv3sJJe3VtPbCrAnGwLWwW3dut3wIQH4A7GnFowzthyphenhyphenW5olN8EzgF-t29M/s320/butter-poached+lobster,+king+richard+leeks,+pommes+maxims,+red+beet+essence.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278780348185379890" /></a><br />My family used to vacation in Sorrento, Maine, and we'd always stop at this restaurant on the water where one could get the freshest of fresh Maine lobster for a ridiculously low price, considering. You sat with bibs at picnic tables, swabbing your lobster in melted butter, while water rushed over rocks in the river. So of course, lobster is sentimental for me as it is. It's like dessert, no matter how you do it. In this case, it's poached in butter and served with King Richard leeks, pommes maxims (imagine a gourmet potato chip), and red beet essence. Mmmm.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSdsHoz3Njs9tMOtwPlUEaoKVf5dZBITKn6WFg6bsWtiYe-ezCOvCEf_NPTgnkRUWOoFZIzvKmMoxZPEHl-vYGJe-5rp30w0iI6KvWvGdkbPshWfGkIvDIyuZp6f9bxz_ZDkOf_I0RNFk/s1600-h/delice+au+chocolat+et+a+la+menthe.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSdsHoz3Njs9tMOtwPlUEaoKVf5dZBITKn6WFg6bsWtiYe-ezCOvCEf_NPTgnkRUWOoFZIzvKmMoxZPEHl-vYGJe-5rp30w0iI6KvWvGdkbPshWfGkIvDIyuZp6f9bxz_ZDkOf_I0RNFk/s320/delice+au+chocolat+et+a+la+menthe.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278780515309221490" /></a><br />It seems that this is essentially a glorified chocolate-mint ice cream sandwich, done with Thomas Keller's unique finesse.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilTKsWPJNY8OK2gKbeR2mfAjzLDMYyE6Lj8BGgy6XHBiw-Yhpi0Q6Otbgz6GPrkBg6sV_vjwG57WW5jeXjYKEBN0rudSna_aOPqquexXQQ-NKe0ivO_4yM1ipoo-xZmrwKR77RWMGfDXA/s1600-h/truffles.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilTKsWPJNY8OK2gKbeR2mfAjzLDMYyE6Lj8BGgy6XHBiw-Yhpi0Q6Otbgz6GPrkBg6sV_vjwG57WW5jeXjYKEBN0rudSna_aOPqquexXQQ-NKe0ivO_4yM1ipoo-xZmrwKR77RWMGfDXA/s320/truffles.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278780599228576402" /></a><br />These are the truffles they serve you at the end of your meal. The ones second from the left look like Sucre's port chocolates. They're all beautiful. For some reason, the one on the right cracks me up -- it's faceted like a precious gem!<br /><br />Credit to Google Images. I wish I could say I'd taken them.Rémy Roberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04329957954850709207noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7470684677483691530.post-49255304879919747042008-12-11T17:53:00.006-06:002008-12-12T00:10:53.485-06:00M.F.K. Fisher, a food writer in a league of her own.<span style="font-size:100%;">It seems that this woman is appearing far too serendipitously in snippets of my conversation these days: with my poetry teacher; with my women's history teacher; over a bowl of buttered spaghetti, a simple dish that Fisher champions, with my mom; with my classmates, who are curious as to why I am lugging around this 800-page volume entitled <span style="font-style: italic;">The Art of Eating</span>; and, today, with Julia Reed, a food columnist at Newsweek who spoke at my school. In any case, Fisher is a major part of my life right now, and given that I am far too broke from Christmas shopping to enjoy an actual meal out right now, the next best foodie thing to write about is a fellow epicure.
<br />
<br />Perhaps this excerpt from <span style="font-style: italic;">The Gastronomical Me</span> sums it up best:</span> <meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CRROBER%7E1.THE%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--><meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CRROBER%7E1.THE%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--><span style="font-size:100%;"> "It seems to me that our basic needs, for food and security and love, are so mixed and mingled and entwined that we cannot straightly think of one without the others. So it happens that when I write of hunger, I am really writing about love and the hunger for it, and warmth and the love of it and the hunger for it... and then the warmth and richness and fine reality of hunger satisfied... and it is all one."
<br />
<br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">A more serious or self-respecting gourmet might spend seven pages elaborating on how and why P is for Pasta, or Parmigiano Reggiano, or Panna Cotta, or Pâté. Fisher, though, is an entirely different story, and although she does pay homage to Pâté in a single page, she chooses to devote seven pages to a chapter entitled P is for Peas. (Later on, I might add, she spends only four pages on how R is for Romantic, glossing briefly over the inextricable connection between food and love.) Such is Fisher's eccentric and whimsical <i style="">Alphabet for Gourmets, </i>in which<i style=""> </i>letter designations exactingly and comically refrain from the trite, so that C is for Cautious rather than Coulis and H is for Happy as opposed to Hamachi. Perhaps it's not the most elevated book out there as food literature goes, but it is undoubtedly among the most genuine, and that, in short, is Fisher's hook.
<br />
<br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">What is most alluring about Fisher is her effervescent wit and infectious passion. Important to note is the fact that Fisher is not just a food writer the way Brett Anderson is for the Times-Picayune. As opposed to an author of ephemerally significant newspaper reviews, she is a writer unto herself; her subject of choice just happens to be food rather than star-crossed lovers or the American Dream. Her writing style has an effect similar to that of an effortless host: instantly relaxing, humbled, and infinitely inviting in its lack of pretension. Rather than elevate herself superficially with typical food jargon, she has a no-nonsense but all-<span style="font-style: italic;">joie de vivre </span>approach, so that one can read it without a familiarity with typical culinary semantics. She's a real human being, concerned more with the sentimentality of a certain meal than with emulsions or aromatics, who </span><meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CRROBER%7E1.THE%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--><meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CRROBER%7E1.THE%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Sec</style><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CRROBER%7E1.THE%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="City"></o:smarttagtype></span><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} p.MsoHeader, li.MsoHeader, div.MsoHeader {margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; tab-stops:center 3.0in right 6.0in; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]-->can devote solid, sincere writing in praise of kasha, the simple oatmeal-esque dish pervasive in Eastern Europe, just as well as she can effortlessly discuss the gastronomical benefits of beluga caviar or <i style="">pâté de foie gras truffé en brioche. </i>Regardless of her topic, there is a sheer joy that glimmers through every word, and why wouldn't you want to read that?<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"></span><meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> </p> Rémy Roberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04329957954850709207noreply@blogger.com1