I am taking a fun class this semester in the Food Studies program at NYU. It is called Urban Foragers, but I think of it as Food Field Trips. Every week we go out into a neighborhood and sample the food, and do readings on the neighborhood's "food voice", ie: how its people have expressed themselves with food through the years. The food is great and it's also reviving my love for the city, which always flags a bit this time of year.
Yesterday we toured the Lower East Side, where there is this charged mix of the remnants of old Jewish tenement life, coexisting with new flashy glam NYC marketing. Here are some of the highlights:
379 Grand Street
This place falls into the category of New LES -- Valronha Chocolate, swanky font, hipster name, etc -but garners some old LES street cred because the owner uses his grandfather's recipes to make incredible donuts, both yeasted- and cake-style.
My professor was saying something about the architectural miracle of Donut Plant's square jelly donut...
but in my book the Carrot Cake Donut was the real miracle, the one that, while I was eating, I was thinking -- I'm coming back here after I pick up my kids. We are coming back TODAY...
Sorry, no pictures of the actual carrot cake donut. This was our first stop, and you try to get in front of a pack of hungry students descending on a huge tray of cut up donuts. Or, rather, you choose between taking a picture of a donut, or eating a donut.
That was kind of a problem through the whole tour, actually. You'll see. (Laboratorio del Gelato did not even get a single picture, of storefront or gelato, which tells you a bit about where my focus was when we stopped there.)
367 Grand Street
Our next stop, just a few doors down was Kossar's Bialys.
Question: why did bagels catch on, to the point that bagels have come to symbolize America, and bialys are a cultural artifact stuck in the Lower East Side? My professor theorized that bagels last longer. I theorize that they also taste better. Bialys are floury. They're good, and really tasty with cream cheese. But not as amazing as a really great twisty chewy bagel.
And yet, even as I so brutally dismiss the bialy, you may observe that my camera was apparently crammed deep in my pocket when my actual bialy landed in my hand. Nice pictures of the store front and some bialystock inside. No pictures of the bialy I actually ate with a schmeer of vegetable cream cheese.
49 Essex Street
This was a great place. What's not to love? Okay, I didn't love that the pickled carrots were made with baby carrots. Ew. You mean they didn't grow their carrots and have a surplus that they had to pickle? Wait, is all of this made from industrially-produced non-organic produce? Oh. My. God. Okay, whatever. The pickles were GREAT! I loved the pickled okra. I loved the pickled grape tomatoes. I loved the half-sour bright green pickled cucumbers. The olives were great, too. Everything was great.
108 Rivington Street
Next stop: Candy Land!
I have already blogged several times about my nostalgic love for old-fashioned candy shops. This one -- the sole survivor of a what was once an entire row of candy stores back in the day -- rises above the others I've visited for its sheer NYC-dollar-store-style of crazy over-abundance of every kind of crappy- and high end- and nostalgic- and novelty- candy product in the world. Foot-high Pez dispensers. A boxed set of Wizard of Oz collectible Pezzes. Lollipops the size of mid-90's dinner plates. Jordan almonds in every color, Miso Pretty chewing gums, dried fruit, Clove Gum, old-fashioned marshmallow cups, re-issue lunchboxes, high end chocolates, pastilles in beautiful tin boxes, candy necklaces so long you could double-loop them... I dream of setting my kids down in this place, just for the perverse pleasure of watching them flip out and go on overload.
205 East Houston Street
Here's where the big guns came out. No more mincing around with bits of donuts and shared bialys. Our next stop was Katz's deli, home of the overstuffed deli sandwich, the weird ticket system, and the egg cream. It's also where Harry and Sally had their famous orgasm conversation.
First, a confession. I've never been here.
And okay, let's get it out right off the bat. No, I did not sit at the Orgasm Table.
We sat in the way back, the better to unload our smuggled in pickles. There were about 15 of us, so we got platters of pastrami, tongue, sauerkraut and bread. Not sure if the make-your-own-sandwich is a normal option, but I was into it. One of the reasons I've never come here is because I don't really want a sandwich with four inches of lunch meat. An inch, maybe. But I have to say, the pastrami was amazing.
So was the tongue. So was the sauerkraut. Yes, this is heart attack fare. But, once in a while...? Come on.
The egg creams were great too. An egg cream, as you may already know, is made of chocolate syrup, milk and seltzer. Some people think its name comes from chocolate et creme. Get it? Et creme? Egg cream? There are lots of other theories, including one guy who says his father's soda fountain in turn-of-the-century Brooklyn invented the egg cream and used eggs in it. Who knows? Anyone, I have great plans to turn my kids onto this old-fashioned soda. ("Chocolate soda?" my son said with disdain. "No. That's just wrong." We'll see.More on that later.)
The hot dogs were kind of a revelation. Have I just been eating turkey dogs all these years? Was it the whole wheat buns? Is it the nitrites? Or are Katz's hot dogs just really amazing? God, I don't know, but this was the best hot dog I've had in ages. I can't describe it without sounding like I am writing porn. It was so good.
You would think we would be full. We were. But we were not finished. We had now been walking and eating for about three hours. But we still had one more stop.
Russ and Daughters
179 East Houston Street
This is the kind of place that could make you weep, if it caught you at the right time. It is just so beautiful. Smoked fishes, dried fruits, citrus-colored candies, everything gleaming and gorgeously arranged. It's like a working shrine to food. It's like when you go to Italy for the first time. Here you've grown up in the US used to seeing art kept in its special place in the museums, and then, in a totally separate sphere, the throngs of lowly humanity going about its business on the streets. And then you go to Italy and you can't believe it but the throngs of people are doing their usual disgusting business -- eating, praying, kissing, spitting, etc-- but all the while within reach of these gorgeous masterpieces. R&D is like this. How can something so beautiful and sacred, this sparkling jewel of a place, sit on this dirty profane street and be used and eaten and partaken of by any schmuck with five bucks and a hankering for a bagel with lox spread? And yet that's what's so great about it.
Every time I go in there I think, I need to come back here ALL the time. Maybe that is what it is like for people who go to church regularly. Or the gym. My life would be so much better if I came here all the time.
This is Mark Federman, one of the sons of the daughters. He was a lawyer, but then he came back to the business. He gave us a whole charming spiel about the place, pointed out his daughter and nephew behind the counter, and sold us all even more on the place.
That's it for the tour. I'm still full.
Next week: Chinatown in Flushing!
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Sunday, September 6, 2009
My mother has a cookbook that warns that, around this time of year, it's best to keep your car's windows rolled up and doors locked, in case some "friend" unloads a bag of zucchini in your front seat while you're in the post office.
In gardening parts of the country, it's zucchini-overload season. Being an upstanding urban locavore, I feel compelled to pretend that I, too, am overloaded with zucchini. It is, after all, plentiful, cheap and grown within 500 miles. What should I do with it? How can I possibly use up all this local produce?
Grilling and sauteing are the obvious choices, but here are some other ideas:
1. Make a gratin. I like to layer zucchini with skinny eggplants and plum tomatoes. Unlike this Fine Cooking recipe for summer vegetable gratin, I add bread crumbs. My kids don't eat this. Neither does my husband, since he doesn't like eggplant. But I love it.
2. I love this breakfast: Grate a zucchini and scramble with an egg or two. Cook slowly in olive oil. I like to top with strips of nori and a dash of gomasio (sesame seeds, seaweed and sea salt).
3. Make Zucchini-Carrot Cupcakes. I used to start off my cooking classes with this recipe. Kids were all -- eeeuw, zucchini cupcakes?! But they loved them. It was always the most requested recipe at the end of the class. (But don't use confectioners sugar in the cream cheese frosting! Maple syrup is so much better.)
4. Stock up for the winter: grate or chop a whole mess of zucchini and place in big freezer bags. Lay flat and use a chopstick to score into a tic-tac-toe pattern. This way you can break off a square of zucchini, instead of taking a hatchet to a big frozen hunk.
5. Use in soup. Adding chopped zucchini to a summer minestrone soup (or any soup) at the last minute makes the soup bright and fresh. (Fresh tomatoes, green beans, or a splash of lemon juice or vinegar do this too.)
6. Chocolate and Zucchini Cake, courtesy of where else?, the Chocolate and Zucchini blog.
7. Zucchini Goat Cheese Pizza. This looks delicious. If your kids aren't likely to eat it, you could do a regular pizza for them at the same time.
8. Zucchini-cabbage saute. Slice into half moons and saute in olive oil with sliced cabbage -- slowly -- until soft. One of my mother's usual one-stewpot recipes, but this one is strangely, alchemically delicious. Under poached eggs, over rice, or just plain.
9. Sneak into spaghetti sauce. I usually am opposed to the sneaky-deceptive method, but this is the original move, the method the whole empire was based on. You don't even have to sneak it. You can just say that's how you make spaghetti sauce-- with grated zucchini. Which magically disappears.
10. Zucchini pancakes!
Posted by Larissa at 5:17 AM
Saturday, September 5, 2009
A food industry group is putting a "smart choice" label on foods like Froot Loops.
Some random quotes from the NYTimes article:
[T]he program’s criteria were based on government dietary guidelines and widely accepted nutritional standards.
“Froot Loops is an excellent source of many essential vitamins and minerals and it is also a good source of fiber with only 12 grams of sugar."
“small amounts of sugar” added to nutrient-dense foods like breakfast cereals can make them taste better. That, in theory, will encourage people to eat more of them, which would increase the nutrients in their diet.
One more reason to be suspicious of all government nutritional standards, and, in many cases, nutritionists.
Friday, September 4, 2009
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
While we were up in the Catskills, I had the experience of making as close to a perfect pie as I have ever made.
There were apple trees all over the place, but we didn't pay attention to them at first, because the apples were mostly small, gnarled little crabs. But one day I saw one on the ground that looked smooth and big. I picked it up and took a bite out of it. It was PERFECT.
We gathered a bunch. It turned out about half of them were inedibly sour and bitter, but most were merely eye-cinchingly tart. So I made a pie with these sour little buggers. It made me think that the distinction between "baking" apples and "eating" apples may have once carried much more weight than it does now. Because sour-ish apples mixed with a cup of sugar yields a perfectly tart, sweet pie.
Then, because it was summer and I had nothing else to do, I made a crust using the most neurotic, perfectionist, type-A recipe for pie crust I have ever heard of. It involved Zip-loc bags, and refrigerating bowls and flour, and freezing part of the butter, and apple cider vinegar. It's hard for me to follow these kinds of recipes, but I forced myself to pay attention. Wow was it worth it.
I know you can get away with a lot less effort and still get a great pie, but this was pretty perfect.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
I came back to Brooklyn to find the most amazing surprise: a dish of figs on the kitchen table, from our backyard tree.
I once said I would move to California if it meant I could have a fig tree. Then I found out you could grow them in Brooklyn, and, most improbably and idealistically, planted one smack in the middle of my tiny sliver of shady backyard. The kind of fig tree we have likes to sprawl and take over a sizeable portion of land as it bakes in many brutal hours of sunshine. We had no space, and lots of shade. Hmm.
But I kept pruning the tree, and showing it its one narrow pathway up high into the sunny sky. Through the years our neighbors kept trimming back their centuries-old tree that canopies out backyard, and this summer -- lo and behold, after six years of mid-summer shriveled baby figs -- our six-year-old tree suddenly figured out how to bring its babes to late summer maturity. Lots of them.
I scarfed down the three figs my husband had picked. Then today, I pulled over a ladder and picked a handful more. My daughter joined in, pointing out figs I hadn't seen, and insisting on getting to pick some of her own.
Chickens on a barge? Yeah, whatever. I've got figs in my part-shade Brooklyn backyard. I am in heaven over this.