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My First Gingerbread House (that I didn’t in any way construct)

plumpdumpling — Wed, 03 Mar 2010 20:30:50 +0000

Right before I left for Christmas break, my boyfriend and I watched a Food Network show about a company known for its pre-decorated gingerbread houses, and all we could talk about was how badly we wanted to rip the roof off of one of those things and go to town on it with our teeth.

Well, while we were in an-unnamed-discount-store-that’s-taking-over-the-world in December, my best friend, Tracey, and I spotted shelves loaded with gingerbread house kits for only $10 and decided to go for it, not only to make my boyfriend jealous but as an added benefit.

We imagined how hard it’d be to attach the roof to the sides, to keep ourselves from crushing the soft gingerbread underneath the weight of our decorations. What we didn’t find out until we got back to Tracey’s house and took the thing out of the box was that it was preassembled and hard as a rock. But hey, we’re lazy.

Can you imagine how great it is having the job of putting this thing together? Whoever it is obviously doesn’t have to be concerned with neatness, and I fantasize daily about slopping icing onto giant cookies.

The house came packaged with icing mix, hard candy balls, and spearmint leaves. Tracey added the orange slices because we’re gluttons.

Here’s Tracey making a wreath on the front of the house with the bowl of icing beside her. Mixing the icing powder into water was literally the only thing we had to do before we started decorating. You’ll note the giant K on the side of the roof, which I put there, because I’m narcissistic and also uncreative.

The finished product, with Tracey’s Christmas tree in the background to prove that we actually did do this in December and not just last week. Unless Tracey kept her Christmas tree up until March just in case we ever found a gingerbread house kit on super-clearance, which is quite possible.

Beauty shot! You’ll note the fine reindeer-covered fleece blanket Tracey held up as a backdrop for me.

Tracey posed for this picture in which she was pretending to go at the house with a spoon before we figured out that it required a hammer to actually break through any of the gingerbread.

Hard as it was, though, that shit was 4 realz delicious.

Stir It 28: Stirring Up Relief for Haiti

plumpdumpling — Thu, 18 Feb 2010 17:00:07 +0000

This Sunday, February 21st, food bloggers in several cities will be coming together to raise money for Yéle and Share Our Strength to provide help in Haiti.

Here are the details for NYC:

What:
door prizes, drinks, music, giveaways, and most importantly, a meal cooked by some of NYC’s up-and-coming chefs

Where:
NYU’s Department of Nutrition, Food Studies, and Public Health
35 W. 4th Street, 10th floor
New York, NY, 10012

When:
Sunday, February 21st
4 - 7 p.m.

Cost:
a $30 donation ($20 for students)

Check out Food GPS and The Duo Dishes for more information and to buy tickets.

This is Why the American People Shouldn’t Be Allowed to Choose Their Own President (6)

Douchebags at Dinner

plumpdumpling — Wed, 17 Feb 2010 17:00:56 +0000

Let me make it clear that I’ve only been eating at gourmet, celebrity-cheffed, critically-beloved restaurants for a couple of years now. Before I met my boyfriend, I enjoyed a lot of macaroni and cheese at home, and the most extravagant restaurant item I allowed myself to splurge on was the $14 guacamole at Rosa Mexicano.

So what I’m saying is–I don’t think I’m better than anyone else, really. But on Saturday night, my boyfriend and I were at Colicchio & Sons enjoying a lavish dinner when the table next to us was seated with douchebags. We were able to immediately recognize them as douchebags by the way two of them sat down, spread their knees about eight feet apart, and put their elbows up on the back of their booth while they surveyed the place. I wasn’t able to see the legs of the third one, and his chair wouldn’t allow him to put his elbows up on its back, but I knew he was a douchebag by association.

The first thing out of the mouth of the one next to me upon looking at the menu was, “Oh, sweetbreads. I love sweetbreads.” First of all, NO. No, you don’t. Nobody loves sweetbreads. They are cow pancreas, and they are not delicious. And second of all, you are a douchebag.

The thing is–I wouldn’t say I dislike sweetbreads. I think they’re interesting. I think it’s interesting that chefs are using them, and I think it’s interesting that we pay money for them, and I think it’s interesting that a really good chef can make them not-gross enough that we don’t feel stupid paying money for them.

But you know that’s not what this guy meant. What he meant was, “I’m trying to impress you by pretending I have some super-advanced palate that picks up the sweet delicate nuances of organ meats.” I hate eating next to people who are there to enjoy their status more than the food.

I know that once you get to a certain price point, the only people who can afford to eat at those restaurants are douchebags. (Except for my boyfriend, who worked hard and got his PhD and deserves what he has.) Everyone else is mostly finance types, you know, who got bachelor’s degrees and got to work making $100k their first year. And I know that a big part of being a douchebag is keeping up with and outdoing your douchebaggy friends. But still.

I expect to feel out of place at almost every restaurant we go to, but these guys looked at us so hard while I took pictures of my food and then passed my camera across the table to my boyfriend so he could take pictures of his for me. And then–AND THEN–

They had the audacity to order the gnocchi. And they pronounced it NO-key. Please do not judge me for being a food blogger and then kill simple Italian pronunciations, thanks. I know how to pronounce orecchiette, too, ya jerks.

When we left the restaurant, I immediately went on a tirade about how much I hate it when fellow diners make me feel stupid about how much I’m enjoying a meal, especially when they’re cultureless a-holes. I said, “I know I’m new money, too, but . . .,” and my boyfriend said, “The worst part is that you’re snobby new money.”

My First King Cake

plumpdumpling — Tue, 16 Feb 2010 17:00:11 +0000

My office ordered two king cakes last week under the guise of needing them for a co-worker’s going-away party but actually because I’ve always wanted to try them. The first king cakes were introduced to the southern U.S. by French and Spanish settlers and were originally associated with Christmas but are now traditional in Mardi Gras celebrations. Which makes sense, considering how indulgent they are.

A southern co-worker recommended Paul’s Pastry Shop as the source for an authentic king cake, and the going-away girl choose a lemon over cream cheese and a chocolate Bavarian. I spent the week before they arrived telling everyone we were going to have cake made of baby, because a tiny plastic doll is stuck into the cake post-baking and is said to provide good luck to whoever finds it in their slice.

When we opened up the cake box, we thought it was a lump of unbaked dough, but it turns out that an undecorated king cake is just sort of ugly. Luckily, bags of icing and sprinkles were provided, along with Mardi Gras beads to use as payment for boob-baring. Or, since my office is full of men, manboob-baring.

Jack dons the provided gloves–a little freaky, right?–and prepares to ice the cake.

Ash goes for decorative swirls, but we figure out later that Jeff’s way of just slopping it on in a straight line makes for better coverage and easier hand-spreading.

Nik, it turns out, has no future in cake-decorating.

The finished product!

Dripping with icing and caked in layers of sprinkles, it was a diabetic’s worst nightmare. The cake itself was mostly a thick, sweet bread with the tiniest layer of lemon preserves or chocolate spread and a layer of cream cheese baked into it, and it was good, but it wasn’t the sort of super-moist cake we usually go for in the U.S.

The best part was the way the icing collected in pools around the edges of the pan and began to harden. Some people acted grossed out when I spooned the extra icing onto slices of the cake, and those people are no longer my friends.

Jack, the cake slicer, isn’t so pleased with the Valentine’s Day decorations that arrived with one of the cakes.

It was clear to Jack in slicing the first cake which piece the baby was in, so of course he took that piece for himself.

After licking the baby clean, Jack threw his away, but

Steve, who found the baby in the second cake, proved to be a doting caregiver.

Happy Fat Tuesday!

This is Why the American People Shouldn’t Be Allowed to Choose Their Own President

plumpdumpling — Mon, 15 Feb 2010 21:00:12 +0000

In case you’re dying to know the results of my 21 Club survey, here’s a handy little pie chart:

Thanks to those of you who responded, and shame on the 187 of you who looked at the survey but didn’t answer. I’ll assume you were concerned about what I’d do to you if you went for the negative choice.

Stir It 28: Stirring Up Relief for Haiti (3)

Domino’s New Pizza Recipe: a Review

plumpdumpling — Fri, 12 Feb 2010 15:30:27 +0000

I love chain pizza. In order of preference, my favorites for years have been Pizza Hut, Papa John’s, Donatos, Uno’s, and then Domino’s. I’m not embarrassed about it, nor do I think it indicates an inferior palate. In fact, my problem with pizza in New York City, which is held up as some sort of bastion of flavor and structure, is that it has neither. The sauce never has any spice*, the crust is always limp, the dough is either too moist or too dry, and the toppings are always sparse.

As a person who loves pizza–I mean really loves pizza–and could probably eat it for every meal every day , I was seriously disappointed when I moved here from Ohio and found that I actually preferred to eat chain pizza and that it’s very hard to find here and almost impossible to get delivered.

Luckily, there’s a Domino’s around the corner from my office, and luckily, all of my co-workers and I were curious about this new recipe they’ve been touting that supposedly includes:

• Buttery, garlic-herb crust
• A robust, spicy sauce
• Real cheese (hmm?)

So we had 20 medium two-toppings pizzas delivered last Friday, and here’s how mine looked:

That’s pepperoni and bacon, which I realize means there was no way this pizza could be bad, but I’m convinced this would have been a delicious pizza even plain. Let’s break it down:

• Buttery, garlic-herb crust? Check. The butter and herbs are actually visible on the crust and are evident in every bite. The crust wasn’t soggy, but it wasn’t so hard you had to rip it apart with your teeth. The garlic was very present, so I didn’t even need any of the dipping sauces it came with to give it a kick.

• Robust, spicy sauce? Definitely. Not spicy as in hot but spicy as in full of spices. And there was plenty of it, too, which is another complaint of mine when it comes to New York pizza.

• Real cheese? I didn’t notice a flavor change, to be honest, but there was definitely a lot more of it, and that’s important to me.

The toppings were abundant, the crust was thick on the end and thinner underneath as it should be, and . . . oh, yeah, did I mention it cost $5.99 for the whole medium pizza because we did the 3-for-$5.99-each deal? Like you’re going to resist that, no matter how you felt about Domino’s before.

I’d still probably list Pizza Hut as my favourite chain pizza, but Domino’s is certainly #2 for me now. If you can get past your elitist feelings about not dining at some local pizzeria that’s been serving the same flavorless crap for 150 years, I think you’ll like it, too. (Although you’ll note that I’m posting this on a Friday, when no one reads blogs, so fewer people will see how non-elitist I am.)

*Except for Two Boots, which was founded by people who love Cajun food and is therefore not normal.

“Restaurant” Review: Schnitzel & Things Street Food Truck

plumpdumpling — Thu, 11 Feb 2010 15:30:37 +0000

You’ve no doubt seen the Schnitzel & Things food truck on a T-Mobile commercial without even realizing it. And little did you know that your subconscious spotting of it made us thisclose, because the schnitzel truck is one of my favourite lunch spots and one of my favourite things about New York City right now.

The menu is concise: a few kinds of breaded and fried meats, a burger, a sausage, a handful of sides. The line from the truck’s window can be a half-hour long, and it’s not cheap by street food standards–$8 for a sandwich and $10 for a platter with two sides–but the food is huge, comforting, and delicious.

The first time my co-workers and I stopped by the truck for lunch, I got the last pork schnitzel they had, and boy, was I the object of hatred around the office after that. The chicken schnitzel everyone else got was fine and all, but the pork is ten times as flavorful. I chose the chickpea salad and the beets and feta salad for my sides only because they were out of french fries and potato salad (yeah, so I wanted to get two potato-based sides; suck it), but I wasn’t disappointed in the end. The flavor of the feta was overpowered by the beets, but beets really can’t help themselves. Plus, I was just excited to get something even mildly nutritious from a street cart.

There are several condiments for your sandwich or platter that range from the standard ketchup and mustard to the pesto mayo, which I highly recommend.

If you want to get an idea of how big a schnitzel is, here’s my co-worker Anthony holding one up. And he does not have a small head, letmetellyou.

If you’re into burgers, the Schnitz Burger is for you. It’s breaded, fried beef, folks. And while mine was a tad on the dry side, I’m willing to overlook that for the breading and the delicious crunchy-on-the-outside-pillowy-on-the-inside roll it comes on.

Don’t ask me whose fingers those are in my panna cotta. There are usually a couple of dessert choices, but the Tahitian vanilla is the standby. It’s not a blow-your-mind kind of dessert, but it’s light and refreshing, and it’s the sort of palate cleanser a sweets freak like me needs after every meal.

The service from the Schnitzel & Things truck is friendly and familiar, as if they see you every day despite their being parked in different locations around the city throughout the week (which they tweet daily). They even have a call-ahead number (347-772-7341) so you don’t have to brave too much of the cold for your schnitzel fix. But if you choose to stand in line, you’ll feel mighty special, because every single person who passes wonders why they didn’t know about the truck and stops to look at the menu.

Thanks to Midtown Lunch for finding the T-Mobile commercial.

It LIVES IN ITS POOP, People

plumpdumpling — Wed, 10 Feb 2010 15:30:42 +0000

My friend Steve introduced me to the extremely weird and unexplainably funny webcomic F Minus by Tony Carrillo recently, and this one entirely sums up my feelings about seafood:

You don’t even want to know what my last meal would be.

21 Club Kicked Us Out

plumpdumpling — Tue, 09 Feb 2010 15:30:43 +0000

On Friday night, my boyfriend and I had reservations at 21 Club. Despite the fact that their Restaurant Week menu was fairly hum-drum and of course didn’t include their $30 burger–which is really the whole point in going–we decided to give it a shot simply because it’s one of those classic New York City restaurants you always see in programs like “I Love Lucy” and in movies like Rear Window.

You’ll note that both of these examples are from the 50s and should have tipped us off as to what sort of attire would be required of us, yet neither of us thought a thing of it when Kamran donned a pair of perfectly-pressed dark blue jeans. Kamran’s a fashionable guy and is usually seen sporting anything from plain wool trousers to sensibly plaid slacks, so this departure into casual jeans was a welcome one.

As soon as we walked up to the door of 21 Club, I sensed that I didn’t belong. I’ve eaten plenty of expensive meals with Kamran at this point, but I still feel like an Ohio farmgirl, and I think it’s obvious where I come from with everything I say and do and wear. So when the coatcheck guy stopped us a foot inside the door, I wasn’t surprised. When he said Kamran was the reason we had to leave, I was shocked. Kamran asked if there were any exceptions to the no jeans rule, but he wasn’t holding any bribe money when he said it, so we were sent on our way.

Now, I’m all for restaurants that keep riffraff such as myself out for the enjoyment of other, richer patrons, but Kamran was lookin’ fiiiiiiiine that night in a navy-and-orange-checked button-down in honor of his Princeton alma mater and a navy sweater vest that I bought him as an early Valentine’s Day gift. If ever there was reason for exception, I think a navy blue sweater vest is that reason. You?

When I told my best friend, Tracey, the story of our sad restaurant rejection, she said, “Don’t they know who Kamran is?” No, no, they don’t.

Restaurant Review: Metrazur (Restaurant Week Winter 2010)

plumpdumpling — Fri, 05 Feb 2010 21:14:35 +0000

Charlie Palmer’s Métrazur was an obvious Restaurant Week choice for my boyfriend and me: we’ve passed by it a million times inside Grand Central, we’re interested in Palmer’s restaurants in general, and I wanted the Sichuan spiced pork tenderloin on the Restaurant Week menu.

As far as atmosphere goes, not much beats Métrazur. Located on Grand Central’s East Balcony, it overlooks all of the chaos of commuters rushing to their trains, but the immense space overhead captures all of the noise and leaves the restaurant cozy and quiet. It was definitely unlike any other restaurant’s decor.

I made Kamran pose like this, just so you don’t think he often sits around in public with his mouth agape.

Crab and lobster cake, mango, shaved frisee and radish salad, brioche “Melba”, lemon butter nage

Crab is literally the only seafood that makes my mouth water, and this was one of the finer crab cakes I’ve had. The breading on the cake was thick and crunchy, as was the brioche. The nage (or broth) was super intense and basically overwhelmed all of the other flavors, but it was a lemony, buttery, and rich as all get-out. The cake was good enough on its own that it didn’t need the nage, but lemon and lobster go so well together.

Roasted butternut squash soup, pumpkin seeds, applewood smoked bacon, caramelized onions, créme fraiche

Hands down the best butternut squash soup I’ve had, but how could it not be with all of the bacon hiding on the bottom of the bowl? After one bite of this, I understood why everyone makes such a big deal about squash soup, and I was still thinking about it two courses later and wishing I could have more of it instead of my dessert. And I don’t not eat dessert.

Sichuan spiced pork tenderloin, gingered butternut squash puree, baby bok choy, maple soy glaze

When I ordered this, the waiter asked me how I wanted my pork cooked, and I said to him, “No one has ever asked me that in my life.” HOW DO I WANT MY PORK COOKED?! I WANT IT COOKED THROUGH, THAT’S HOW. I asked for medium well so it wouldn’t come out grey, but it came out completely pink, and I didn’t die, so I guess the chef knows best. There was definitely not any bok choy on my plate, and the squash puree was more texture than flavor, but the maple soy glaze was sweet and yum-MY. And the pork itself was spiced to perfection.

Lamb shank, sweet potato gratin, Brussels sprout leaves, black trumpets, red wine jus

Maybe you can’t tell from the photo, but this was a giant portion, especially for Restaurant Week. My boyfriend had to share part of it with me, and even then, he was packed full. Now, if you really love the sort of gamey taste of lamb, this was not the shank for you, but if you love a slow-cooked beef roast, this was the best lamb shank you’ve ever had. My boyfriend found one big pocket of lambiness, but the rest of it was delightfully mild enough to showcase the other flavors on the plate.

Bittersweet chocolate torte, passion fruit, candied orange, clubber cream

The best things about this for me were the smear of super-sweet passion fruit and the whipped cream (whatever “clubber” means). The torte itself was creamy, slippery chocolate with a crispy cookie crust, and it was nice, but it was another in a long line of desserts meant for non-gluttons.

Key lime pie, tropical fruit compote, chocolate nibs crisp, Italian meringue

This was a light, refreshing finish to a rich, heavy dinner. I don’t usually care for light and refreshing and am a huge chocolate person, but this was the superior dessert. The pie was very well done, with a nice key lime custard and a crunchy shell. The crisp tasted like sesame seeds to me, oddly, but maybe my palate was still recovering from the passion fruit in my dessert. I did really like this pie in the end, but I didn’t feel like the same care that had been put into that crazy-delicious soup was evident.

Aside from our completely indifferent and slow server, we were extremely happy that we finally tried Métrazur and that the food exceeded our expectations. I’d go back for the atmosphere and the squash soup any time, and with their every day $44 prix fixe menu that includes a bottle of wine, I can.

Charlie Palmer’s Métrazur
404 Grand Central Terminal, East Balcony
New York, NY 10017 (map)

donuts4dinner.com

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