The Food Network Rises Again

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, the Food Network was worth watching.  There were real chefs with real shows, topics explored that did not include drive-ins and diners and dishes featured that had origins outside of the United States.  But then, gradually, a new breed of show moved in, and the neighborhood changed.  Canned foods became ingredients, dinners were made in thirty minutes and Noho Star was outed as one of New York's hidden gems.  Now I won't deny that I enjoy Noho Star's margaritas (a lot) on occasion, but has anyone who's lived in this city for more than five minutes NOT heard of this place?

Many hung their heads in despair at the changes that had taken place, and wondered, will it ever get better?  Well, if the new crop of shows is any indication, things are definitely looking up.

I find The Chef Jeff Project, a show about teaching underprivileged young people to cook professionally, to be totally heartwarming and kind of inspiring.  I haven't quite made up my mind yet about Alex Guarnaschelli's The Cooking Loft, but her food looks good and she's pretty charming.  But my favorite?  The show I think will lead the channel towards salvation?  Anne Burrell's Secrets of a Restaurant Chef.

I remember noticing Anne Burrell for the first time back when Mario Batali was still on Iron Chef America.  She was his sous chef on most episodes, and what struck me was that despite Mario's huge personality, she still stood out.  Maybe it was the cropped bleached hair, but more likely it was due to the fact that she is just very sassafras...she's got a personality that can't help but shine through.  

Turns out she can cook too.  A protege of the corpulent Mario, she finally opened her own place, Centro Vinoteca, a year or two ago.  New York diners saw what she could do at that point  and now, thanks to her show, so will the rest of America.

First of all, everything she makes looks delicious.  I can practically smell it through the TV...especially those shortribs she made yesterday morning.  God they looked good.  And so appropriate for the grey weather!

Secondly, she cracks me up.  She's like that really fun but kind of eccentric midwestern transplant friend who lacks the filter between her brain and her mouth.  She'll tell you to "brown the crap out of [your shortribs]", to pour off excess grease to avoid "an Exxon Valdez slick" on your stew and if she wants you to ignore something for a while, she'll tell you to "treat it like a stepchild".  Plus she punctuates all of these Burrellisms with a weirdly endearing guttural growl....kind of like what  jazz singers do when they're at an emotional crescendo.

Now I would just like to point out that yes, I realize this show is in its second season already (I believe the first season consisted of six or so episodes over the summer).  But I write about it now because a) The Food Network picked the show up for real only after the first season and b) I think Ms. Burrell has really hit her stride with the second season.

So set your DVRs for 9:30 on Saturday morning and prepare to see the redemption of a network.

Local Winos

I enjoy wine immensely, but for some reason, I just can't get interested in it.  I can tell you what my favorite type of wine tastes like (I've read enough menu descriptions to throw around some jargon...you know, minerally, complex, and when I really want to impress I call for the off-dry white) but I have no idea of the vintage or provenance.  If I taste a particularly lovely wine, my reaction is basically "Wow, yum!", not "Oh isn't that delightful!  What am I drinking?".

As a result, when I shop for wine I tend to rely fairly exclusively on either the salespeople in the wine store (generally my M.O. at places like Sherry-Lehman), or the pithy little written descriptions (Astor Wine & Spirits) for my choices.  But somehow in these stores with huge selections I'm always left feeling a bit cheated.  Is this one bottle, out of all of the thousands available, really the best for my money?

Enter Winesby.com, the owner of which seems to have read my angst-ridden thoughts.  The store, which also is an online seller within New York State, hence the vaguely bizarre name, carries a well-edited selection, probably about 100 different bottles, and is organized in a way that is exactly in sync with my wine decision making process.  On one side of the store is white, on the other is red (question number one:  Do I want red or white?).  And each wall is lined with a row of bottles on a shallow shelf, organized from cheapest (closest to the door) to most expensive (question number two:  Do I want to cheap out or not?).  

Despite the clarity of the display (and his helpful posted descriptions), I never purchase a bottle without checking in with the owner.  He'll always give it to you straight.  Tell him what you're having for dinner or what kind of a person you're buying a gift for, he'll give you the best option in your price range.  And I believe him when he tells me.  Partly because he knows what he's talking about, and partly because there really are only three or four options to pick from in any one price range so I figure he can't go too wrong.

And beyond the merchandise selection and display, I love this store for its location (Jones Street in the West Village, spitting distance from at least five of my favorite food shops), and for its neighborhood feel.  People quite literally hang out on the store's stoop!  The owner knows all the weird characters in the 'hood (there are a few left, despite the aggressive gentrification that has overwhelmed the West Village), and his dogs chill out on the shop's floor (at least they used to, I haven't seen them in a while, which I hope just means they've found somewhere else that they like better!). 

Nice owner, nice dogs, nice wine.  You can't ask for much more.

Recycle, Reuse

I'm really not a fan of used clothes.  I find that vintage, unless you're talking Resurrection-level merchandise, is generally a euphemism for musty and outdated, and I had moved past the whole second-hand jeans phenomenon by the time I was sixteen.  So I was initially dismissive of the concept of a consignment store.

But the fact that it took me ten minutes to realize I was in a consignment shop the first time I entered one in Manhattan speaks volumes about my ignorance.  I had entered a whole new world, one that was miles and miles (and dollars and dollars) away from the consignment stores I had gone to as a teenager in Berkeley.  The clothes, all of which were major high-end brands,  were barely worn, and the prices (although not cheap) induced neither hysterics nor cardiac arrest.

Although I can't say that I've conducted an even remotely exhaustive survey of all consignment stores in New York City, I do have a favorite:  INA.  I hit upon it early which I guess is why I've never looked too far beyond it.  Although I hear that the Upper East Side charity shops are the real jackpot...Spence-Chapin Thrift Shop, Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center Thrift Shop...these are the repositories of last season's upper east side wardrobes...to me INA is just a little younger, a little more downtown so I've stuck with it.

And the costume people from Sex and the City agreed.  A few years ago, once the series had ended, they sold the entire wardrobe at INA.  Women of New York lost their minds and stood in line for HOURS:

There are a few different locations, one of which is dedicated solely to men's clothing (the Mott Street location).  They're all worth a visit, but I always seem to gravitate towards the shop on Prince Street.  It's probably the biggest location, and I almost always find something there that I want.  In fact just yesterday I was in and came across a Marc Jacobs bag for $310, a pair of Gucci knee-high boots for $450, a Louis Vuitton handbag for $650, and the piece de resistance, an Hermes coat for $1,000.  

Now I won't pretend that I'm an Hermes shopper, nor that I know how much an Hermes coat costs.  But I'm guessing what, like five, six grand?  Insane, by the way, I realize.  Although the excellent book  Deluxe: How Luxury Lost Its Luster claims that Hermes is pretty much the only luxury brand that still makes products of high enough quality to justify the crazy prices.  Soooo, with a discount of 80%...well, you do the math and justify if you wish.  

But as much as I rhapsodize about the high end stuff, there are a ton of options, all quality brands, that cost as little as $80.  So if you share my squeamishness about used clothes, this is the place that will get you past it.  I still can't do the used shoes though.  Not sure that's ever going to change.   

America the Beautiful

Well, here we are, entering what seems to be a new era in America, or at least in American politics.  Let's hope it lives up to the hype.  Either way, I'll be sorry to see Tina Fey's Sarah Palin impression go.

In honor of this most American of days, I made that most American of dishes for my election night gathering last night: chili.  Now I'll be honest.  I don't order chili in restaurants, and rarely do I get excited when I hear that it will be served at a dinner party.  It's usually too thick, too heavy, to bland, too hot, too something.  And something about the beans that it usually involves turns me off.  It just strikes me as a rather clumsy, thoughtless dish.

So imagine the unbridled joy I felt when I came across Bobby Flay's recipe for Red Beef Chili.  It's an intensely flavored thick soup with pieces of beef hidden throughout rather than a bean-studded stew, so it addresses all of my usual objections to traditional chili.  It requires the use of four different types of fresh chiles and four different types of chile powders, so there are several layers of heat, which to my mind (or mouth) makes it quite a compelling dish.  I would include a photo, but frankly it tastes a lot better than it looks, so I'll just leave you with this lovely still life of Thai bird chiles instead.      

And a happy discovery that came out of last night--Tom's very American contribution of Snickers pie and election themed cupcakes from Magnolia were excellent chili accompaniments.  And happy discovery number two?  Snickers pie makes a good breakfast (or so I've heard).

Bobby Flay's Red Beef Chile

Serves 6

Ingredients

4 tablespoons olive oil

2 pounds of beef, cut into 1/2-inch cubes (the recipe specifies bottom round, but I don't know what this is so I just ask for stew beef at the meat counter)

1 tablespoon ground cumin

12 oz. dark beer

2 tablespoons finely chopped semi-sweet chocolate

1 large red onion

4 cloves garlic, chopped

1/2 poblano, seeded and chopped

1 teaspoon seeded and chopped habanero

1 Thai bird chile, seeded and chopped

1/2 jalapeno, seeded and chopped

1 tablespoon chipotle pepper puree

1 tablespoon ancho chile powder

1 tablespoon pasilla chile powder

1 tablespoon cascabel chile powder*

1 teaspoon New Mexican chile powder

5 cups homemade chicken stock, or canned low-sodium or water

16 oz can whole tomatoes, drained and pureed

2 tablespoons maple syrup, or more, to taste

Heat 3 tablespoons of the oil in a large Dutch oven over high heat.  Season the beef with salt and pepper, and saute until browned on all sides (I generally find that I need to do this in two batches, otherwise the beef steams rather than browns).  Sprinkle with cumin and stir well.  Deglaze the pan with the beer and bring to a boil.  Stir in the chocolate and cook until beer is almost completely reduced (this will take about as long as it takes you to prepare the vegetable puree in the next step).

In a separate pot, add 1 tablespoon of the oil and add the onions to the pan and cook until soft.  Add the garlic and cook for 2 minutes.  Add the poblano, habanero, Thai bird, and jalapeno peppers and cook until soft, about 5 minutes.  Add the chipotle puree, ancho powder, pasilla powder, cascabel and New Mexican chile powders and cook an additional 2 minutes.  Add the chicken stock and tomatoes and bring to a boil and boil for 15 to 20 minutes, or until all vegetables are tender.  Puree with an immersion blender (or puree in standing blender in batches, with the center of the lid removed, covering the top with a tea towel).  Add the beef mixture back to the pan, reduce the heat to medium, cover the pan, and simmer for 1 hour, or until thick and beef is tender.  Remove from the heat, add the maple syrup, and adjust salt to taste.

*Of all the ingredients, the cascabel powder seems to be the most difficult to find.  If  you have the time, you can order it online here.  Otherwise, just add some more of the other chile powders (I tend to add an extra half tablespoon of ancho chile powder and an extra half tablespoon of pasilla chile powder in place of the cascabel powder).  Alternatively, you can purchase the whole cascabel peppers (they sell them at Kalustyan's) and grind them up to a powder in a coffee grinder.

Bobby recommends serving this with a cumin crema, which is basically just a cup of Mexican crema (substitute creme fraiche if, like me, you have no idea where to get Mexican crema) mixed with a tablespoon of toasted cumin seed and seasoned to taste with salt and pepper.  I'm sure this is delicious, but sour cream works well also.

Pretty In Pink

Paul and I have some fantastic neighbors.  Alex and Anthony are like the couple that live next door to the main family on a sitcom.  They're funny, generous and you get the feeling that they'd have your back if you ever got into a bar fight.  Plus which Alex works for a wine and spirits distributor selling to the likes of Per Se so she's always bringing around the best wines.  

Sadly, these two lovely people are relocating to Ohio so Anthony can pursue a career on the nature reserve that is the Abercrombie & Fitch headquarters, so we had them over for a little farewell dinner on Sunday night.  After dinner and a few oatmeal raisin cookies, Alex broke out a bottle of Hana Hou Hou Shu Sparkling Sake.  It is very pink.  It looks like something Malibu Barbie might drink when out on the town with Ken, but I am here to tell you that this stuff is bliss in a glass.

The sake is infused with rose petals (normally off-putting to me in food, I don't particularly like ingesting things that taste like lotion) and hibiscus (which I love, I buy the dried blossoms here for tea all the time).  It has just a hint of sweetness that rounds out the taste, making it quite dangerously drinkable.  And the carbonation gives it an undeniably refreshing quality, perfect for finishing off (or I suppose for starting) a major meal.

Having finally discovered this lovely elixir, I feel a frisson of delight, much the same way that I felt when I discovered prosecco years ago.  It shares that festive, innocuous quality, which inspired conversations such as these in my early prosecco drinking days:

Me:   I need to go home, can't drink anymore.

Alcoholic Friend:   Darling don't be ridiculous.

Me:   No really, I need a break.

Alcoholic Friend:   Oh fine.  Have a prosecco then.

I suppose the updated version would be "Oh fine.  Have a Hana Hou Hou Shu then."  Doesn't quite roll off the tongue, but given the pleasure that the tongue will experience immediately following such a statement, it really doesn't matter. 

Old McDonald

As a resident of lower Manhattan, I am, sadly, quite familiar with the South Street Seaport.  For those who have not had the pleasure, the Seaport is a historic district that, until a few years ago, was home to the Fulton Fish Market.  In fact, my grandma tells me that my great great grandfather, who was a fishmonger in Jersey City way back when, used to bring a fish cart (I'm actually not sure if there is such a thing, but let's use our imagination here) over each day to buy his store's stock for the day.

The Fish Market was relocated to the Bronx in 2005, an event that has been a bit of a boon to the area.  The Gap no longer smells like old fish, and I do not trip over abandoned branzino on my way to early morning dentist appointments (this has actually happened to me...twice...it's a distinctly depressing way to start your day).  Cobblestone streets have been restored, merchants are coming in, and some fairly decent restaurants have actually taken up residence in the area.  The one remaining blight in the area is the collection of middle market retailers in the horrendously ugly mall on Pier 17.  The owner of this bastion of mediocrity, General Growth Properties, thankfully wants to upgrade the place and from what I understand, wants to turn it into some sort of a market.  So to this end, one weekend this past June, GGP hosted a sort of farmer's market next to Pier 17, just under the FDR.

I thought the event was a massive success.  Sullivan Street Bakery, which bakes what I consider to be the best bread in New York (the lemon confit and olive bread will change your life) was there, Saxelby Cheesemonger and the chef of Peasant both attended, along with various produce purveyors and, I'm told, even some representatives of Marks & Spencer were there to show support on behalf of London's Borough Market.  But the highlight of the day for me was easily my introduction to St. Brigid's Farm.  

I was having a bit of a domestic moment at the time, and was sort of obsessed by the idea of making various kinds of stocks and freezing them for later use.  I think I had just read this book and was inspired by Colin Cowie's absurdly organized and well-stocked kitchen.  Anyway, I was on the lookout for soup bones, and came across this lovely stand...

 ...run by this lovely man.

Given all of the gorgeous roasts and unusual organ meats they had for sale, I think they were a bit taken aback that I wanted something as pedestrian as bones, but they were happy to comply.

When I got home I was pleasantly surprise at how much they had given me for my piddling $5.  I had an entire veal femur and loads of neck bones, both with a generous amount of meat still attached.  I don't have a pot big enough to accommodate a whole femur so the knobby end ended up sticking out of the simmering liquid...it was very Fred Flintstone.  Or Hannibal Lecter, depending on your point of view I suppose.  And yes, I'm aware that the bone should have been cracked to as to get the benefit of the marrow flavor, but I really do cut the line at sawing away on a leg bone on my kitchen floor.  

Despite the uncracked bone, the stock was deeply flavorful, so much so in fact, that I felt compelled to email Robert Fry, one of the proprietors of this wonderful farm, to tell them exactly how much I loved their product.

We struck up a bit of an email conversation, he assumed from my email address that I lived in Philadelphia, so invited me down to Maryland to visit the farm, I expressed my regrets that I had moved to New York, etc.  Anyway, now I'm on his email list so I am the happy recipient of his occasional blog posts  about the farm.

I've always had a secret desire to go work on a farm (for like a week, not long term) and make artisanal cheese or something.  I don't see this happening anytime soon, so in the meantime Mr. Fry's seasonal updates about the fields, the cows and the weather will have to sate this want of mine.

A bucolic field during autumn grazing:

The happy cows in said bucolic field:

Said happy cows grazing:

I love that my fantasy that I'm eating blissfully happy animals has born out!  Unfortunately St. Brigid's doesn't have any retail outlets in New York (they sell mostly to restaurants in the area instead), but once my stash of stock begins to dwindle I fully intend to order some bones by mail. 

Gwynie, Gwynie, Goopy

I have somewhat mixed feelings about Gwyneth Paltrow.  I feel like I should like her--I mean she comes from what seems like a nice, artistic, community-oriented family.  I've always liked Blythe Danner in interviews, and, before his untimely passing, Bruce Paltrow seemed like a funny, smart, down to earth person.  Gwyneth is into some of the same things I am...recycling, yoga, Spain, food.  Plus she's gorgeous in that beautific, angelic way that tends to be a magnetic draw, for me at least.

And yet, for some reason I find her irksome.  I think problem number one is that she is married to one of the more boring personalities out there.  I had a moment with Coldplay back in 2002 when Chris Martin was still sitting behind his piano, but now that he's attempted to adopt (and is really not quite succeeding) Bono's persona on stage I just can't take him seriously.  Problem number two:  she's smug about her eating habits which is annoying enough in the first place, but on top of that she's not consistent in her philosophy.  Who tells you (or in this case, Oprah) that you don't eat "animals with four legs"?!!  What the hell do you have against chickens exactly?  God knows how Mario Batali survived his spanish road trip with someone who doesn't eat pork.  And problem number three:  I know this is sort of an easy target, but naming your son Moses is a little presumptuous, don't you think?

Anyway, when I read in Page Six Magazine (which by the way is quickly becoming one of my favorite publications, and yes, I realize that this is an anti-intellectual statement) that she was launching a lifestyle website, I immediately looked it up, not knowing if I would fall in love with all of her tips about living in the Hamptons and being blond, or if I would make fun of her attempts to get her readers to eat a fully macrobiotic diet.  Turns out it's been sort of a combination of the two.

First of all, the website is called GOOP, which I have to say I think was a mistake.  Second of all, there's really not much on the website, except her vision statement:

My life is good because I am not passive about it.  I want to nourish what is real, and I want to do it without wasting time.  I love to travel, to cook, to eat, to take care of my body and mind, to work hard.  I love being a mother who has overcome my bad qualities to be a good mother.  I love being in spaces that are clean and feel nice...

...Make your life good.  Invest in what's real.  Cook a meal for someone you love.  Pause before reacting.  Clean out your space.  Read something beautiful.  Treat yourself to something.  Go to a city you've never been to.  Learn something new.  Don't be lazy.  Workout and stick with it.  GOOP.  Make it great.

I can't really disagree with any of this and yet there is sort of a supercilious air here.  So I basically reacted to the website in the same way that I react to Gwyneth herself. 

You go to the website essentially to sign up for her weekly newsletters, which vary in topic from stuff to buy, stuff to do, advice and things to cook (i.e. Make, Go, Get, Do, Be, See).  It seems a little weird that past newsletters aren't posted on the website, but maybe that's part of her whole "clean out your space" ethos.  So far I think I've received four newsletters, and I'd say I enjoyed 2.3 of them.

The first was all about how to put a stylish outfit together easily, and I'd say she accomplished it.  The look was cool, although definitely skewed towards the tall and slim, and the price points were out of my reach (had they not been, I totally would have bought that Tod's trench coat).  But I certainly won't begrudge her the fact that she's rich and hot.

The second issue skewed towards the annoying.  She asked some of her experts...life-coach types I suppose, why some people in life always see the negative.  Turns out they were scarred as children, for the most part.  But this revelation doesn't change the fact that I avoid these types of personalities like the plague.

The third was some of her everyday recipes, and I must say they looked pretty good, and were blissfully soy free, which was unexpected.

And this week's was three interviews with various holistic healers telling us how to stay balanced and healthy.  They delivered the earth shattering news that we should sleep eight hours a night, exercise and eat healthy food.  Shock!  Although I do think there is something to the idea that you should wait until twelve hours has passed from the time you eat dinner to the time you eat breakfast to allow your body to cleanse itself.  Maybe worth a try going forward.

So overall?  I don't hate it, and will probably continue to read for both information and the possibility that there will be some absurd content that I came make fun of mercilessly.