My Neighbor's Soup

I still can't seem to kick this yen I have for soup.  What with the cold weather, and I do mean COLD, all I seem to want is a steaming bowl of something.

Often, when I'm in such a mood, I turn to the excellent lentil lemon soup at Bread & Olive, a small middle eastern takeout place across the street from my apartment.  The soup is very simple with respect to the flavors.  It tastes of lemon and lentils, just like the name would suggest.  Like all of their food, it just feels extremely healthy and clean which I love. 

But, to my occasional dismay, Bread & Olive closes at 9:00 in the evening, which means that if I've had a late night at work, or have gone somewhere in the evening, I am out of luck when it comes to this wonderful meal.

But I had hopes that I might be able to replicate the soup to a decent degree myself.  The last time I was at the shop the owner had just finished up a batch of a lentil dish, and he gave me a bit to taste (because not only can the man cook, but he is quite a generous person).  It was absolutely delicious, so I asked what was in it.  The reply?  Lentils, onions, a bit of salt.  That was it.  Like I said, the food is simple, which made me think the soup couldn't be too complicated.

I did a little bit of online research and discovered that this lentil and lemon combination is a common Lebanese dish called Adas bil-Hamod, and that it often contains swiss chard.  Joy!  Swiss chard is one of my all time favorite vegetables so I was thrilled to have an excuse to cook with it.

And of course, lentils are one of the great legumes out there.  Nutritious, delicious, hard to ask for anything more.

Now I can't pretend that the version of the Adas bil-Hamod that I came up with is as good as the stuff that Bread & Olive makes, but it's pretty close.  And for those cold, late nights, it does a valiant job as a stand in.

Lentil Lemon Soup

Inspired by Bread & Olive's Lentil Lemon Soup

Serves 6

1 medium onion, chopped

2 tablespoons olive oil

2 quarts of chicken stock (you can also use water, which is the more traditional option)

1 large bunch of swiss chard, red or green

1 cup of lentils (I used brown, but use whatever you prefer)

10 garlic cloves, peeled

juice of 2 lemons

salt to taste

Put lentils in a strainer and rinse with cold water.  Pick out any bad lentils or bits of grit.  Set aside.  Heat olive oil over medium heat.  When warmed, add the onion and saute gently, until translucent.  Then add lentils, and cook briefly, stirring until lentils are coated in oil.  Add chicken stock and bring to a boil.  Turn heat down such that the soup is at a moderate simmer.  Cook until lentils are nearly done, about twenty minutes.  (This time can vary widely depending on the lentils you are using.  Mine were quite old so it took more like 45 minutes).  In the meantime, wash swiss chard and cut into ribbons (no need to separate the leaves from the stems).  When lentils are nearly done, add swiss chard to pot and continue to simmer.

In a mortar, mash the garlic cloves with two big pinches of salt (I used Maldon salt, which is somewhat more mild than iodized salt, so you may want to go easy if you use table salt).  Once garlic has been mashed to a paste, add the juice of the two lemons and incorporate.  Now in all honesty, this mashing is probably not totally necessary.  But it is apparently the traditional way to do it, and I need no encouragement to use my mortar and pestle.

Drizzle lemon and garlic mixture into the soup.  Continue to cook at a simmer for ten minutes.  If, after ten minutes, you find the garlic flavor too strong, continue to simmer until the taste agrees with you.  Add salt to taste, and serve.  

Old Money In The East Village

I have a soft spot for the New York Post. I know that it is not exactly the paper of record, but the headlines make me laugh (my favorite cover was during Heather Mills and Paul McCartney's divorce, with a picture of Heather Mills scowling accompanied by the headline "Hopping Mad"), and I can always get through the Sunday paper (not necessarily true of the New York Times).

And in this blissfully digestible sunday paper is a feature that I look forward to every week: "My New York". This is a chance for major and minor celebs alike to give the readers of the Post their ten or so favorite spots in the City. Now some of them are sort of like Gwyneth Paltrow's restaurant recommendations: good but completely obvious. I mean Central Park is great, but as the largest continuous swath of land in Manhattan, it is not exactly a hidden secret.

But occasionally you get some gems, like Helena Christiansen's "My New York". Now I already have a minor Helena obsession going. I ran into her coming out of the door of C.O. Bigelow a couple of years ago and was blown away not only by her beauty but by her innate coolness. Then I checked out her store Butik , which was full of fabulously unique clothing and effortlessly hip knickknacks, and fell a little more in love. Plus I covet her bangs.

So when she recommended John Derian as a must see shop, I made a mental note to check it out when I was in the East Village next.

This past weekend I found myself mere blocks from the shop, so I ducked out of the dark, snowy afternoon into the soft, vintagey light of John Derian's world (a world I would very much like to live in by the way).

I was met with tables and tables of decoupage plates and platters. The images were fantastic. Botancial illustrations, giant bugs, bats, but my favorite was an excerpt from a letter on a blank background: "I must insist that you return my trinkets. This is your last chance." I think that would be perfect as a mail tray, and had to seriously restrain myself from buying it on the spot.

And as I poked farther back into the store I found lamps to fall in love with (my favorite was unfortunately $695), dishes,

flatware, objets,

hanging lights, moroccan poufs, the best smelling candles in the world (I believe they were made by Astier de Villate), and a phenomenal collection of brushes...for cleaning, I guess.

Everything in the store was ostensibly classic, but at second glance had some sort of edgy twist to it. You had the feeling that one of those slightly faded but pleasingly eccentric old money families would have a big old heap of a house filled with everything in the shop. And as I have a secret wish to be a rich eccentric I also have a not-so-secret wish to own everything that John Derian sells. As will you, I daresay.

Italy By Way Of London

I own an embarrassingly large number of cookbooks, but like many things, I have a few favorites that I find myself reaching for time after time...my desert island cookbooks if you will. This is a series of posts that will describe these books that make up my core collection. I hope that you find them and the recipes they contain as enjoyable and useful as I do.

The River Cafe was opened in London in 1987, by Rose Gray and Ruth Rogers.

These two women had both spent considerable time living (and presumably cooking) in Tuscany, so the restaurant was centered around their interpretation of Italian farmhouse cooking. Sort of a precursor to Mario Batali I suppose.

They were one of the earlier adopters of the seasonal, top-quality ingredient philosophy, and given the continued prominence of the restaurant, not only in London but in America as well, it is perhaps unsurprising that many of today's successful chefs, including Jamie Oliver and April Bloomfield, got their start in the kitchen of the River Cafe. And it certainly does not hurt the success of the restaurant that the very great architect Richard Rogers (husband of Ruth) oversaw the construction/renovation of the restaurant (the building was previously an oil storage facility).

The dining room:

The kitchen (and very impressive oven):

Eventually, these two ladies wrote several cookbooks, my favorite of which is The River Cafe Cookbook.

First of all, they have edited this book extremely well. I cannot find one recipe in here that I either haven't already cooked and enjoyed, or that I don't want to try at some point. Second of all, every recipe is simple...deliciously so. You'd be hard pressed to find a recipe with more than ten ingredients, and I am always shocked and overjoyed by how fabulously good such simple food can be.

I've included a couple of recipes from the cookbook (quite honestly I was having an extraordinarily hard time whittling the choices down) to whet your appetites:

Penne with a Quick Sausage Sauce

The River Cafe Cookbook, by Rose Gray and Ruth Rogers

Serves 6

2 tablespoons olive oil

2 small red onions, peeled and chopped

5 Italian spiced, fresh pork sausages, meat removed from skins and crumbled

1 1/2 tablespoons chopped fresh rosemary

2 bay leaves

2 small dried chiles, crumbled

800 g can peeled plum tomatoes, drained and chopped

sea salt and freshly ground pepper

250 g (9 oz) penne

150 ml (5 oz) heavy cream

120 g (4 1/2 oz) Parmesan, freshly grated

In a large saucepan, heat the oil and fry the onion until light brown. Add the crumbled sausage, the rosemary, bay leaves and chili. Fry together over a high heat, stirring to mash the sausages. Remove all but 1 tablespoon of the fat, and continue to cook for 20 minutes. The sausagemeat should become brown and disintegrate. Add the tomatoes, stir and return to a boil. Remove from the stove.

Cook the penne in a generous amount of boiling salted water, then drain thoroughly.

Stir the cream into the sauce along with the drained penne and half the Parmesan. Serve with the remaining Parmesan.

Note: In the book there is also a version of this recipe called Penne With A Slow-Cooked Sausage Sauce that is similar, but takes about five times as long. It also is delicious (much richer tasting than the recipe above due to the longer cooking time) and cooking it is a great way to spend a cold winter afternoon.

This next recipe is phenomenal. The perfect example of minimal but great ingredients manipulated to make something inordinately wonderful.

Pork Braised With Vinegar

The River Cafe Cookbook, by Rose Gray and Ruth Rogers

4-5 pound boned loin of young organic pork, rind and most of the fat removed

sea salt

2 tablespoons olive oil

150 ml (5 fl oz) red wine vinegar

150 ml (5 fl oz) Chianti Classico

1 tablespoon black peppercorns

12 fresh bay leaves

Generously season the pork with salt.

In a heavy saucepan with a lid, heat the olive oil and brown the meat on all sides. Remove the meat and put to one side. Lower the heat and pour the vinegar into the pan. Bring to a boil, and reduce the liquid by half. Add the wine, 100 ml (4 fl oz) water, the peppercorns and bay leaves and lower the heat to a simmer.

Return the pork to the pan and turn to coat it in the juices. Put the lid on but slightly askew. Simmer very gently for an hour, turning the meat two or three times during cooking. If the juices seem to be drying up, add a little more wine or water.

When the meat is cooked (still soft when prodded), turn off the heat, add extra salt to the juices, and let the pork relax for 5 minutes. Slice and serve with the juices and the bay leaves.

Field Trip to DUMBO

This past Saturday, Marissa and I braved the frigid temperatures to check out the Brooklyn Flea Winter Antiques Market in DUMBO.  I was excited, with visions of old copper pots, 30s era furniture and first edition books dancing in my head.  

The facility was great...not the drafty warehouse I was imagining, but instead a fairly posh space at the corner of Front and Washington.  Perhaps a vacant retail space?  Who knows, but regardless it was warm and spacious.  

Unfortunately, the mix of merchandise was a little disappointing.  It is entirely possible that if we had gotten there an hour or two earlier, closer to the 11:00 opening, the options would have been better, but it was a lot of clothes (despite my love of thrift shops in high school, now I'm not so into used/vintage clothing) and a ton of costume jewelry.  Some of it was actually quite cool, but I found the prices a little...optimistic, shall we say?  Marissa was vaguely interested in a golden Givenchy necklace but the vendor was inflexible on his $125 price.  Sir, Givenchy was quite chic back in the Audrey Hepburn days, and is having a bit of a renaissance now with the shoes that were featured in the Sex and the City movie, but your 80s trinket is certainly not "a very fine piece".

But all was not lost.  We spent so little time in the market that we had quite a bit of time to explore DUMBO, which is not something I've done too much of in the past.  First stop was Powerhouse Books.  It's certainly not your typical arty bookstore.  Lots of New-York-In-The-80s photo books, skater/surfer culture photos, and quite a random collection of food books.  I felt cooler for having been in there...it's perfect for browsing (although not the type of place you go to find a specific title).

Second stop was the Tivoli Home Shop at 111 Front Street.  Tiny, and in the back of what looked to be a lovely restaurant, it was packed with items that I wanted to spirit back to my apartment.  I particularly loved the pillows, and virtually all of the tableware.  And, as they carry my new obsession, Royal Copenhagen china, I got some very enjoyable ogling time in.

But the find of the trip was really Loopy Mango, a quirky little women's clothing store.  I recognized many of the brands carried in this lovely little shop, but I have to admit I didn't recognize any of the pieces, which to me indicates that there is an independent spirit alive and well at this establishment, which is always heartening to see.

I was most taken with all of the day dresses that they carried.  I'm always lusting after those tailored, vaguely french looking day dresses that the women in Bill Cunningham photos seem to own so many of so was thrilled to see the likes of this Yoana dress adorning the racks:     

In the same family (but a coat) by Tony Cohen:

And as I'm currently on the hunt for a new everyday black bag, this Malene Birger bag intrigued me:

So most certainly worth the trip.  And given the compact nature of DUMBO, it's a perfect outing on a cold day, when you don't want to spend too much of your time wandering down the street against bitter winds.

Mes Moules Mouclade

I know that it's not exactly cool to say that you like Les Halles. It's one of those restaurants that a fair number of people who do not live in or around New York have heard of, due largely to the success of Anthony Bourdain's various ventures, which automatically means that actual New Yorkers consider it lame.


But it's one of the few pretty good restaurants near my apartment so I go there quite a bit. Not enough to be a regular, but enough to feel some sort of ownership of the place, and enough to have two favorite dishes: merguez and moules mouclade. The merguez I like for the gradual, warm spiciness (and for the fries), and the mussels I like for the creamy, curry spiked sauce (and for the fries).


But occasionally I get a very serious hankering for the moules mouclade when Paul's not around. I'm not opposed to eating by myself in restaurants, but Les Halles is not really the right kind of place to do it in. It's too big, too festive...it just feels a little wrong to be there without a companion.


So the first time the need for moules hit and I was sans Paul I just ordered the dish to go. But it was pretty unsatisfying. My fries became slightly less crisp than optimal during the transportation time, and eating mussels out of a giant plastic container is much less fun than eating them out of a cool looking metal vessel. It wasn't a great solution. But on the other hand it wasn't so bad that I didn't avail myself of it occasionally.


But the last time I craved the moules and tried to order them, I was told it was impossible! It is apparently a health code violation to make mussels to go. I'm not sure why this was suddenly such a major concern, but it brought the whole issue to a head. I had to take matters into my own hands. I am a capable, independent woman after all. I simply had to figure out how to make this dish for myself.


So I checked all of the usual sources. Mastering the Art of French Cooking, At Home in Provence...it was as if the dish did not exist! No one even mentioned it! So then I moved on to the internet. And everything I found was in french (with the exception of one dairy free version which was in english, and which I rejected on ideological grounds). As I tried to figure out the foreign recipes I realized exactly how pathetic my french is. But I persevered, and eventually gathered that the general list of ingredients included mussels, white wine, creme fraiche, shallots, butter, parseley, saffron, flour, an egg yolk and curry powder. I had no idea of the translation for the amounts, so I set to work experimenting.


After I picked up my mussels and baguette (baguette is very very necessary for sauce absorption) at Citarella and my wine at Winesby.com, I came home and immediately soaked my debearded, scrubbed mussels (Citarella is fancy so they had cleaned everything for me already) in cold, salted water so they would disgorge any particulate matter that they might have been harboring.



As I waited the requisite hour, I cracked open the dry Muscadet that had been recommended by the wine god at Winesby. Lovely.



After the mussels had soaked, I began melting, sauteeing, stirring (sans saffron unfortunately, as I had used the last of mine up in the rutabega disaster of '09). I threw the mussels in, they opened up, I took them out again, threw in the yolk and creme fraiche to add some richness to the sauce,



decided that I needed a little more silk, a little more unctuousness, so I threw in some heavy cream. Yum. Topped off with parsley and some pepper, mussels back in to warm, pour everything into a big bowl, butter some baguette, and I was utterly and completely happy.



Now I'll be honest. It didn't taste quite like the mouclade that Les Halles makes. But, if I do say so myself, I kind of like my version better. I think that Les Halles must use cream instead of creme fraiche, because their broth is much, much richer and there is virtually no piquant aspect to it. And maybe they add the flour to thicken the sauce, which I don't find to be necessary. Regardless, I think I have happened upon an acceptable solution to my moules dilemma. Happy days.

Moules Mouclade

Serves 1

1 1/2 pounds mussels, scrubbed and debearded

1 tablespoon unsalted butter

4 tablespoons shallots, chopped

3/4 cup dry white wine

1 teaspoon curry powder (I use madras)

2 tablespoons creme fraiche

1 egg yolk

1 tablespoon of heavy cream

1 tablespoon parsley

pinch of salt (this may not be necessary, depending on how salty your mussels are)

pepper to taste

Sort through mussels and discard any that are open. Soak in cold, salted water for one hour.

After mussels have soaked, melt butter over medium heat in medium sized pot with cover. Add shallots, and cook until translucent. Add white wine and mussels. Cover and turn heat up to medium high. Cook until all mussels have opened, approximately seven minutes. Occasionally shake the pot with the lid on during cooking to redistribute the mussels in order to cook them evenly. While the mussels are cooking, whisk together the egg yolk and the creme fraiche.

Once mussels are open use a chinese strainer, or equivalent implement, to fish them out of the pot, while leaving the liquid behind. Add the curry powder, the creme fraiche and egg yolk to the liquid and stir thoroughly. Then let simmer for two minutes. Add heavy cream and taste. If you prefer a more decadent sauce, go ahead and add more cream. Then add salt if necessary, pepper to taste, and the parsley. Add the mussels back to the liquid, let cook for a minute, or until warmed through and coated in curry sauce.

Turn out into a large bowl, grab a baguette and go to town.

Brightness In A Sea Of Darkness

I live and work in Lower Manhattan.  I have a true affection for the neighborhood...in the same way that a lot of people who grew up in less than picturesque places love their hometown.  It's not the prettiest place, it's not the coolest, but I've had good times here and I kind of like that everyone else thinks of it as the Siberia of Manhattan.

But I will admit that at times, I find the landscape, particularly when it comes to food and drink, a little bleak.  I have my favorites, like Bread & Olive, Zaitzeff, Financier, and occasionally I crave the moules mouclade from Les Halles (and the very excellent fries), but the limited options sometimes do make me feel like the neighborhood is the towheaded stepchild of the island.

Perhaps this is why I was so overjoyed when I saw that Zibetto Espresso Bar had opened on Fulton Street.  

Zibetto, although it is owned by a Greek, is quite the quintessential Italian espresso bar.  Just like in Italy, there are no chairs.  Just a long, narrow, marble bar that you can stand against whilst sipping your coffee of choice out of real cups.  Real, substantial, ceramic cups.  None of this paper stuff (unless of course you feel the need to ask for it).

The coffee is phenomenal, the baristas make beautiful milk foam designs in your cappucino...the whole experience is just so...civilized.

And, if you're craving a little something to go along with your cookie, they have many, many tiny little one or two bite sweets...a checkerboard cookie or a biscotti, along with a cappucino, is the perfect 3:00 pick me up.  And if you need something a bit more substantial than tiny cookies, Zibetto also has a beautiful selection of panini.

Hopefully this is a harbinger of good things to come for my poor little (beloved) neighborhood.

Viva La Terra

When Paul moved from London to New York seven years ago, he never got around to selling his London apartment.  He loves it, the location is amazing, real estate values can only go up, ah the memories, and who wants to pay all those capital gains taxes?  So, after renting through a letting agency and ending up with the tenant from hell for a year, he decided to rent it to one of his best friends and his wife.

The whole arrangement has been great.  His friend is pretty handy so Paul's gotten some minor renovations done for free, they keep an eye on the place, and when they're out of town the apartment serves as a very spacious hotel for us.

So the first chance we got, we used it as such.  I have three major memories of the experience.  First, I found it odd that there was a washer but no dryer, and that all laundry was hung across the radiator to dry (this struck me as an inefficient proposal given what a damp country England is).  Second, it took me a while to realize that you have to "turn on" the hot water a half hour before you want to use it in order to have a steamy shower.  I mean really, is this 1890?  And lastly, I have a very clear memory of loving the bath mat.

What was so special about this mat, you may ask?  Well, it was made of the most beautiful wood.  It was perfectly smooth on my feet and made me feel very fancy because I was elevated off of the floor.  I can only assume it was the female resident who was responsible...she is an utterly chic Japanese woman and he is British-fied Jersey boy...can you blame me for making the assumption?

Anyway, the minute I got home I went on an obsessive wooden bath mat search.  I not only found one, which was made of a naturally antibacterial and humidity resistant wood called hinoki,  

but I also discovered the wonderful, stylish, environmentally sensitive purveyor Viva Terra, which sells the little pedestal.  I ultimately decided that my New York bathroom was too small for my coveted bath mat, but I continue to love Viva Terra.  I mean how cute are these trash cans, made of reclaimed tin cans?

My mom is in love with her river stone mat, she claims it provides a fabulous mini foot massage.

I love the 70s vibe going on with these stools/end tables.  And each one is carved from one sustainable piece of monkey pod wood.  If nothing else, aren't you curious what monkey pod wood is like?

And lastly, who doesn't love a Lucky Garden Pig?

Nothing that Viva Terra sells is fantastically expensive (although not too much of it is truly cheap), but you get the feeling that everything is of high quality and that as such, the prices are fair.  That, on top of the whole social/ecological responsibility aspect just makes me happy.