tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-337201462024-03-07T16:28:16.077-05:00LimeyG | writing about eating[If we're going to hell in a handbasket, we might as well bring a picnic]LimeyGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388899118602772119noreply@blogger.comBlogger453125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33720146.post-13411109729051300272014-04-19T11:55:00.002-04:002014-04-19T11:58:07.132-04:00Epilogue (from The Boy)<img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4152/5027483816_9120740327.jpg" width="375" /><br />
<br />
As many of you have learned, LimeyG passed away peacefully last April 8. I consider myself lucky to have shared eighteen wonderful years with her. She was simply amazing.<br />
<br />
The following Sunday, April 13, we held a memorial ceremony to celebrate her life. Her friends and family told many poignant yet funny stories, we listened to music she loved (including the Pixies, Adam Ant and Celia Cruz) and finished by toasting her with champagne. It was as fitting a celebration of her life-affirming spirit as we could hope to produce.<br />
<br />
I have found comfort in reading some of the earlier posts on this blog. I would encourage you to do the same. Carolyn spent a lot of time getting the writing and photos to her liking. We are lucky she devoted such care to this blog, for it perfectly captures her essence. To get you started, here are some suggestions:<br />
<ul>
<li><a href="http://limeyg.blogspot.com/2012/05/three-hour-lunch-at-el-club-allard.html" target="_blank">A three-hour lunch at Club Allard in Madrid</a>, likely our best meal together;</li>
<li><a href="http://limeyg.blogspot.com/2009/09/au-pied-de-cochon-bonjour-canarde-en.html" target="_blank">Duck in a can in Montreal</a>, which was read at the memorial ceremony;</li>
<li><a href="http://limeyg.blogspot.com/2011/01/eating-everything-in-york.html" target="_blank">A trip to York</a>, featuring sausage buns, tea shops and sloe gin;</li>
<li><a href="http://limeyg.blogspot.com/2010/05/guavate-pig-heaven-in-puerto-rico.html" target="_blank">Lunch in Guavate in Puerto Rico</a>, featuring pork and lots of it;</li>
<li><a href="http://limeyg.blogspot.com/2010/09/face-full-of-wolf-drool-wolf-hollow.html" target="_blank">A wolf encounter in Ipswich</a>, a reminder she had other interests beside food.</li>
</ul>
<div>
Finally, I would like to give LimeyG the final word, by sharing her final request:</div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div class="p1">
<i>In lieu of flowers, Carolyn has asked that you go have an excellent glass of champagne; tell your family how much you love them; buy yourself a book you've been meaning to read; do one nice, small thing for a stranger.</i></div>
</blockquote>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">[From the official site of this particular Carolyn Grantham]</div>LimeyGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388899118602772119noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33720146.post-59444481410624627222014-03-01T09:48:00.000-05:002014-03-01T09:51:49.212-05:00The feeding tube and the desire to pound orange juiceSee this here egg? <br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7189337200/" title="Egg, Club Allard, Madrid on Flickr"><img alt="Egg" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8155/7189337200_47a29db720.jpg" height="325" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
We'll come back to it later. It's important.<br />
<br />
I've more or less accepted that I'll be getting all nutrition through a tube in my stomach from now on, which means I can't take in anything that's not liquid and lump-free. <br />
<br />
And now that I'm essentially Nil by Mouth 24/7, of course I want to consume everything that even remotely comes close to my head. Of course.<br />
<br />
I get obsessive over particular foods. For a while I had a huge craving for really chilled fresh apple cider. We had some in the house so my mom could try it. The fact that I knew it was there, waiting quietly in the fridge for someone to take the whole bottle and just chug it (me? Is it me?? Oh ...it's not) was almost painful. I felt like <a href="http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2010/10/god-of-cake.html" target="_blank">Allie Brosh during her Cake episode</a>.<br />
<br />
And then it started to go all fermenty, so we threw it out. And the problem seemed to fix itself: no more craving.<br />
<br />
Until the orange juice.<br />
<br />
The apple had been the last thing I'd had to drink as a "normal" while I was in hospital (actually a delicious JP Licks' apple sorbet freeze). So at least I had some idea where that craving had come from. <br />
<br />
But the orange juice had no similar origin story. And yet here I was, fixating on glasses of OJ in magazine ads, or staring at the pitcher of bright juice on the TV family's breakfast table, all but wanting to run onto the soundstage and yell, "What's wrong with you people? You want to let this go to waste??" before grabbing the jug from a surprised TV mom and pounding the entire thing.<br />
<br />
This time, I thought, I'll be smart about it. Rather that ignoring the need altogether, I'd meet it head-on.<br />
<br />
I got a 6oz box of Tropicana and a straw. I curled up in the only position in which I can reliably drink water without it coming out of every orifice (on my side, curled in a ball). I started to drink.<br />
<br />
Hm. Is that all there is to juice?<br />
<br />
Yep, somehow the fantasy of orange juice had far outweighed the reality. I even tried squeezing a fresh orange, to see whether that made a big difference. And while it is markedly better than the pasteurized stuff, it's still OJ.<br />
<br />
Obsession over.<br />
<br />
After thinking about this a lot, I've worked out a way to approach the cravings that deals with them more effectively.<br />
<br />
Think about your own history with food. You must have a Platonic ideal that comes to mind when you think "donut" or "steak" or "wine." Why is that pie from that diner in Maine the best ever? Because you'll never have another like it.<br />
<br />
And you can go through life with the knowledge that it's probably still available, and probably will be just as good, even if the context and situation are different. Or maybe it's the diner you'd always stop at on your way home from the weeks' vacation, so it has a special meaning.<br />
<br />
Which brings us back to the egg at the top of the page. This was the dessert at the much-described three-hour <a href="http://limeyg.blogspot.com/2012/05/three-hour-lunch-at-el-club-allard.html">lunch at Club Allard</a> in Madrid, a meal that, in itself, will never be topped. The egg's outside shell was made of chocolate, carefully painted with metallic paints. The white was coconut and the yolk was mango. <br />
<br />
It was one of the greatest things I've ever eaten in my life. And I'll never eat it again. But it that reason to complain or become obsessive? Of course not.<br />
<br />
I just need to apply this thinking to every sandwich, piece of chocolate, slice of cake, banana milkshake and plate of cheese I come across.<br />
<br />
Wish me luck.<div class="blogger-post-footer">[From the official site of this particular Carolyn Grantham]</div>LimeyGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388899118602772119noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33720146.post-25045990101070878962014-02-19T22:13:00.000-05:002014-02-19T22:13:34.723-05:00End of the lineAt my last check-up, my lovely nurse practitioner had noted my liver counts were off and she wanted to order a CT scan. This was ominous.<br />
<br />
A few days later, as we drove to hospital to get the results, The Boy asked me, "What's your idea of a worst-case scenario?"<br />
<br />
"One month," I said. <br />
<br />
So we met with my NP, who told us pretty much what we'd expected: the Lump had metastasized and was now also taking up residence in my liver. There was an oral chemo we could try, without which I could assume my timeline to be about<br />
<br />
one month.<br />
<br />
I realize I forgot to ask what the best-case scenario might be. I've always been more pessimist than not.<br />
<br />
So. Here we are. <br />
<br />
I guess I should be running around fulfilling my bucket list (you know, like in that movie, <em>Basket Case</em>), but the weather has hardly been inviting. And between the <a href="http://limeyg.blogspot.com/2014/01/feeding-time.html">totally tubular feeding</a> and ongoing pain issues, I haven't had much energy for hang gliding or scuba diving (wait - those things were never on my list ...).<br />
<br />
So part of me feels as though Aagh! The clock is ticking! And I'm sitting on the couch watching <em>X-Files</em> on Netflix! <br />
<br />
And part of me thinks, what the heck does it matter, really? Do I need to cram a bunch of experiences into a couple of weeks to prove a point? Oo, it's the one with Peter Boyle.<br />
<br />
Because anyway, who cares what I haven't done? That list would be a mile long for anyone.<br />
<br />
Here are some things I <em>have</em> done:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://limeyg.blogspot.com/2010/09/face-full-of-wolf-drool-wolf-hollow.html">Canoodled with wolves</a>;<br />
<br />
Eaten a ten-course <a href="http://limeyg.blogspot.com/2012/05/three-hour-lunch-at-el-club-allard.html">lunch in Madrid</a>;<br />
<br />
Patted the tongue of a friendly Beluga;<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/8462848727/" title="Yep, there's a tongue in there"><img alt="Beluga at Mystic Aquarium" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8523/8462848727_c7b4c48802.jpg" width="375"></a><br />
<br />
Spoken to 2,000 people from the stage at the Wang Theater;<br />
<br />
Seen the Grand Canyon;<br />
<br />
Helped train harbor seals;<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/5618611591/" title="Not so much training as flirting"><img alt="Seal snorgle!" src="https://ycpi-farm6.staticflickr.com/5027/5618611591_d978286472.jpg" width="375"></a><br />
<br />
Fed handmade raw-chicken treats to lions and tigers at <a href="http://bigcatrescue.org/" target="_blank">Big Cat Rescue</a>;<br />
<br />
Seen Paris from the Eiffel Tower;<br />
<br />
Seen Conan O'Brien from a short, awkward distance;<br />
<br />
Eaten at Momofuku, Chez Panisse, Le Bernadin, Au Pied de Cochon;<br />
<br />
Fired an AK-47 and visited the Liberace Museum on the same day;<br />
<br />
Lounged on a nude beach;<br />
<br />
Made vermouth from scratch;<br />
<br />
Grown and eaten my own tomatoes, warm and sweet, straight from the vine;<br />
<br />
Made people laugh;<br />
<br />
Baked my own bread;<br />
<br />
Known real love.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/1315969142/" title="This. This is the real love part."><img alt="Diego and Richard Serra" src="http://farm2.staticflickr.com/1032/1315969142_0c4bdbe01a.jpg" width="375"></a><div class="blogger-post-footer">[From the official site of this particular Carolyn Grantham]</div>LimeyGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388899118602772119noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33720146.post-57826389743319912122014-01-19T17:13:00.001-05:002014-01-20T07:33:34.849-05:00Feeding timeI'm typing this while I have dinner. No, I mean literally; while both my hands are on the keyboard, I'm ingesting a carefully balanced blend of one-quarter of the calories, protein, vitamins and minerals my body needs.<br />
<br />
Yep, I finally succumbed to the feeding tube.<br />
<br />
I really had no choice; the hole in my face was making it increasingly difficult to drink even the simplest smoothies, and I certainly was not keeping up a nutritional balance that would help my body to bounce back from treatment.<br />
<br />
So last Wednesday I checked into MGH for what I assumed would be a one- or two-day visit.<br />
<br />
Ha. <br />
<br />
Things started to go off the tracks when they discovered I had a fever. Now here's the thing: I'd had this fever for a while; I just never recognized it as such. Chills during the day? Yes, because I'm cheap and refuse to turn the heating up. Much rather sit under a blankie. Hot spells at night? Yes, because now the heating was on and I was still wearing nine layers of clothing.<br />
<br />
Oh, <em>that's</em> what a fever feels like?<br />
<br />
So they wanted to load me with antibiotics to get the fever down before doing any procedures. Fine.<br />
<br />
Then I had the tube fitted. Not a terrible experience, because I was asleep for it, but I woke up feeling like I'd been stabbed in the stomach. Which I guess I had.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/12038034525/" title="Tube by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Tube" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3736/12038034525_d735e0f53c.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
There were a couple of days of real discomfort, when sitting/walking/laughing was a sharp reminder of what had happened, but gradually the pain got better. We did some test runs with the feeding tube, and it seemed to be working fine.<br />
<br />
Until it wasn't.<br />
<br />
After some smooth, straightforward feedings, suddenly the tube would clog. It wasn't even possible to push water through it. The nurses tried a couple of usually successful remedies (warm water; ginger ale) but in vain.<br />
<br />
So it was back down to surgery for a refit.<br />
<br />
This experience was in every way the opposite of the first.<br />
<br />
Although his assistant claims otherwise, I'm pretty sure the surgeon used no painkillers on the site. He worked fast, but that seemed more so he could get me out of the way. I actually swore, loudly and angrily, while on the table.<br />
<br />
This was what <em>actually</em> being stabbed felt like.<br />
<br />
Luckily, there was little extra wound pain on top of what had already existed, so healing continued normally. And this tube has — so far! — behaved itself.<br />
<br />
Feeding isn't the worst thing in the world. Maybe the biggest change is that I'm now "feeding" instead of "eating." Four times a day, I feed.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/12038313933/" title="Bagging up by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Bagging up" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7328/12038313933_dde61acdb4.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
And the process is pretty easy: flush the tube with water and attached a line that's connected to a bag of pre-made formula. Sit around until the bag is empty, which takes about 90 minutes. Flush with more water. Done. <br />
<br />
For antibiotics, painkillers, etc, I have an oversized syringe that looks like something from the Hannah-Barbera Iggy Pop Saturday Cartoon Hour.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/12038035865/" title="Cartoon syringe by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Cartoon syringe" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7330/12038035865_b35f5761e8.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
Buuuut ... of course there's the other side to all of this. No more food by mouth. No knocking back a big glass of fresh orange juice or chilled apple cider or creamy hot chocolate.<br />
<br />
No more choosing food by taste; all I get is the formula. It has an odd, insipid processed-vanilla flavor. The Boy, of course, thinks it's quite tasty.<br />
<br />
No cocktails, though it would be hilarious to watch a bartender create something house-infused and artisanal, just so I could pour it into my syringe and inject it directly into my stomach.<br />
<br />
Obviously this is just another thing to take in stride, just as I did with temporarily losing tastebuds and permanently losing the ability to open my mouth. I'm trying really hard not to think about food, not to dwell on memories of past meals or favorite ingredients. That way lies madness.<br />
<br />
So what happens next? I'm going to do my best to make the most of these forced 90-minute time-outs. It's perfect for watching a movie or really falling into a book. Or even getting back into blogging more consistently.<div class="blogger-post-footer">[From the official site of this particular Carolyn Grantham]</div>LimeyGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388899118602772119noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33720146.post-52109690247831957772014-01-04T01:11:00.001-05:002014-01-04T01:11:26.505-05:00Forty-fiveToday is my 45th birthday. From where I sit, that's quite an achievement, given what's happened over the last six months or so: I learned the cancer in my face had come back, and that this time there was no cure. (Short version: You can only kill it with radiation, which I've already had twice. The human body can't cope with radiation three times.)<br />
<br />
In the meantime, I've been on a couple of different chemotherapies designed to slow or reverse the tumor's growth, and we're also looking at clinical trials. It's been a tiring, frustrating challenge, <a href="http://limeyg.blogspot.com/2013/12/i-have-cancer-and-im-angry.html">as I've mentioned before</a>. <br />
<br />
And each time there's been a bump (ha!) in the road, I've thought, <em>What if this is it? What if this is all the time I have?</em><br />
<br />
I've seriously not known if I'd make it to Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas. But looky, apparently I did.<br />
<br />
And I don't know how much time I have ahead. Enough, I dearly hope, to enjoy my parents' visit in a couple of weeks. Dare I reach for our wedding anniversary in February? What about seeing the arrival of the 30 hyacinths I planted in the fall? What about The Boy's birthday in June? Is that asking too much?<br />
<br />
While it's a cliché I'd happily punch in the face, all I can really do is take it one day at a time. Today, for instance, The Boy has booked us a suite at the Hotel Commonwealth. I intend to spend the day in my pajamas watching movies before taking a large and indulgent bath. A week ago, staggering through the exhausting side effects of chemo, the idea of leaving the house was too much to contemplate, so this is a big step.<br />
<br />
And a nice change for The Boy. I certainly can't go on without mentioning everything he's done to keep me sane over the last few months, falling into roles he never expected, learning medical skills he really shouldn't need to know. Finding me things to eat. Taking on more of the household chores. Going out in snowstorms to get medical supplies. Letting me rail at him because there was no one else around.<br />
<br />
Y'all better be good to him, is what I'm saying.<br />
<br />
So, day at a time. Most will be quiet, subdued, nap-enhanced; this seems to be my modus operandum. And where once I may have struggled against that, now I accept it. I have books still to read, movies to watch, things to say. <br />
<br />
So I won't get another 45 years. How about 45 days? <br />
<br />
Yeah, I can do something with that.<div class="blogger-post-footer">[From the official site of this particular Carolyn Grantham]</div>LimeyGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388899118602772119noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33720146.post-38342360733916218542013-12-14T16:52:00.000-05:002013-12-14T17:08:42.123-05:00I have cancer. And I'm angry.The goal of this blog has always been to entertain. It's never really been about my life or my problems, though obviously it's hard to write about food and eating without the context of where, and why, and with whom. Over time, intentionally or not, that has created a portrait of who I am.<br />
<br />
When I got my cancer diagnosis in January 2011, I figured, No big deal, I'll use the blog to keep people up to date, and maybe find some ways to talk about food from the perspective of a patient.<br />
<br />
I used the same voice and tone as I always had: keeping it light even when writing about the dark days.<br />
<br />
And everyone said, "Oh, you have such a great attitude. So positive. It's really inspiring."<br />
<br />
Yeah, well, we're done with that now.<br />
<br />
Because this stupid mass of chaotic cells in my face seems bent on ways to pull the rug out from under me at every opportunity.<br />
<br />
And I'm angry.<br />
<br />
I'm angry at everything this stupid disease has taken from me. It's been incremental enough that complaining has seemed almost petty.<br />
<br />
Yeah, I can't lick my lips, but I have Chapstick. Sure, I have to feed myself through a straw, but I can still taste hot chocolate and coconut chicken and ginger ice cream. Yes, I've been sleeping upright in a chair for months and missing the warmth of The Boy in bed, but it's better than tossing and turning all night, keeping him awake while I deal with neck pain and shortness of breath.<br />
<br />
But that feels like the gentle crawl up the roller coaster. And now we're about to hurtle down the other side.<br />
<br />
<em>You want to go an elegant Cape wedding? Ha, no - facelumps, enlarge!<br />
<br />
You got tickets for a show? Bought them five months ago? Shame you're just too fatigued now, ain't it?<br />
<br />
Oh, you're invited to a friend's house for a Christmas brunch? Naw, how about — boom! — we make a hole in your face instead?</em><br />
<br />
The hole appeared Tuesday, terrifying me in the bathroom mirror at 5am. Thank goodness I was due to see my awesome nurse practitioner that morning. She took it in sympathetic stride.<br />
<br />
Apparently recent chemo had liquefied some of the tumor (science!), which had then burst through my cheek. It was the tumor that sits inside my mouth, up against my teeth, and the damage happened in such a way that there's a small passage all the way through. So every time I drink something, a tiny bit dribbles down my neck. Which means eating/drinking are hard, the after-effects are gross, and attempts to keep the wound clean are challenging.<br />
<br />
And on Friday I found out that tumor-related wounds don't always heal.<br />
<br />
Think about your face. Take the first knuckle of your pinkie, and hold it against your left cheek just to the left of your mouth. Imagine there's a little hole, a shelf, a cave, full of white goop. Which will need to be swabbed, packed, bandaged. For the rest of your life.<br />
<br />
Am I still being positive?<br />
<br />
Let's keep going.<br />
<br />
Because the wound goes into my mouth, it's even harder to suck anything through a straw. Suction requires pressure, and you can't maintain pressure when there's a hole in the system. It takes an hour to coerce a milkshake down my throat.<br />
<br />
My other nurse says, "Just press your hand against the dressing where the hole is. That should create a seal."<br />
<br />
Which feels like another of the Mutant Cells' way of kicking me; The Boy and I had just been talking about how we could hack a Christmas dinner that would work through a straw. It involved cooking a mini Christmas pudding and blending it up with custard. I'm pretty sure it would have worked.<br />
<br />
<em>You want any kind of nostalgic Christmas traditions? Ha ha ha!</em><br />
<br />
This rant may seem to come out of nowhere, but it's been building for a few long months as little chunks of control, little fun pieces of life, are taken away. Going out with friends. Going to the movies, the mall, the grocery store. Getting a haircut. A manicure. A frappe.<br />
<br />
These days, I don't want to leave the house. Talking is really hard. It's painful, and my words are mushed and foggy, which means I have to repeat half of what I say if I want to be understood. I avoid it whenever possible. I communicate with Diego through terse sentences and "Mmmm"s of varying emotion.<br />
<br />
And don't say, "Oh, it can't be that bad. No one will notice. You're still beautiful."<br />
<br />
We're way past that. Sorry, but we are.<br />
<br />
How's my attitude now?<br />
<br />
Don't worry: I have started meeting with a lovely social worker, who's helping me through this. So it's not desperate.<br />
<br />
And what of The Boy, patient and long-suffering? Of course he's trying to take it all in stride, even though that now includes dealing with my sudden explosions of frustration - and with wound care. Yep, he's the one who gets up close and personal with this grossness, cleans it out, packs it with gauze and bandages me up.<br />
<br />
I know none of this is my fault, but I still hate that my problems have become his problems. Richer or poorer, sickness and health, whatever. This is not what I want for him.<br />
<br />
But hey, I guess you have to stay positive, right?<br />
<br />
Screw that.<div class="blogger-post-footer">[From the official site of this particular Carolyn Grantham]</div>LimeyGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388899118602772119noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33720146.post-61910996111771603712013-10-07T08:37:00.000-04:002013-10-07T08:42:34.616-04:00Wedding shower smoothies at Eastern StandardAs I've started again with the food (drink?) writing, it would be remiss of me not to talk about how much I love <a href="http://easternstandardboston.com/" target="_blank">Eastern Standard</a>. I mean, I've always loved them (as I may have mentioned here <a href="http://limeyg.blogspot.com/search/label/eastern%20standard" target="_blank">once or twice</a>), but on this occasion they went above and beyond.<br />
<br />
First off, bad news, boys: Lovely Co-worker Sarah is getting married. (Actually, she's no longer a co-worker, though she is still lovely.) True to form, she decided to have her wedding shower at Eastern Standard; she's even closer to becoming a resident there than I am.<br />
<br />
I was so excited to get the invitation, but then immediately started to worry. This was my first public outing, since the trismus kicked in, at which food would be served. What was I supposed to do? Leave early, before lunch? Arrive late, having had? Sit and make small talk at an empty setting while everyone else ate salad?<br />
<br />
I asked Sarah, who passed me along to Trish, her best friend and shower organizer. Trish said she'd talk to Eastern Standard. <br />
<br />
"Seriously, I don't need anything special," I said. "Tell them to take whatever they're giving everyone else and throw it in the blender."<br />
<br />
Well, of course, that's not what they did. Not even close.<br />
<br />
Turns out they had <em>separate meetings</em> to decide on a special menu just for me.<br />
<br />
I get quite misty-eyed just thinking about it.<br />
<br />
So while everyone else had flatbread pizza and salads, I had an amazing chilled corn chowder that tasted as though they'd extracted essence of corn, fresh from the field, and poured it into a glass. Vibrant, light, refreshing. How often can you say that about a soup?<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/10136225524/" title="Chilled corn chowder, Eastern Standard by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Chilled corn chowder, Eastern Standard" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7453/10136225524_b724bba50f.jpg" width="350" /></a><br />
<br />
And when the other guests moved on to steak frites (which oh lordy looked so good), I was well compensated with a healthy blueberry-spinach-Marcona almond-Greek yogurt smoothie. The almonds were a great touch; the flavor came through very nicely.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/10136317135/" title="Blueberry-spinach smoothie, Eastern Standard by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Blueberry-spinach smoothie, Eastern Standard" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7317/10136317135_5ffd2f00b8_z.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
Dessert was perfectly pretty and preppy: macarons in Lily Pulitzer colors (which I could admire, if not consume):<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/10136443523/" title="Macarons, Eastern Standard by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Macarons, Eastern Standard" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5489/10136443523_282ff68a26.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
And then everyone got strawberry milkshakes, so I felt more like one of the girls.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/10136443983/" title="Strawberry milkshake, Eastern Standard by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Strawberry milkshake, Eastern Standard" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5532/10136443983_8ac74b66ef.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
Dining out when you can't eat is enough of a challenge. Dining out when someone else is in charge of the menu — and has been kind enough to invite you along — brings a special set of concerns: How much are you allowed to intervene? What responsibility does the host have for your needs, especially when they're also dealing with other guests?<br />
<br />
This event went well, partly because the organizer was happy to work on my behalf (for which, thanks a million, Trish!) and partly because Eastern Standard does such a fantastic job with customer service. I'd say when in doubt, talk to the people who know you and know your challenges, and see what can be done.<br />
<br />
And happy upcoming wedding, Sarah! No, I'm not taking this picture down - we look too divine!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/10136683315/" title="Sarah's wedding shower by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Sarah's wedding shower" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3752/10136683315_c822d315a1.jpg" width="375" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer">[From the official site of this particular Carolyn Grantham]</div>LimeyGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388899118602772119noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33720146.post-30748153099038985602013-09-30T18:06:00.000-04:002013-10-07T08:38:29.831-04:00Harvest Wine Bar, Greenwich, where the chef is always right<em>(Update: I got a wonderful response from Harvest to this post. You can still get angry at the chef, but then see the end for the follow-up.)</em><br />
<br />
After our fabulous <a href="http://limeyg.blogspot.com/2013/09/a-weekend-through-straw-in-atlantic-city.html" target="http://limeyg.blogspot.com/2013/09/a-weekend-through-straw-in-atlantic-city.html">weekend in Atlantic City</a>, we hit the road to head back home. It was a pretty straight ride, with very little traffic even on the Cross-Bronx Expressway, so we hit Connecticut in the early afternoon and decided to find a place for lunch. <br />
<br />
The Yelp iPhone app showed a number of places, and based on reviews we decided on <a href="http://www.harvestwinebar.com/index.php" target="_blank">Harvest Wine Bar</a> on Greenwich Avenue. The menu looked good (plus extra props for listing the local farms they source from) and the place was bright and cozy, with reclaimed wood on the walls and an open kitchen.<br />
<br />
When the waitress came to take our drink order, I explained that <a href="http://limeyg.blogspot.com/2013/05/living-on-liquids.html">I couldn't eat solid food</a> — feeling confident that I could communicate this effectively, after a weekend of successful liquid meals — and she said she'd check with the chef.<br />
<br />
A little later she came back.<br />
<br />
"Yep, that should be no problem, though obviously some things won't blend very well."<br />
<br />
Great. Perfect. I ordered the salmon.<br />
<br />
She went to check.<br />
<br />
"No, sorry, Chef says he won't blend protein."<br />
<br />
What. What? That's a bizarre refusal at the best of times, but as I'd just had two dinners and a lunch in Atlantic City that revolved around seafood, it seemed perverse. <br />
<br />
Is it because he's too busy? I asked (a little facetiously, as there were only two other occupied tables in the place). <br />
<br />
"No, but he thinks it will change the original flavor of the dish."<br />
<br />
Well duh, of course it will. Sorry to stomp on his Vision, but I just want nutrients right now.<br />
<br />
Okay, let's try something else. Mac and cheese?<br />
<br />
This time, I watched as she walked over to the pass and relayed my request. And I saw the chef say no.<br />
<br />
And it wasn't a "Gee, sorry, we're not going to be able to do that."<br />
<br />
His expression was this:<br />
<br />
<img src="http://www.reactiongifs.com/wp-content/gallery/no/boo-no.gif" width="400" /><br />
<br />
It wasn't just "no"; it was "Hell no, I'm not wasting my time."<br />
<br />
Please note that I'm not in any way comparing <a href="http://www.harvestwinebar.com/about/executive_chef.php" target="_blank">Executive Chef Gustave Christman III</a> with The Situation. However, this gif is as close as I could find to approximating the evident distaste on his face.<br />
<br />
This was a little upsetting. Basically the guy was saying that he had no interest in helping me out. He didn't care whether I had lunch or not.<br />
<br />
So when the waitress came back, I burst into tears (which totally freaked her out - this wasn't her fault, after all!). I tried to explain what was going on, but between not being able to talk properly and crying everywhere and being more than a little hangry, my communication skills were not at their best.<br />
<br />
Note that he didn't come out from the kitchen to discuss options personally or see if we could come to a compromise. He easily could have; again, he was hardly in the weeds.<br />
<br />
She went back to the pass and somehow got him to change his mind.<br />
<br />
Kinda-sorta.<br />
<br />
Eventually, she delivered a cast-iron dish of mac and cheese that looked as though it had been smooshed into lumps with a fork. I stared at it. <br />
<br />
"I'm so sorry, but I can't drink this through a straw," I said.<br />
<br />
"I know," she replied. "Let me try again."<br />
<br />
This time, I saw her at the bar, holding up a pilsner glass to the chef in a "Do you want to use this?" gesture. But apparently he didn't, because a few minutes later she came back with the original dish, now plated a little less neatly, the contents slightly less lumpy.<br />
<br />
"He says this is as good as he can get it," she said.<br />
<br />
I added some water from my glass and stirred it to make it more liquid.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/10023750705/" title="IMG_5046 by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_5046" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7443/10023750705_bcc1b74947.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
But it was still impossible to do more than suck up the top layer. Which is a shame, because the cheese blend was pretty good.<br />
<br />
By the time we finished lunch, I was so upset that I was shaking. And although I hate confrontation, when I saw the chef standing at the front of Harvest, gazing across the street, I had to let him know how I felt. <br />
<br />
"Really sorry that the concept of 'drinking through a straw' is too complicated for you," I said.<br />
<br />
He faced me, arms folded across his chest, unsmiling.<br />
<br />
"You can't blend pasta," he said. "Pasta is a starch. It doesn't blend."<br />
<br />
Not "Sorry we couldn't find something for you to eat" or "Maybe next time we can do you some veggies."<br />
<br />
<em>Pasta doesn't blend. I proved that. And now I have won.</em><br />
<br />
Really? What kind of a chef says this? How egotistical do you have to be to decide your need to prove a point is more important than your guest's dining experience?<br />
<br />
Not to mention the fact that, over the last few months, I've blended everything from spinach lasagne to shells. The secret is to add plenty of liquid, but I guess that was over Gustave's head.<br />
<br />
So I lost it a little and — I'm not proud of this — called him a "line cook." It was my <a href="http://youtu.be/HEfiG63zv1g" target="_blank">Doorman Doorman Doorman</a> moment.<br />
<br />
And I meant it not to insult line cooks, but more to say his reluctance to customize a dish was more in keeping with the work of a cook who had instructions for completing dishes in a particular way than with an executive chef who (one would hope) had some ability to be flexible and creative.<br />
<br />
Oh, and here, one more time, is the lobster orecchiette I had at Mia in Atlantic City on Friday night. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/10023645114/" title="IMG_4791 by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_4791" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5348/10023645114_c713e8520d.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
(Orecchiette, Gustave, is a type of pasta. And it blends.)<br />
<br />
<strong>Update</strong><br />
Harvest co-owners Vincente and Kleber Siguenza left a <a href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33720146&postID=3074815309903898560&page=0&token" target="_blank">thoughtful and sympathetic comment</a> on this post. I emailed to let them know I couldn't really use a gift certificate, as we're not usually in the Greenwich area, and suggested they donate it to the <a href="http://www.ynhh.org/smilow-cancer-hospital/" target="_blank">Smilow Cancer Hospital</a>.<br />
<br />
Their reply:<br />
<blockquote>
Thank you for your email. We are sorry you will not be able to return to Harvest, but what a fantastic idea to donate the gift certificate to the Smilow Cancer Hospital! We have been active contributors to the cause through the Multiple Myeloma and the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society, so we are happy to oblige.<br />
<br />
We have worked with the Greenwich Hospital Foundation at its Great Chefs Event in the Spring of 2013. We contacted Andrea Guido from the Foundation and arranged to have the $100.00 Gift Certificate donated to their upcoming Gala on your behalf.<br />
<br />
We are also pleased that you brought dysphagia to our attention. This type of awareness is very helpful to our customer service approach, and we will use it to benefit all of our restaurants.</blockquote>
I'm very happy with this response; I can't imagine how it could have been handled better. <br />
<br />
The story still stands, though, as a study for other chefs: sometimes a diner will need a little extra accommodation. Please don't be offended if we need to crush your delicious, carefully created vision. We're just hungry.<div class="blogger-post-footer">[From the official site of this particular Carolyn Grantham]</div>LimeyGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388899118602772119noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33720146.post-31467887903453833262013-09-30T16:35:00.000-04:002013-10-07T08:38:48.531-04:00A weekend through a straw: Atlantic CityWe have a group of friends we see every week. Literally; with very few exceptions, we've met up every Thursday night for almost 20 years. They all went through MIT with The Boy, so he's known them longer, and I've come to consider them my surrogate brothers (seriously, you guys. Sorry if I'm displaying feels here).<br />
<br />
Even though we have the regular Thursday thing, it had been years since we'd done a group activity of more than a couple of hours. So this weekend, we took a road trip to Atlantic City. Because why not?<br />
<br />
Of course, my main concern (apart from <em>What am I going to wear??</em> was food. We rarely eat out any more, largely because the whole "please take your delicious dish and make me a slurry" thing gets tedious. And I hate causing a fuss. So I volunteered to scope out restaurants that would be able to accommodate my stupid trismus but also show the rest of the gang a good time.<br />
<br />
This turned out to be easier than I expected.<br />
<br />
Our first night's dinner was at <a href="http://www.miaac.com/index_home.php" target="_blank">Mia</a> at Caesar's Palace. It looked high-endy, spendy, potentially unfriendly. But my email got a quick response, and a promise that the chef had been told about my situation and was cool with it.<br />
<br />
Of course, I still didn't know what that meant. But I didn't have to worry.<br />
<br />
First we were greeted by Jason, who had replied to my email and also happened to be our waiter. And then chef de cuisine Paul Hanley (adorable and inked) came out and we had a thorough discussion about what I could and couldn't manage.<br />
<br />
"Just throw some stuff in a blender and give me a straw," I said.<br />
<br />
"Don't worry," said Chef Paul. "We'll look after you."<br />
<br />
First course: lobster orecchiette with cappuccino foam.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/10023645114/" title="Dinner at Mia in Atlantic City by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Dinner at Mia in Atlantic City" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5348/10023645114_c713e8520d_n.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
Next, the zuppe di pesce I'd originally ordered, creatively split into three: shrimp and scallops in one glass, veggies in the next, and flounder in the third.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/10023702996/" title="Three-martini fish soup by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Three-martini fish soup" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5505/10023702996_962854e0a0.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
It was like a fabulous three-martini fish stew.<br />
<br />
And then, even though I hadn't ordered dessert, a lovely surprise ending: a salted-caramel-chocolate shake.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/10023774113/" title="salted-caramel-chocolate shake by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="salted-caramel-chocolate shake" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7373/10023774113_7e9f67bf17.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
Sadly this was more than I could suck down, and I had to leave some behind. <br />
<br />
But the whole experience gave me a huge confidence boost. I <em>could</em> go out for dinner like a normal! <br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/10023773673/" title="IMG_4795 by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_4795" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7304/10023773673_e7ca42a86d.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
The boys were also well cared-for, the star dish being spaghetti cooked in a red wine reduction until the whole thing was rich and flavorful. Genius idea.<br />
<br />
Day Two began with a beautiful sunrise:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/10023655284/" title="IMG_4820 by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_4820" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3786/10023655284_f734f9f1e6_n.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
And a trip to see Lucy, the largest elephant you can walk around inside:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/10023666184/" title="Lucy the elephant, Margate, NJ by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Lucy the elephant, Margate, NJ" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3777/10023666184_23b4e55e1b.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/10023785493/" title="Lucy the elephant's butt, Margate, NJ by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Lucy the elephant's butt, Margate, NJ" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3685/10023785493_707e71fb09.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
Then there was mini-golf; my first in-a-casino game of blackjack (in which I learned I'd rather keep the cash to spend on other stuff); and a cocktail overlooking the Atlantic before heading to dinner at <a href="http://cubalibrerestaurant.com/i/" target="_blank">Cuba Libre in the Tropicana</a>.<br />
<br />
Again, I'd emailed the restaurant in advance, and had an almost-immediate response, reassuring me there'd be no problems. I ordered a black bean soup and asked if they could throw in a little extra avocado, and that's what I got, served up in a milkshake glass with a straw. It had a generous dose of cumin and was fragrant and wonderful. <br />
<br />
Sadly I have no photos of this dinner; I blame either the fact that it was too dark to get good shots or the pitcher of margaritas that appeared on the table. <br />
<br />
Again, the staff at Cuba Libre was friendly, helpful, and more than willing to make suggestions and see that we all had a good time. Huge props to them.<br />
<br />
On Saturday, I faced two potential challenges: breakfast at <a href="http://www.thechelsea-ac.com/teplitzkys.php" target="_blank">Teplitzky's at the Chelsea Hotel</a> and lunch at a <a href="http://www.ballysac.com/restaurants/6ix-a-bistro.html#.UknVgWR4aVk" target="_blank">sad casino diner</a>. Both times, I had to explain my situation to servers who were somewhat harried and distracted. Both times, I got exactly what I asked for: a smoothie-oatmeal combo at breakfast and a clam chowder smoothie at lunch. <br />
<br />
Maybe this wasn't so hard after all.<br />
<br />
The absolute highlight of Saturday was getting to ride in a helicopter, something I've wanted to do since I was a kid.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/10023687434/" title="IMG_4978 by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_4978" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7328/10023687434_7b697526d8.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
Dinner was back at Caesar's, this time at the <a href="http://www.atlanticgrill.com/" target="_blank">Atlantic Grill</a>, a classy New York seafood kinda joint (also the place where we heard "Volare" for the third time that weekend). <br />
<br />
I was a little worried about this one, as I'd booked through the Open Table iPhone app and it wasn't clear whether my special request info had gone through.<br />
<br />
But again, when we turned up they were more than happy to accommodate me, and gave me salmon, puréed potato and asparagus, divided into two glasses and finished with a grilled lemon garnish.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/10023691484/" title="Dinner at Atlantic Grill by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Dinner at Atlantic Grill" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7424/10023691484_2bf59fa496.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
And then we went to see <a href="http://www.hulu.com/watch/2010" target="_blank">a brownish area with points</a>. She sang for about an hour, which was apparently longer than much of her elderly audience could manage, judging by the slow, careful stream of people heading for the egress. But hey, she did "Cabaret" and "Maybe This Time" and "New York, New York" and <a href="http://youtu.be/3EMYpHeGINk" target="_blank">this haunting song</a>. Another one to check off the list.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/10023741455/" title="IMG_5006 by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_5006" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3826/10023741455_414c8f3f02.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
We left Atlantic City somewhat reluctantly on Sunday morning. It had been great to get out of town and spend time with friends. For me, it was especially good to realize my fears about being able to eat out were unjustified. <br />
<br />
Maybe this means I'll be writing about restaurants more often?<div class="blogger-post-footer">[From the official site of this particular Carolyn Grantham]</div>LimeyGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388899118602772119noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33720146.post-73142463966317828312013-09-30T14:47:00.001-04:002013-10-07T08:39:14.193-04:00Time to suck it up!People keep pointing out to me that I haven't written anything since May. I know, I know.<br />
<br />
It's just that I'm still on this stupid, frustrating (and at this point probably permanent) liquid-only diet, and how much can you really say about that?<br />
<br />
"Today I had coconut chicken! Through a straw."<br />
<br />
"Today I had veggie lasagne! Through a straw."<br />
<br />
"Today I had salade Niçoise! Through a straw."<br />
<br />
And pretty much every meal looks like a brown slurry <a href="http://limeyg.blogspot.com/2013/05/living-on-liquids.html">(see previous post)</a> so it's not as though there'd be vibrant photos to make up for the dull descriptions.<br />
<br />
But then a friend who had heard about my liquid lunches suggested that other people going through similar challenges might find it useful to hear from a fellow sucker.<br />
<br />
So going forward, this is for my homies with trismus, esophageal dysphagia, or any other pain-in-the-butt situation that means they can't just open their faces and shove food in there. Let's suck it up together! <div class="blogger-post-footer">[From the official site of this particular Carolyn Grantham]</div>LimeyGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388899118602772119noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33720146.post-23637904407957506852013-05-08T17:10:00.000-04:002013-10-07T08:39:44.045-04:00Living on liquidsRecently I've been trying to remember the last meal I ate.<br />
<br />
Actually ate, I mean. With the silverware and the plate and the chewing. But I can't.<br />
<br />
There are vague memories: juicy steak frites at Saloon; a ricotta-and-raspberry jam crêpe from Mr. Crêpe; take-out pizza from Eat at Jumbo's. The latter I remember because the sausage was too spicy for my tongue, already tenderized by the double-punch of chemo and radiation.<br />
<br />
At some point there will have been a meal that I couldn't finish, because moving anything around my mouth was too painful to handle. And then I switched to a liquid diet.<br />
<br />
That was, let's see ... six weeks ago? Hard to pinpoint, but certainly it was at least three or four weeks into radiation, and I had my last treatment a month ago last week. So maybe more than that.<br />
<br />
These days, a typical menu looks like this:<br />
<br />
<strong>Breakfast</strong><br />
Fresh-fruit shake with protein powder<br />
Smoothie of oatmeal or Weetabix, yogurt, ice cream, coffee. No, I mean all at once. In the smoothie.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/8702259186/" title="Breakfast smoothie ingredients by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Breakfast smoothie ingredients" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8395/8702259186_a22f6c89b3.jpg" width="374" /></a><br />
<br />
This isn't too bad, actually; I add spices (cardamom, nutmeg, cinnamon), which helps. The yogurt is for extra protein, and the ice cream boosts calories.<br />
<br />
<strong>Lunch</strong><br />
The Sardini (with apologies to Dr. Zoidberg)<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/8702259150/" title="Sardini by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Sardini" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8123/8702259150_4d10961cd8.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
This is pretty much <em>exactly</em> like a Martini, except you use cucumber instead of vermouth and a whole can of skinless, boneless sardines in olive oil instead of gin. And you add Greek yogurt. Huge protein punch.<br />
<br />
<strong>Dinner</strong><br />
Soup, probably<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/8701136515/" title="Soup! by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Soup!" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8404/8701136515_507bfd95ba.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
You'd think there'd be endless variety here, but no: I still need to keep things fairly bland. I can't do anything spicy or acidic — tomatoes are painful, as is a surfeit of leeks or peppers. Smooth is better than lumpy, as anything fibrous is difficult (corn; beans that shed their outer layers). This basically leaves me with root veggies (sometimes roasted), well-cooked greens, cheese sauces. <br />
<br />
Now and again I go bigger. There have been fish chowders and slow-cooked beef short ribs. Tonight is a chicken and eggplant stew, vaguely North African but without the spice, of course. Cooked long enough, puréed well enough, they make a nice change from squash soup, though they're still harder to eat.<br />
<br />
The whole thing is becoming tedious. <br />
<br />
Plus, it's changing my attitude toward food in general. I can still see it and smell it, of course, but the taste aspect — and that includes the anticipatory pleasure, looking forward to the taste — isn't there any more. So now I regard a beautifully plated charcuterie selection in much the same way as a flower arrangement: Yes, it looks lovely, and smells wonderful. And that's as far as it goes.<br />
<br />
What's more, I no longer distinguish between types of food. I have as much use/need for a lemon meringue pie as for a plate of raw pink chicken breasts. I've never liked mushrooms, but right now they're no different than a fresh orange or a bowl of pistachios or a bar of chocolate.<br />
<br />
I know I shouldn't complain. There are people who have been through worse than this; people who have lost all ability to eat, who will spend the rest of their lives getting nutrition through a tube in their stomachs. My condition is temporary, and should clear up in a few more weeks.<br />
<br />
Still.<br />
<br />
I have visions of the first proper food I want to eat. A cheese sandwich: good white bread, lots of butter, a salty Cheddar. When I described it to my dad, he said, "You mean where you take a bite and there are teeth marks in the bread <em>and</em> the butter <em>and</em> the cheese?"<br />
<br />
Yes. That. Exactly that. I dream about it.<br />
<br />
I guess I haven't given up on food completely.<div class="blogger-post-footer">[From the official site of this particular Carolyn Grantham]</div>LimeyGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388899118602772119noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33720146.post-84845706413926566862013-03-30T18:25:00.002-04:002013-03-30T18:27:09.621-04:00To scotch an eggI'm not a stickler for tradition. Okay, well maybe a little, especially when it comes to adherence to proper grammar and basic traffic rules (don't. Get me started).<br />
<br />
But when it comes to food, I love creativity. I love the idea of subverting expectations and presenting standard dishes in new ways. That's part of the reason our Madrid <a href="http://limeyg.blogspot.com/2012/05/three-hour-lunch-at-el-club-allard.html" target="_blank">lunch at Club Allard</a> is in my Top Ten Meals Evar; every dish took straightforward concepts and rebuilt them in unexpected ways — like the egg-that-wasn't for dessert.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7189337476/" title="Egg dessert, Club Allard, Madrid by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Egg dessert at Club Allard in Madrid" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7231/7189337476_ea6fd522b5.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
But now I feel the need to speak up. And as it happens, the subject is eggs.<br />
<br />
Scotch eggs, to be precise.<br />
<br />
See, I grew up with Scotch eggs. (That sounds like they raised me, like wolves, but that's not true; the pork pies did most of that work.) And I know what they are: Boiled eggs, wrapped in pork sausage meat, breaded, deep-fried.<br />
<br />
Like this.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/4652463202/" title="Scotch egg by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Scotch egg" src="http://farm5.staticflickr.com/4007/4652463202_7c468bd74c.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
Though frankly, even that parsley garnish is improper.<br />
<br />
In England, you can get them in chain supermarkets and village butchers and motorway service stations. They're great for picnics and quick lunches. I've even seen them served at a wedding (though to be fair, it was the sort of reception where the drink for the toast was whiskey for the gents and sherry for the ladies. I, of course, demanded the manly option).<br />
<br />
So what's my beef now?<br />
<br />
Oh, just this:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.chow.com/recipes/30315-chorizo-scotch-eggs" target="_blank">Chorizo Scotch eggs with tortilla chips</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.chow.com/recipes/30317-kabocha-squash-scotch-eggs" target="_blank">Kabocha squash Scotch eggs</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/emeril-lagasse/kicked-up-scotch-eggs-recipe/index.html" target="_blank">Emeril's "kicked up" Scotch eggs with Creole seasoning</a><br />
<br />
You'd think I'd be happy, right? Finally, the outdated view that British food is uniformly awful — everything overcooked and under-seasoned — is disappearing, and humble dishes like the Scotch egg are enjoying a moment in the sun. <br />
<br />
And yet ...<br />
<br />
I think it's just that my idea of the Scotch egg is very particular, and deeply rooted in nostalgia. I know, clearly, unhesitatingly, how it should taste: tiny breadcrumbs gritty on your fingertips, dry and yet leaving a faint greasy residue; textures changing as you bite through breading, then densely packed meat, then smooth, squeaky egg white, then soft yolk; peppery sausage contrasting with the clean purity of the egg.<br />
<br />
Once you start experimenting with squash and spices, you're messing with my childhood.<br />
<br />
This may seem a hypocritical rant, given that I'll jump to order Scotch eggs at any bar that offers them. The example above is from the <a href="http://www.salthillpub.com/" target="_blank">Salt hill pub in Lebanon, NH</a> (where they were listed as "Celtic eggs"). Here's the version from New York's <a href="http://www.joneswoodfoundry.com/" target="_blank">Jones Wood Foundry</a>, which also does a solid steak and kidney pie and possibly the best chips I've had in this whole country.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/8604598728/" title="Scotch eggs by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Scotch eggs" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8531/8604598728_94cdccc4c5.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
But it bugs me that compromise is necessary: Sure, we'll take your awful limey snacks, but we'll mess with them to make them more acceptable to our audiences. Hey, we do it all the time with TV shows!<br />
<br />
I guess I should be happy that another staple of UK cuisine is now somewhat available over here. Maybe it's part of a very very (very) slow British invasion? Who knows what's next: pork pie? Steak and kidney pudding with suet pastry? Real proper fruit cake?<br />
<br />
Ha ha! Don't think so!<div class="blogger-post-footer">[From the official site of this particular Carolyn Grantham]</div>LimeyGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388899118602772119noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33720146.post-80112729010084845062013-03-10T17:58:00.000-04:002013-03-10T18:05:15.520-04:00Momofuku Ko-My-GodWe just celebrated our fifteenth anniversary. FIFTEEN. WHAT?? It's crazy that I've spent almost one-third of my life married to The Boy, but there you go. We're still having fun, even during the medical crappiness of the last couple of years.<br />
<br />
So how to mark the event? We left it kind of late to do anything big, partly because I was due to start the new ritual of weekly chemo and twice-a-day radiation and we didn't know how I'd feel. As it turned out, I was doing okay, so with just over a week to go, we found a hotel in New York and booked train tickets for the following weekend.<br />
<br />
The big question, of course: Where to eat? <br />
<br />
Scoping around for something new, I checked in with our friend Eric, who a) reminded us that he and his wife had recently had a fab meal at <a href="http://momofuku.com/new-york/ko/" target="_blank">Momofuku Ko</a> and b) pointed out that reservations for our Saturday night would open up the following day.<br />
<br />
Okay, sold.<br />
<br />
In theory, at least. <br />
<br />
The deal with Ko is that they have 12 seats — not tables, <em>seats</em> — which become available ten days ahead at 10am. The trick is to be online at 9:58am and hit "refresh" constantly.<br />
<br />
So I was. Click, click, click. Refresh, refresh, refresh. One minute to go ... 9:59:48 ... click ...<br />
<br />
Ten o'clock. Click.<br />
<br />
<em>No availability.</em><br />
<br />
WHAT??<br />
<br />
Yep, them's the breaks. Luckily, I also knew to keep clicking; people cancel, spaces open up. And lo, after only another 30 minutes of hitting "refresh," I saw an opening. Click. Got it.<br />
<br />
(And then another couple of heart-pounding, adrenaline-filled minutes where I had to fill in contact details and give a credit card number while a timer counted down 120 seconds. Aaagh, the number's wrong! Aagh, I can't spell my own name! This, it seems, is why I'm not cut out for the bomb squad.)<br />
<br />
So, after a fun day in Manhattan, including a lovely pub lunch at <a href="http://www.joneswoodfoundry.com/" target="_blank">Jones Wood Foundry</a> (bangers and mash! Steak and kidney pie! Listening to New Yorkers concerned about the contents of toad in the hole!) and a romantic walk through a rainy, misty, almost-deserted Central Park, we headed to the East Village. <br />
<br />
Okay, a disclaimer now: Ko is known for discouraging photography. As the website puts it:<br />
<blockquote>
may i take pictures?<br />
no.</blockquote>
<img src="http://d22zlbw5ff7yk5.cloudfront.net/images/cm-39636-050ce464fdeb15.jpeg" width="375" /><br />
<br />
Which would hurt less if I hadn't found <a href="http://www.flickr.com/search/?q=momofuku%20ko" target="_blank">600+ Ko photos on Flickr</a>.<br />
<br />
But whatevs. No lovely food shots here, but a few observations to give you a sense of the experience.<br />
<br />
The room is long and narrow, and dominated by a counter running down the middle. On one side are 12 stools; on the other, three guys with sharp knives and a lot of stainless steel.<br />
<br />
The music is eclectic — Wilco, Pink Floyd, NWA ("it's the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/David_Chang" target="_blank">big boss man</a>'s iPod," we're told) — though loud; we have to shout to communicate allergies to the staff, and we don't always hear all the details of each dish as they're presented.<br />
<br />
That, combined with the fear of being yelled at for pulling out a phone, means we don't take notes. And it's hard to remember all ten courses plus snacky extras.<br />
<br />
Still, there was:<br />
<br />
Light-as-air chicharrón dusted with huitlacoche;<br />
Melty Spanish mackerel contrasted with pickled shallots and blood orange; <br />
Tiny, delicate shrimp with a texture I can only describe as creamy, something I've never encountered before;<br />
A rich potato chowder with soft littleneck clams and andouille (just outside my current capacity for spicy food, but still fabulous);<br />
Venison tartare, served under sunchoke and Brussels sprout leaves and over fermented black beans. No, shut up, it was <em>insane</em>. The venison was like maguro in texture, the beans added a deeper meaty angle, the leaves gave a crunchy foil to the soft flesh. The only thing even more better was the egg.<br />
<br />
Ohhh, the egg. Soft-boiled, smoked, served with a generous spoonful of caviar on top of buttered onions. Simple, right? Oh look, <a href="http://www.bonappetit.com/recipes/2009/09/soft_cooked_eggs_with_onion_soubise_caviar_and_potato_chips" target="_blank">here's a recipe</a>. And a <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/hellokitty893112/2350625511/" target="_blank">better picture</a>.<br />
<br />
The other dish often cited in discussions of Ko is the lychees with Riesling geleé <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/hellokitty893112/2350626893/in/set-72157604196739187" target="_blank">topped with chilled, shaved foie</a>. It's like a rich, grown-up, sophisticated sundae. Sadly, by the time it appears for us, I'm dragging — it's well past my bedtime — so I can't give it the full attention it deserves.<br />
<br />
And I hardly touch the last savory course, a tender piece of duck with baby turnip and berries. Which makes me feel bad, especially as the poor guy firing up the first batch accidentally set the whole pan alight and had to start over.<br />
<br />
Oh, a word on the chefs. There are some jobs I'm just not cut out for: teacher, nurse, anything in sales. Add to that: Cooking in a tiny restaurant where you're almost nose-to-nose with the diners. These guys had an incredible Zen-like approach, calmly, methodically prepping and plating, slicing translucent slivers of fish, using tweezers to pick out the perfect microgreen garnishes, trimming meat down to its tastiest essence, while dealing with distracting customer chit-chat. I'd last ten minutes before I was throwing plates across the room.<br />
<br />
Desserts were lovely — a coconut-lime sorbet with meringue and banana and a sour-orange sorbet with panna cotta, Earl Grey and caramel — but seemingly not as creative as the mains. Which reminded us of dinner at <a href="http://limeyg.blogspot.com/2012/02/rosanjin-new-york-seven-courses-and.html" target="_blank">Rosanjin</a>, in which a dinner of dishes in a formal, traditional Japanese style concluded with ... cheesecake and strawberry ice cream. So maybe it's a thing.<br />
<br />
After about two and a half hours, we rolled out, tired and full and happy. Ko goes in our Top Ten Meals of All Time.<br />
<br />
And now I'm back to sucking scrambled eggs and milkshakes. At least I still have tastebuds, for now. Once they're gone, I'll entertain myself with looking at photos of dinner at Ko.<br />
<br />
Other people's photos, anyway.<div class="blogger-post-footer">[From the official site of this particular Carolyn Grantham]</div>LimeyGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388899118602772119noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33720146.post-47786357735180960182013-02-20T19:20:00.001-05:002013-02-20T19:21:18.643-05:00I can makes cheez?Wait - I seriously haven't posted since NOVEMBER? Where have I been??<br />
<br />
(Short answer: Chicago, New York, England, Wales and Tampa. Possible posts to come on some of those. Though if I haven't managed anything yet ...)<br />
<br />
The latest cancer treatment news is that I start a new round of radiation tomorrow. A second set of radiation, you say? Isn't that risky and stuff? Well, yes, but it's that or live on chemo until the chemo stops working. So.<br />
<br />
Because I know the next few months are going to be Not Fun, The Boy and I have been trying to fit in as many happy things as possible. A small one, but something we've always wanted to try, was making cheese. So for Christmas I got him a mozzarella-making kit from <a href="http://www.roaringbrookdairy.com/product-item/mozzarella-cheese-kit/" target="_blank">Roaring Brook Dairy</a>. <br />
<br />
It came with a small block of rennet; baggies of cheese salt (which has no iodine) and citric acid; a small thermometer; and a pair of rubber gloves. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/8492518817/" title="Cheesemaking kit by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Cheesemaking kit" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8246/8492518817_f8e6f4e37d.jpg" width="375" /></a> <br />
<br />
"All you need," it said, "is one gallon of milk!"<br />
<br />
So, cool. Milk acquired and decanted into the Dutch oven. In other news, we learned we had a one-gallon Dutch oven. Phew!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/8493619198/" title="A gallon of milk by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="A gallon of milk" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8237/8493619198_ecdcff78e8.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
Once the temperature reached 85 degrees, we added the citric acid. At 100 degrees we added the rennet. Suddenly, we had primordial cheese.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/8492518823/" title="Curds and whey by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Curds and whey" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8518/8492518823_76e67c7e6f.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
After a ten minute rest (for us and the cheese) it was time to separate the curds and whey.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/8493619210/" title="Separating the curds by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Separating the curds" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8231/8493619210_86f76843dc.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
The goal was to get as much liquid as possible out of the curds. This took a while.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/8492518893/" title="Draining the curds by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Draining the curds" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8239/8492518893_4f688ab413.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
Some amount of manual labor was required (with gloves because hot cheese).<br />
<br />
Then I noticed that the instructions mentioned putting the curds in a microwaveable bowl.<br />
<br />
This was a problem.<br />
<br />
We don't have a microwave.<br />
<br />
There's no real reason for this; we're not purists. We've just never felt the need. And our counter space is pretty much occupied with other things at this point, so getting a microwave would mean moving things around and squashing our available workspace even more. <br />
<br />
Yes, it's a little annoying when we buy things (say, proper Christmas pudding) that requires an hour of steaming in a bain marie or a quick 15 minutes in the nuker. <br />
<br />
It's even more of a pain in cases like Project Mozzarella, where the assumption is that there's no need to include instructions of the analog kind, because who could possibly be so ill-equipped?<br />
<br />
So I hopped on the Googles to see what our options were. First stop was The Pioneer Woman's blog; she had a whole <a href="http://thepioneerwoman.com/cooking/2012/07/making-fresh-mozzarella/">post on making mozzarella</a>. Look at her and her gorgeous, wholesome friends, going back to the old ways!<br />
<br />
And then they got to this part:<br />
<blockquote>12. Then transfer the cheese to a microwave-save bowl and microwave the curd on high for 1 minute.</blockquote>Okay, she's a modern pioneer woman, I guess. Unless I missed the <em>Little House</em> episode where the Ingalls clan takes the covered wagon to Best Buy.<br />
<br />
At this point, I wasn't in the mood to plough through a bunch of sites looking for help. The Boy vaguely remembered seeing a show about cheesemaking that involved something like oversized steam tables, so we improvised with a bain marie (two references in one post!). The goal was to cook the curds enough to wring out more whey, and then heat the cheese up to a stretchable texture.<br />
<br />
This proved tricky, and took a while, but eventually we were there. And no, I didn't take any photos of that part. Go back and look at Pioneer Woman's sexy photos and imagine that's what it looked like.<br />
<br />
The end result: not pretty.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/8493619254/" title="Homemade mozzarella! by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Homemade mozzarella!" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8523/8493619254_64b8336fb8.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
But pretty good for a first attempt. And pretty tasty, too; more buttery than the shop-bought stuff. A little more chewy, but certainly edible.<br />
<br />
Dinner that night:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/8492519073/" title="Pizza with homemade mozzarella by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Pizza with homemade mozzarella" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8101/8492519073_aab01e39c0.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
The original plan had been to do the whole pizza from scratch: I'd already made a dough; we had a basil plant, still holding on from the summer; and I had a final harvest of cherry tomatoes that I'd oven-roasted and frozen for a moment just like this.<br />
<br />
However, I'd forgotten that I'd already used up the tomatoes in a (very delicious) stew. So I went out and got more (I know! Seasonal produce FAIL!), which I roasted guiltily.<br />
<br />
Plus, also, prosciutto, which we didn't make from our own pig.<br />
<br />
Plus, after all that, I forgot to use the basil.<br />
<br />
Still. Pizza.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/8493619468/" title="Pizza with homemade mozzarella by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Pizza with homemade mozzarella" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8525/8493619468_8f3f3554f6.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
As you may be able to tell, the mozzarella didn't get as melty as we'd hoped. Not sure whether that was the result of overly enthusiastic manual stimulation, or the issue with the heat, or what. But that cheese kit will allegedly provide us with chances to make another three pounds of cheese, so we'll just keep trying.<div class="blogger-post-footer">[From the official site of this particular Carolyn Grantham]</div>LimeyGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388899118602772119noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33720146.post-12927769413414508272012-11-14T15:45:00.001-05:002012-11-14T15:49:48.890-05:00Bondir's Harvest Opera: Son et nourritureI'm always interested when people pair food with something else. Wine, yes, obvs, but more than that: theater, music, story — a different aspect that brings an extra dimension, or context, to the act of eating.<br />
<br />
So I was excited to learn about <a href="http://bondircambridge.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/10/Sensing-Terroir-A-Harvest-Food-Opera-at-Bondir.pdf" target="_blank">Sensing Terroir: A Food Opera </a>(PDF), a collaboration between <a href="http://bondircambridge.com/" target="_blank">Bondir</a> chef Jason Bond and Ben Houge, a digital audio artist. Their plan was to create a dining experience that paired each course of a meal with specific sounds, connecting dishes to the farmers and producers that contributed the ingredients.<br />
<br />
To quote from Houge's <a href="http://www.benhouge.com/writings/?p=855" target="_blank">Food Opera Manifesto</a>:<br />
<blockquote>I’ve long appreciated fine food, and somewhere along the line I realized that enjoying a well-crafted meal was an inherently time-based experience, akin to ballet, music, or film, but tailored to the sense of taste. This is true not only in the succession of courses, but in the way a course evolves, as flavors meld, textures break down, and hot and cold converge to room temperature. Even psychologically, our perception of a new dish changes as we become accustomed to it. Once I acknowledged this, the desire to compose music to accompany a meal, just like a dance or film score, followed naturally.</blockquote>The idea was to synch the sounds to the dish each individual diner was eating, using video-game technology and tabletop speakers, so that the experience would be customized to each person, regardless of when they started eating or how long it took them to finish.<br />
<br />
Brilliant, right?<br />
<br />
When we arrived, the first thing we noticed was the drone. It filled the space, a low, electronic sound, gently rising and falling in intensity, with occasional accordion-like trills underneath. The sound came from speakers at ceiling level and large pods on wooden stands on the floor.<br />
<br />
You can see one of the floor-pods just next to The Boy's hand (plus Houge talking to a table behind us):<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/8185628984/" title="Bondir Harvest Opera dinner by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Bondir Harvest Opera dinner" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8490/8185628984_816ccaf428.jpg" width="375" /></a> <br />
<br />
Each table also had a set of these:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/8185628582/" title="Bondir Harvest Opera dinner by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Bondir Harvest Opera dinner" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8058/8185628582_21b5f08bca.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
These smaller speakers were intended for the specific sounds that would accompany each dish. <br />
<br />
The low drone continued throughout the evening. And while we looked over the menu, we heard this from the tabletop speakers:<br />
<br />
<object classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" data="http://www.flickr.com/apps/video/stewart.swf?v=109786" height="211" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="375"> <param name="flashvars" value="intl_lang=en-us&photo_secret=de88ec7f13&photo_id=8185840925&hd_default=false"></param><param name="movie" value="http://www.flickr.com/apps/video/stewart.swf?v=109786"></param><param name="bgcolor" value="#000000"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://www.flickr.com/apps/video/stewart.swf?v=109786" bgcolor="#000000" allowfullscreen="true" flashvars="intl_lang=en-us&photo_secret=de88ec7f13&photo_id=8185840925&hd_default=false" height="211" width="375"></embed></object><br />
<br />
(Water? Traffic? Fryolator? Not sure.)<br />
<br />
One of the waitstaff came over to check in. "You've been here before, haven't you?" she said. "You sat over there." She pointed to the table we had last time. <br />
<br />
Wow. We were last at Bondir <em>three months ago</em>.<br />
<br />
"How could you remember that?" I asked.<br />
<br />
"You had blue and green nail polish," she said, smiling.<br />
<br />
Maybe it's just that I have the world's worst memory for faces. But that was scarily impressive.<br />
<br />
The first course was a poached egg, warm and soft, with beets in solid and sauce formats and a ginger-sesame foam. The sweetness of the beets, the spicy-sweet foam and the richness of the yolk were a lovely combination.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/8185628716/" title="Bondir Harvest Opera dinner by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Bondir Harvest Opera dinner" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8347/8185628716_c457698cf4.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
This was served with Pu-Erh tea in the world's daintiest cup:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/8185628642/" title="Bondir Harvest Opera dinner by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Bondir Harvest Opera dinner" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8343/8185628642_325af6cdf4.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
Interesting idea, to start with tea, and it marked the first of five excellent beverage pairings. The next course came with a hot spiced chianti that was more delicate and streamlined than the usual mulled wine. It was a great accompaniment for the pig's ear terrine.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/8185590527/" title="Bondir Harvest Opera dinner by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Bondir Harvest Opera dinner" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8205/8185590527_8ec22f825c.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
I've only had pig's ear in crispy form, so this was new. It was tender and delicious — not chewy, not over-salted. It came with Roxbury Russet apple (which made me excited, as I'd learned from Amy Traverso's <a href="http://appleloverscookbook.com/" target="_blank">The Apple Lover's Cookbook</a> that it's the oldest variety of apple in the US, bred in what is now part of Boston).<br />
<br />
For the next course, The Boy and I went different ways, as he can't do anything that wears its skeleton on the outside. I had lobster (from Scituate) on top of a baby pumpkin stuffed with creamy, rich, delicious grits and a garnish of caramelized seaweed.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/8185628828/" title="Bondir Harvest Opera dinner by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Bondir Harvest Opera dinner" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8347/8185628828_81fb7490af.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
(BTW, I realize the photos aren't great; the light wasn't quite strong enough for my little camera.)<br />
<br />
The Boy had the other option, a sweet potato tart. Which had spent, unfortunately, a couple of minutes too long in the oven.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/8185590641/" title="Bondir Harvest Opera dinner by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Bondir Harvest Opera dinner" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8477/8185590641_c0df70c4d9.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
It was good, apart from the very burnt bits.<br />
<br />
Somewhere around here we realized we weren't getting the full <em>son et nourriture</em> experience. Apparently the system had crashed (ah, techmologee!) and after the reboot it wasn't reaching all the tables. <br />
<br />
Part of the reason it had taken us so long to notice was that the whole room was so loud. If there had been any customized sound, it had to compete with this:<br />
<br />
<object classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" data="http://www.flickr.com/apps/video/stewart.swf?v=109786" height="211" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="375"> <param name="flashvars" value="intl_lang=en-us&photo_secret=8d1bce4c31&photo_id=8185590269&hd_default=false"></param><param name="movie" value="http://www.flickr.com/apps/video/stewart.swf?v=109786"></param><param name="bgcolor" value="#000000"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://www.flickr.com/apps/video/stewart.swf?v=109786" bgcolor="#000000" allowfullscreen="true" flashvars="intl_lang=en-us&photo_secret=8d1bce4c31&photo_id=8185590269&hd_default=false" height="211" width="375"></embed></object><br />
<br />
The system was soon back up, but it was still hard to hear anything from our tabletop speakers. There was occasional dialog (Houge had interviewed some of the farmers whose produce we were eating) but much of it was washed away in the sea of room noise. I heard something about growing butternut squash, but that was about it.<br />
<br />
Oh well, more food. We diverged again for the next course: The Boy chose chicken with bacon, chestnuts and turnip, the meat juicy and tender.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/8185629092/" title="Bondir Harvest Opera dinner by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Bondir Harvest Opera dinner" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8204/8185629092_54a0e5c53f.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
I had a fennel gratin with assorted fall veggies and a cube of teff polenta. I think that was my first time with teff — would def do again.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/8185590765/" title="Bondir Harvest Opera dinner by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Bondir Harvest Opera dinner" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8062/8185590765_c503445aa5.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
And then dessert. There were two choices, so we got one of each and shared. <br />
<br />
Chocolate "enlightenment," a dense, rich mousse that came with, among other things, a parsnip purée that worked surprisingly well:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/8185629184/" title="Bondir Harvest Opera dinner by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Bondir Harvest Opera dinner" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8344/8185629184_d98b6b2f86.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
And angel-food cake with a lovely black walnut ice cream and a deep, fruity swirl of huckleberry sauce.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/8185629262/" title="Bondir Harvest Opera dinner by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Bondir Harvest Opera dinner" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8337/8185629262_a34832e419.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
Dessert came with a glass of Dolin red vermouth. More restaurants should serve tea to start and vermouth to finish. Just sayin'.<br />
<br />
So, was this a successful experiment? From our perspective ... almost. The concept was great, but the setting was, I think, an obstacle. <br />
<br />
Even if, as Houge's manifesto notes, "the awareness and appreciation of food happens intermittently, during pauses in the conversation," there's an assumption that those pauses will allow for an aural experience because people are quietly eating. In a busy restaurant, however, any pause in one table's conversation is filled by laughter and conversation from surrounding diners.<br />
<br />
So, for instance, I wasn't able to hear the farmers talk about their work, but I did get to hear all about Montessori schools from the next table, whether I wanted to or not.<br />
<br />
I'd be interested to see how this concept develops, and whether the answer involves more specific targeting of directional sound. Or smaller audiences. Or having someone stand over every table like this:<br />
<br />
<img src="http://www.behindthehype.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/08/sayanything.jpg" /><br />
<br />
(Actually, Cusack? Definitely count me in.)<div class="blogger-post-footer">[From the official site of this particular Carolyn Grantham]</div>LimeyGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388899118602772119noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33720146.post-6372874709655121972012-09-26T17:36:00.000-04:002012-09-26T17:41:40.675-04:00Southern style at M3 in Davis SquareLike the formation of a new and delicious galaxy, there has been something of a slow-motion explosion of interesting places to eat in the Boston-Cambridge-Somerville area over the past year or so. <br />
<br />
Which is particularly frustrating when one spends a considerable amount of time unable to eat (or at least unable to eat in polite society). I spend my days reading local food blogs and noting the new arrivals with a mix of curiosity and chagrin.<br />
<br />
On good weeks, I'm torn: Do I try out a new restaurant, or do I fall back on an old favorite (especially if I've been craving, say, Eastern Standard's charcuterie plate while sucking cold soup through a straw)?<br />
<br />
Last night we decided on the former, and headed into Davis Square to check out <a href="http://imwithmeat.com/" target="_blank">new southern restaurant M3</a>, which is in the corner spot that used to be Out of the Blue, which was in the spot that used to be Dolly's.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/8027617172/" title="M3, Somerville by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="M3, Somerville" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8449/8027617172_0bc484c66d.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
It's a small space, and was pretty busy when we arrived before 6pm. The only available seats were at the counter, which suited us fine, because we were able to watch the action in the tiny kitchen.<br />
<br />
The decor is retro-kitsch, but not precious. The walls are covered in chalkboard paint, the lights are hung inside canning jars, and the beer fridge is vintage and chubby.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/8027616294/" title="M3, Somerville by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="M3, Somerville" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8454/8027616294_a0a06f224e.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
We ordered beer and studied the menu: frogs' legs? Fried green tomatoes? Oyster po' boy made with Island Creeks? Duck fat (gasp!) burger?<br />
<br />
No, wait. Of course, it had to be:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/8027616458/" title="Fried cheese curds, M3, Somerville by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Fried cheese curds, M3, Somerville" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8312/8027616458_851fef599c.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
Deep fried cheese curds.<br />
<br />
We had discussed going to <a href="http://limeyg.blogspot.com/2011/09/if-its-fried-it-must-be-at-big-e.html">the Big E</a> again this year, pretty much for the sole purpose of tracking down the cheese curds vendor. But now we didn't have to. <br />
<br />
Which, as The Boy pointed out, was not necessarily a good thing.<br />
<br />
"It was better when they were a two-hour drive away, and only available for a few days a year," he said, between mouthfuls of <a href="http://www.comedycentral.com/video-clips/zuetfm/futurama-poppin--popplers" target="_blank">popplers</a>. "Now they're just down the street. How am I supposed to control myself?"<br />
<br />
The curds at M3 are less cheesy than their state fair cousins — rather than being in big chewy chunks, the cheese is smaller and melts into the batter. But we could still imagine ourselves stopping by M3 for a beer and a quick cheese-curd fix. Often. Too often.<br />
<br />
Anyway, there was something more dangerously tasty on the specials board yesterday: chicken and waffle nuggets.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/8027619589/" title="Chicken and waffle nuggets, M3, Somerville by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Chicken and waffle nuggets, M3, Somerville" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8318/8027619589_91e9e70218.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
Imagine brined chicken, dipped in waffle batter, deep fried and finished with poached cherries.<br />
<br />
The whole thing is soft and warm; the batter is pillowy and a little sweet; the fruit adds a slight tartness and pulls everything together.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/8027619659/" title="Chicken and waffle nuggets, M3, Somerville by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Chicken and waffle nuggets, M3, Somerville" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8456/8027619659_9460f387e5.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
Now we really could have stopped there; a little deep-fried goodness goes a long way. But we'd already ordered mains, all of which come with a choice of three sides (hence "meat and three," or M3). So:<br />
<br />
For The Boy, chicken-fried steak with corn, Brussels sprouts and sweet potato casserole.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/8027616674/" title="Chicken-fried steak, M3, Somerville by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Chicken-fried steak, M3, Somerville" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8041/8027616674_2f97fcd89b.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
The steak breading had an almost chocolatey note to it, which was unexpected and good. <br />
<br />
I've never quite understood how marshmallow became the default topping for sweet potatoes, but there you go. This was <a href="http://www.marshmallowfluff.com/pages/homepage.html" target="_blank">Fluff</a>, which I guess counts as locavore (??).<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/8027619765/" title="Sweet potato casserole, M3, Somerville by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Sweet potato casserole, M3, Somerville" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8322/8027619765_12b0ccc489.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
I had the catfish, with more Brussels, the mac and cheese, and the root veggie hash.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/8027619957/" title="Catfish, M3, Somerville by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Catfish, M3, Somerville" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8037/8027619957_5d2a220958.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
The fish was nice and flaky, though sliced so thin that it was a little overwhelmed by the batter for my liking. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/8027619897/" title="Brussels sprouts, M3, Somerville by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Brussels sprouts, M3, Somerville" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8322/8027619897_285a045760.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
The sprouts were small and plentiful, and the mac and cheese ... was a thing of beauty. Light, creamy, with a mild cheese sauce, it reminded me of the baked macaroni pudding desserts we'd sometimes have when I was a kid.<br />
<br />
But yes, we had indeed ordered way too much food; the portions are extremely generous.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/8027620169/" title="Catfish, M3, Somerville by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Catfish, M3, Somerville" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8030/8027620169_7472a78b9a.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
How generous? Put it this way: we had our sides boxed up to bring home. I weighed the leftovers, which clock in at just over a pound.<br />
<br />
In other news, dinner tonight is sorted.<br />
<br />
I currently feel a little overwhelmed at the number of new places to try. Do youse guys have any suggestions? Is there a new restaurant we really should check out while I'm still able to eat?<div class="blogger-post-footer">[From the official site of this particular Carolyn Grantham]</div>LimeyGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388899118602772119noreply@blogger.com2382 Highland Ave, Somerville, MA 02144, USA42.395120979351915 -71.11939430236816442.394937979351916 -71.119702802368167 42.395303979351915 -71.119085802368161tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33720146.post-71545433768487692092012-09-14T13:34:00.000-04:002012-09-14T13:38:21.856-04:00Across the water for Australian meat pieLast week I was feeling a little down. Mostly, I think, it was because we'd just come back from a lovely Labor Day weekend in Montreal (more on that later) and I had post-vacation malaise, with nothing much to look forward to except more hospital visits.<br />
<br />
By Friday, I'd decided moping around wasn't helping in the least, and what I needed was an Adventure.<br />
<br />
So I decided to head across the water for Australian food.<br />
<br />
I've been thinking about a visit to <a href="http://www.kocateringandpies.com/" target="_blank">KO Pies</a> pretty much since The Boy and I went to the tiny restaurant in Southie ... wow, <a href="http://limeyg.blogspot.com/2010/12/kod-by-australian-pie.html">almost two years ago</a>?? But somehow my meat-pastry cravings have never quite aligned with being able to get out there. <br />
<br />
(You'd think it was a thousand miles away, rather than a fistful of Red Line stops.)<br />
<br />
When KO opened its second location, I was delighted to see they were doing well enough for expansion. But Eastie? In the shipyard? Were they trying to make it harder for me?? (Because of course it's all about me.)<br />
<br />
And then my friend Eric pointed out that the <a href="http://www.citywatertaxi.com/" target="_blank">City Water Taxi</a> not only served the shipyard, but also had a discount deal with KO Pies; if you told the boat captain where you were headed, you got $7 off the fare.<br />
<br />
And so, with the promise of delicious pie and a cheap boat ride, the Adventure came together.<br />
<br />
First stop: Down to the Intercontinental Hotel near South Station, to request a pick-up. I used my phone, but you can also go all CB-radio with the walkie-talkie attached to the sign.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7977908693/" title="Boston Water Taxi station at Intercontinental Hotel by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Boston Water Taxi station at Intercontinental Hotel" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8320/7977908693_8f43393341.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
After a few minutes, a boat skimmed into view, and I was off across the water.<br />
<br />
<object type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="400" height="225" data="http://www.flickr.com/apps/video/stewart.swf?v=109786" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000"> <param name="flashvars" value="intl_lang=en-us&photo_secret=6d5b32c677&photo_id=7977087291&hd_default=false"></param><param name="movie" value="http://www.flickr.com/apps/video/stewart.swf?v=109786"></param><param name="bgcolor" value="#000000"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://www.flickr.com/apps/video/stewart.swf?v=109786" bgcolor="#000000" allowfullscreen="true" flashvars="intl_lang=en-us&photo_secret=6d5b32c677&photo_id=7977087291&hd_default=false" height="225" width="400"></embed></object><br />
<br />
<br />
The trip to the shipyard is short — not exactly a leisurely ocean cruise. But I'm a sucker for being out on the water, so it was worth it for a few minutes of salty sea breeze. <br />
<br />
Because I'd explained to Rob, my taxi captain, where I was going, we had a nice chat about the awesomeness that is a KO Pie. So as I was disembarking, I asked (half-joking) if I could bring him anything back.<br />
<br />
"Actually, that would be great," he said. "I haven't been able to get off the boat all morning, so I could really do with something to eat."<br />
<br />
I took his order and he gave me some cash and directions to the restaurant, which turned out to be just around the corner, surrounded by warehouses and industrial buildings.<br />
<br />
The place is about the same size as the Southie location: A tiny bar, a couple of tables and a strip of counter space. There's also pub-style seating outdoors. There's not much of a view, but that's okay. Because pie.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7977910702/" title="KO Pies, East Boston by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="KO Pies, East Boston" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8315/7977910702_4cd270d907.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
I looked over the <a href="http://www.kocateringandpies.com/EastBoston/menu/" target="_blank">menu</a>, trying to tell myself that maybe I wanted a nice healthy chickpea salad or a grilled whitefish sandwich, but it was hopeless. I was here for pie. And pie I was going to get.<br />
<br />
And also, beer. Because Australia.<br />
<br />
The KO beef pie takes me right back to being a kid; the flaky pastry and sweet, peppery ground beef filling are what Proust would have warbled on about if he grew up in the Northeast of England.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7977910782/" title="Meat pie, KO Pies, East Boston by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Meat pie, KO Pies, East Boston" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8169/7977910782_50480f9ee2.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
I know, it doesn't <em>look</em> totally appetizing. And the fact that you have to eat it with your hands means you're not gonna impress anyone. Luckily, paper napkins are abundant. (Pro-tip: order a salad, which comes with a fork, and you can get around the no-utensils loophole.)<br />
<br />
But on a sunny Friday lunchtime, when you're not in a hurry, and you want a change of scenery, it's perfect.<br />
<br />
Wait — not in a hurry? I had to get a pie to Captain Rob before he crashed into Old Ironsides!<br />
<br />
I went back inside the restaurant, ordered a curried veggie pie and an ANZAC cookie, went back down to the dock and called for my captain. <br />
<br />
Minutes later, we were out on the water again, Captain Rob apologizing for shoveling the pie into his face while I breathed in sea air and dreamed about taking off across the ocean on a boat provisioned with fragrant meat pastries.<br />
<br />
I'm not going to wait another two years before my next KO Pie fix. Might even try a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lamington" target="_blank">Lamington</a> next time.<div class="blogger-post-footer">[From the official site of this particular Carolyn Grantham]</div>LimeyGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388899118602772119noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33720146.post-51216192675964037152012-08-26T17:03:00.001-04:002012-08-26T17:03:17.048-04:00Restaurant Week lunch at Summer WinterHey, look! She's blogging again! I know, it's been (checks) holy moly, a <em>month</em> since I last posted. Frankly, I just haven't felt like writing — or at least haven't had much to write about.<br />
<br />
Treatment is going ... well, it's going. I've now had four cycles with <a href="http://limeyg.blogspot.com/2012/07/home-chemo-aka-bag-week.html">The Bag</a>, and will get an MRI in a couple of weeks to see whether The Lump is at a point that my scary-but-briliant radiation oncologist can start planning the "la-sers."<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, apart from weekly hospital visits for treatment/music therapy/acupuncture/sandwiches, I've been spending most of my time at home. I'm not supposed to go out in the sun (chemo makes the skin especially susceptible to burning) so I mostly sit on my now-cozy porch to read, nap, drink protein shakes, nap, watch movies, and nap. I don't have much to complain about, but also nothing exciting to write about.<br />
<br />
For the past two cycles, my chemo side effects have been greatly reduced. It's either the result of reducing the dose, or the benefits of weekly acupuncture, or both, but whatever the reason, I'm no longer spending four straight days on a liquid diet. <br />
<br />
Which is why on Friday, instead of miserably inhaling cold soup though a straw, I was able to enjoy Restaurant Week lunch at <a href="http://www.summerwinterrestaurant.com/index.cfm" target="_blank">Summer Winter</a> in Burlington.<br />
<br />
I went with my ladies-who-lunch friend Jean, with whom I'd visited <a href="http://limeyg.blogspot.com/2011/03/lunch-at-summer-winter.html">Summer Winter for Restaurant Week last March</a>. The highlight of that lunch had been the blueberry upside-down cake, the memory of which had lingered since. So when I saw it was part of the Resto Week menu this time, I was extremely happy.<br />
<br />
We got a table along the wall of windows that look out onto Summer Winter's tiny patio and veggie garden. Here are their boxes of squash.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7853431880/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8426/7853431880_ac7eb3f9f0.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
Unfortunately, we were also right next to the floor a/c vents, which meant we were in a chilly draft. Note to self: Next time, bring a wrap.<br />
<br />
Summer Winter's garden and greenhouse mean they use fresh herbs in just about everything, including their cocktails. I really wanted to try one, but my mouth isn't quite ready for liquor yet. And I was interested to see what the bar was capable of. So when our first server asked if I wanted a drink, I asked if I could get a non-alcoholic something that used some of the same herbs as the booze versions. He said he'd see what he could do.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, food. First up, mini crab cakes. <br />
<br />
It's easy to take a heavy hand to crab cakes; they can be dense and rich in a way that masks the delicate meat. These, however, were light, flaky, with a slight crispness to the batter. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7853430466/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8304/7853430466_e3f631a2b4.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
They came with what the menu listed as "Mom's slaw," which again could have meant crudely sliced cabbage awash with mayo, but instead was almost translucent cabbage in a vinaigrette — a much more effective foil for the lightly creamy crabby patties.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7853430564/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8289/7853430564_02214e9511.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
Jean ordered the gazpacho. I didn't try it (sometimes, even tomato is a little too acidic for my still-healing mouth) but she said it was delicious. Certainly looked it.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7853430352/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Gazpacho, Summer Winter" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8303/7853430352_ef3642dc9d.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
For my main, I went with cavatelli with roast corn and lobster. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7853430862/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8285/7853430862_a842c24039.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
Grilling corn really brings out the flavor; every mouthful tasted like summer. The lobster was sweet and fresh. The only thing that didn't totally work was the queso fresco topping; it neither melted nor crumbled into the dish, but instead sat and waited to be eaten in two lumps. <br />
<br />
(Not that I have a problem eating lumps of cheese, you understand; but once they were gone, they were gone.) <br />
<br />
Jean had the planked haddock, which came with jasmine rice and a sauce we couldn't decipher (dill? Fennel?) but which turned out to be tarragon and mustard. Good fish and a nice presentation.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7853430772/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8445/7853430772_40097a9f72.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
Halfway through, our main server came to check in. I asked about the mocktail, which still hadn't shown up.<br />
<br />
"Oh," he said, "that other guy wasn't your server. He probably didn't put the order in."<br />
<br />
Oookayyy ... then maybe he shouldn't have asked what I wanted to drink?<br />
<br />
Anyway, I explained again what I was looking for — something that took advantage of Summer Winter's herb crop — and he disappeared, returning soon after with a highball of this:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7853431212/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7268/7853431212_a745683b87.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
It had, let's see: basil, mint, lavender, lemon geranium, lime, lemon, and blueberries, finished with soda water. He said it was a take on the restaurant's vodka-based blueberry lime rickey, to which he added a couple of things. <br />
<br />
It was refreshing, aromatic, and complex; a perfect summer drink.<br />
<br />
I'd probably have been quite happy with that as dessert, but there was more to come. Both Jean and I had the long-awaited blueberry upside-down cake.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7853431382/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7106/7853431382_a85dc13155.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
Looking back at last year's <a href="http://limeyg.blogspot.com/2011/03/lunch-at-summer-winter.html">Restaurant Week lunch at Summer Winter</a>, I realize the dessert is almost exactly the same. Last time, it came with ice cream, while this year the accompaniment was cinnamon-infused whipped cream (a nice complement to the blueberries). I thought it was more lemony last year, but Jean said this one also had a good note of lemon, so it's possible my dented taste buds just weren't getting it. <br />
<br />
Either way, it was still good enough that, as I did last year, I decided I needed to make my own at home. There are wild organic Maine blueberries sitting in the fridge right now, and this time I'm actually going to follow through with the plan.<br />
<br />
Which means I might not wait a whole month before I post again.<div class="blogger-post-footer">[From the official site of this particular Carolyn Grantham]</div>LimeyGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388899118602772119noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33720146.post-64113312622274425912012-07-25T15:48:00.001-04:002012-07-25T16:57:45.008-04:00Summer project: Porch makeoverOne downside of going through cancer treatment in summer is that chemo drugs make the skin much more sensitive to sunlight. And while I'm in no hurry (or shape) to sit on the beach all day, I still want to get some fresh air, hear birds singing, see leafy stuff. The idea of being stuck indoors every day is a little oppressive.<br />
<br />
We have a screened-in porch at the back of the house, but it's always been a little sad. When we moved in, the whole thing was painted battleship gray, so we added some color and threw in some plastic picnic chairs, but that was about it. <br />
<br />
Here's the "before" color scheme; note the still-gray ceiling.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7644999932/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7132/7644999932_d6618bc647.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
We'd sit out there sometimes, but the chairs weren't really comfy and it always seemed shoddy and unfinished.<br />
<br />
This year, though, I had both the motivation — and the time — to think about what I really wanted to do with the porch. As it's so tiny (just six feet wide and 12 feet long), I wanted to keep a simple color scheme and a minimal amount of clutter. No extraneous decorative bits and pieces; everything had to be pretty <em>and</em> serve a purpose.<br />
<br />
First, it needed some of the sort of TLC I didn't feel energetic enough to provide: paint and new wood. As it turned out, my work cube-buddy Nova's fiancé does that clever sort of thing for a living, so he came over and for a reasonable price had the whole space done in three days.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7645000306/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8146/7645000306_7c20ff5762.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
Huge difference already, huh?<br />
<br />
Next, furniture. Most new chairs I looked at were huge, built for the patios of McMansions (or at least for spaces wider than my six-foot porch) and much more expensive than I was willing to fork over. <br />
<br />
So I started stalking Craigslist, and soon found the perfect thing.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7645001588/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8143/7645001588_d1760322ea.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
Do ya love it? Of course you do! The seller also had a matching table; I picked them both up.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7645001026/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8165/7645001026_ccbe068aaa.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
I had a pretty good idea of how I wanted the porch to look, so the next week was spent going Extreme Makeover on the chair and table; searching for accessories online; and going fabric shopping with my friend Peter (who also loaned me his sewing machine, which moved things along quickly and made me realize I should probably get one).<br />
<br />
Ready to see the results? Close your eyes ...<br />
<br />
Okay, open them!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7645002654/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7251/7645002654_350d562feb.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
Here's the chair and table up close:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7645001180/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7118/7645001180_aa6004db44.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
A few details: The table and chair cost $125. Primer and paint were $30. Three yards of remnant fabric (enough for two cushions and a tablecloth) from <a href="http://sewfisticated.com/" target="_blank">Sewfisticated</a> in Somerville were $13.<br />
<br />
The indoor-outdoor reversible rug is from <a href="http://www.bbbegonia.com/index.php/indoor-outdoor-mats.html" target="_blank">b.b. begonia</a> ($48), and the orange table was a $12 Marshalls' find. The sheer drapes and paper lanterns were from Amazon and cost around $35 total. We'd bought the blinds a while back, but usually kept them rolled up. Letting them hang loose gave a lot more privacy and shade from the sun.<br />
<br />
I had another table that had been a sidewalk find many years back; it was previously bright pink. As there was leftover blue paint from the walls, I used it on this table so it would be a little less obtrusive (given how quickly the porch was filling up with Stuff).<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7645002186/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7273/7645002186_f03bec8962.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
It's so rare that I get a chance to do a makeover on a space like this; the other rooms in our apartment are decorated organically, and evolve into some state of design (or not) that we're happy with. It was so much fun to change up the porch, in large part because it gave me something to focus on during the worst of the chemo side effects. <br />
<br />
And now I have somewhere to sit outside and enjoy the rest of the summer!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7645002758/"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7139/7645002758_d9c311d533.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
(In case you wondered: Yes, I do happen to like this shade of blue ...)<div class="blogger-post-footer">[From the official site of this particular Carolyn Grantham]</div>LimeyGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388899118602772119noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33720146.post-57871708815744382862012-07-23T18:38:00.001-04:002012-07-23T18:43:24.378-04:00Home chemo, aka Bag WeekTomorrow I start what I hope will be my last long cycle of chemotherapy. (Of course, I thought the same thing last year, and look where that got me. But hey.)<br />
<br />
And I realized that although I've now been through five of these cycles, and <a href="http://limeyg.blogspot.com/2011/01/liquid-lunch-but-not-fun-kind.html">complained about</a> the <a href="http://limeyg.blogspot.com/2011/02/i-am-what-i-eat.html">side effects</a>, I haven't said much about the experience of home chemotherapy, aka Bag Week.<br />
<br />
So here we go.<br />
<br />
Early in June I had a port implanted (again). The procedure isn't too bad, because you're under light sedation, which gets you nice and means you don't particularly mind that someone is forcing a tube into your vein (though you're alert enough to observe that you would be more freaked out by the experience if you weren't so high).<br />
<br />
There are two main advantages to having a port:<br />
1) Easy access for drawing blood and giving IV drugs, rather than junkying up the arms<br />
2) It allows for a constant, four-day-long dose of chemo at home. My first round last year, before I got the port, was as an inpatient because they don't like you wandering around outside with needles in your arms for that long.<br />
<br />
When I go in tomorrow morning, I'll have a needle inserted in the port, and blood drawn. That blood will be tested to make sure my red and white cell counts are okay, and that I'm healthy enough for chemo. The needle will stay in until Saturday. <br />
<br />
The insertion doesn't hurt much, and the nurse who usually does it is a nice guy who makes <em>Shaun of the Dead</em> references, so we get on well.<br />
<br />
Here's how it looks:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7381771082/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8166/7381771082_519219d7ae.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
After that, I meet with either my oncologist or nurse practitioner, and we talk about side effects, progress, treatment options, where to get great pizza in Inman Square, Nathan Myhrvold's <em>Modernist Cuisine</em>, etc etc.<br />
<br />
And then I go up to the chemo unit, where my fabulous chemo nurse gives me anti-nausea medication, hooks me up to various bags of drugs, and organizes visits from the music therapist and integrative therapist. Meanwhile, we chat about everything from nail polish to home ownership to where to eat in Davis Square. <br />
<br />
I get a cocktail of drugs that takes a few hours to drip through the IV into my bloodstream, and then sometime after lunch I'm hooked up to the take-home bag. <br />
<br />
Inside the bag is a battery-operated pump (on the left below) and a bag of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/5_fu" target="_blank">Fluorouracil</a>, otherwise (and somewhat fittingly) known as 5-FU.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7381771642/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Untitled" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7071/7381771642_1f74a12d17.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
The pump is programmed to release 3ml of drug an hour. It makes a little whirring sound as it feeds the liquid through the tube and into the vein. <br />
<br />
The bag isn't too heavy (and gets lighter as the week progresses). The main problem is really the hassle.<br />
<br />
You know how some schools make kids carry an egg or a bag of flour for a week in an attempt to teach about the responsibility of having kids? It feels a lot like that. You can't go anywhere without the bag; it's almost umbilically attached to you. <br />
<br />
Here I am, modeling the bag.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7381771342/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Untitled" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7103/7381771342_58b820c2c6.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
You have to be constantly aware of its existence and location, and whether the tube is likely to catch on the corner of a table or wrap around a door handle. Movements are pre-meditated: <em>I'm going to reach for my coffee cup now, and the tube is below my hand, so it's okay. I'm going to keep my phone near my left hand, because it's on the opposite side to the tube, so I can grab it without worrying</em>.<br />
<br />
Bed time means setting up the bag on a side table, letting out an extra length of tubing, and arranging the sheets to avoid pulling on it during sleep. (And also piling books and cushions on the floor to prevent the cat from jumping on the bed and causing chaos). <br />
<br />
Inevitably I need to get up in the night (I drink extra water during this week), which involves sleepily gathering up the tubing, shouldering the bag, and negotiating to the bathroom.<br />
<br />
During the day, I spend a lot of time sitting in one place. I gather everything I need — laptop, tea, water, tissues, TV remote, book, snack — so I don't need to get up too much. <br />
<br />
Damn, forgot my phone; have to get up again. Re-shoulder bag, check that tubing isn't caught, locate phone, sit back down, take off bag, check tubing.<br />
<br />
And let's not even talk about the challenges of bathing while attached to an electrical gadget.<br />
<br />
Maybe I'm too cautious about the whole thing, but I don't want to risk jerking the needle out of my chest. I heard about a female patient with a C-suite job who transferred her pump and drugs to a nice designer purse to disguise the fact that she was getting chemo, and my first thought was <em>that's insane! What happens if she drops it?</em> <br />
<br />
(Not to mention that she'd either need to have a lot of tubing visible or sit in meetings with her purse on her lap, which says not so much "I'm a professional" as "I am waiting for a bus.")<br />
<br />
As you can imagine, by the end of the week I'm antsy to get unhooked. If the bag goes on at 2pm on Tuesday, it will be empty at 2pm on Saturday, and by noon I'm bouncing around like a dog who's just realized his owner is holding a leash. <em>Ohboyohboyohboy are we going to the hospital now? Pleasepleaseplease??</em><br />
<br />
Once the needle is out, I feel like I've been uncaged. I can wave my arms around! I can multi-task! I can take a shower! <br />
<br />
That lasts until I get back home, when fatigue takes over and I crawl into bed and stay there for the rest of the weekend. And then we go from Bag Week to Bad Week, when the mouth-ulcer side effects kick in and I'm sucking everything through a straw for the next five days. <br />
<br />
Rinse, repeat.<br />
<br />
Though with luck, this will be the last time through. Next stop: radiation. Again.<div class="blogger-post-footer">[From the official site of this particular Carolyn Grantham]</div>LimeyGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388899118602772119noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33720146.post-87322246136752138032012-07-10T17:35:00.001-04:002012-07-12T10:00:45.865-04:00Introducing my parents to JourneymanMy parents were recently visiting for a couple of weeks. As we like to do every time they come over, we introduced them to some new experiences. <br />
<br />
This included visiting the <a href="http://www.ryanandwood.com/tours.html" target="_blank">Ryan and Wood Distillery</a> and the <a href="http://www.tazachocolate.com/tours" target="_blank">Taza Chocolate factory</a> (both of which I highly recommend); watching the July 4 <a href="http://youtu.be/UInIYi167dA" target="_blank">Nathan's hot-dog eating competition</a> (which I highly don't); and dining at <a href="http://www.journeymanrestaurant.com/" target="_blank">Journeyman</a>.<br />
<br />
I've written <a href="http://limeyg.blogspot.com/2011/11/journeyman-somerville-fifty-flavors-in.html" target="_blank">about Journeyman</a> before. We don't go often, but when we do there's a feeling of quiet celebration about it. <br />
<br />
We were pretty sure it would be a whole new world to my parents, who don't get a lot of exposure to the latest gastronomic trends. If you want a fantastic Sunday pub lunch, my native turf will oblige, but there's not much call for foams and charcuterie.<br />
<br />
Or, for that matter, asparagus ice cream, which tasted exactly as you'd hope.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7500659294/" title="Dinner at Journeyman by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8141/7500659294_7d13217cc9.jpg" width="375" alt="Dinner at Journeyman"></a><br />
<br />
Next came a salad, everything fresh and crunchy and vivid with just-picked flavor. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7500659690/" title="Dinner at Journeyman by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8021/7500659690_971c04456b.jpg" width="375" alt="Dinner at Journeyman"></a><br />
<br />
My mom said, "It's like when you're a kid and you're wandering through a field, just pulling up things you know will taste good."<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7500659470/" title="Dinner at Journeyman by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8022/7500659470_da2e705384.jpg" width="375" alt="Dinner at Journeyman"></a><br />
<br />
Next came a lettuce soup. The Boy and my dad had it with a single tender oyster, finished with tapioca balls:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7500659912/" title="Dinner at Journeyman by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7258/7500659912_aae4fc8457.jpg" width="375" alt="Dinner at Journeyman"></a><br />
<br />
My mom and I had the alternative, mustardy squares of potato; I because I'm not supposed to eat raw stuff (immuno-compromised as I am) and my mom because even she has limits.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7500659766/" title="Dinner at Journeyman by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7256/7500659766_bac9514180.jpg" width="375" alt="Dinner at Journeyman"></a><br />
<br />
It was good, though I'm convinced the oyster was probably better.<br />
<br />
Then the fish course: a very nice piece of mackerel, to which ham had been fused (using what the server called "a protein enzyme," probably <a href="http://www.cookingissues.com/primers/transglutaminase-aka-meat-glue/" target="_blank">transglutaminase</a>. There, go learn something). Whatever, it was delicious. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7500660264/" title="Dinner at Journeyman by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8153/7500660264_56eb95ca93.jpg" width="375" alt="Dinner at Journeyman"></a><br />
<br />
The blueberries were a surprise, and at first seemed a little random and nouvelle cuisiney. But their sweetness actually worked very well with the ham and the fish.<br />
<br />
Next came rabbit two ways: sausage and roularde.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7500660434/" title="Dinner at Journeyman by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7274/7500660434_14b4105b06.jpg" width="375" alt="Dinner at Journeyman"></a><br />
<br />
The meat was light and tender; not what we're used to from bunny (which is usually baked into pie). <br />
<br />
Then there was cheese; unfortunately I don't have good photos, but I do remember that the Corsican L'Empereur was fabulous and should be sought out.<br />
<br />
And then a strawberry sparkler as a sorbet to cleanse the palate:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7500660654/" title="Dinner at Journeyman by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8014/7500660654_d71f122b3f.jpg" width="375" alt="Dinner at Journeyman"></a><br />
<br />
And on to dessert, which involved black locust flower ice cream. Our server described it as being from a tree with very hard, durable wood, with a flower that blossoms for a short period. (Wikipedia <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robinia_pseudoacacia#Toxicity" target="_blank">describes the flowers</a> as toxic until cooked and causing anorexia and depression in horses, but thankfully our server left that part out.) <br />
<br />
This was definitely a first for all of us. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7500660826/" title="Dinner at Journeyman by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7113/7500660826_ebf6c81de6.jpg" width="375" alt="Dinner at Journeyman"></a><br />
<br />
The ice cream was ... well, woody. "It's like when you're sawing something and you get wood dust in your mouth," said my dad, and he meant it in a good way. And it was good, in a slightly sweet, tree-reminiscent fashion.<br />
<br />
Alongside the ice cream was honey cake, a milk-and-honey sauce, something white and fluffy I don't recall (eek!) and delicious toasted marshmallows.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7500661106/" title="Dinner at Journeyman by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8423/7500661106_304962a100.jpg" width="375" alt="Dinner at Journeyman"></a><br />
<br />
But of course, that wasn't really the end of the meal.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7500661326/" title="Dinner at Journeyman by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8016/7500661326_9fb0d9750d.jpg" width="375" alt="Dinner at Journeyman"></a><br />
<br />
Almond financiers, intensely chocolatey bouche noir brownie squares, salted caramels, strawberry jellies.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7500661254/" title="Dinner at Journeyman by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8146/7500661254_eb271a86aa.jpg" width="375" alt="Dinner at Journeyman"></a><br />
<br />
Even my mom, an unrepentant member of the Clean Plate Club from childhood rationing days, wasn't able to finish them off.<br />
<br />
My parents loved dinner at Journeyman.<br />
<br />
Mission accomplished.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7500661014/" title="Dinner at Journeyman by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7250/7500661014_0c34f8eb6c.jpg" width="375" alt="Dinner at Journeyman"></a><div class="blogger-post-footer">[From the official site of this particular Carolyn Grantham]</div>LimeyGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388899118602772119noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33720146.post-83090341785931304092012-06-17T12:08:00.000-04:002012-06-17T12:21:01.879-04:00Another long lunch: La Terraza del Casino, MadridOne of our main goals in Madrid (indeed, throughout our Spain trip) was to eat as many interesting things as we could. <br />
<br />
So even though we'd already lined up <a href="http://limeyg.blogspot.com/2012/05/three-hour-lunch-at-el-club-allard.html" target="_blank">lunch at El Club Allard</a>, it seemed wasteful not to check out a second Michelin-starred restaurant, <a href="http://www.casinodemadrid.es/sp/gastronomia/rest_terraza/index.htm" target="_blank">La Terraza del Casino</a>. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ferran_Adri%C3%A0" target="_blank">Ferran Adrià</a> is "gastronomic advisor" at La Terraza and the chef, Paco Roncero, is one of his proteges. We'll probably never get the chance to eat an Adrià dish, but we figured this might give us an idea of what it's like.<br />
<br />
La Terraza is in the <a href="http://www.casinodemadrid.es/nuevo/index.php" target="_blank">Casino de Madrid</a>, founded in the 1830s to be a meeting place for nobility. So, yeah, no slots.<br />
<br />
But really pretty.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7357993646/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Untitled" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8018/7357993646_46cc99a7af.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
While the Casino itself is frescoes and sculptures and gold-leaf, La Terraza takes a different direction in interior decor; '80s disco, maybe?<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7172769569/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Untitled" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7214/7172769569_580a5222fd.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
Don't get me wrong — it was cool, in an "I've never been in a place like <em>this</em>" kind of way. But compared to El Club Allard, it felt ... forced, almost. As though it was trying too hard to show how unconventional it was, which made it seem inauthentic.<br />
<br />
Still, it set the tone.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7172769847/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Untitled" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7099/7172769847_5b2a87b50b.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
The guy in the background was one of the many waitstaff who served us. His first action was to offer us a Bloody Mary, which began with Ketel One and fresh tomato mix and ended with ...<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7172769951/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Untitled" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8162/7172769951_409d61a9b6.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
... liquid nitrogen. See the dry ice clouding the table?<br />
<br />
The result was a zingy sorbet, bright with flavor and a nice kick of alcohol.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7172770179/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Untitled" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7237/7172770179_d914b027b6.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
Next up, salad and toothpaste.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7357987172/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Untitled" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7101/7357987172_023f7851aa.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
Okay, it's actually a fabulous olive oil butter.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7172770345/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Untitled" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8162/7172770345_b2db1a96e8.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
Only the presence of the hovering waitstaff prevented me from squeezing the entire tube into my mouth. (I probably wouldn't have been the first, but still. Not ladylike.)<br />
<br />
Next, a pine-nut marshmallow on a spoon, and a little cake of sesame and miso. The flavors of the latter overwhelmed the delicateness of the former, but individually both were quite lovely.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7172771631/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Untitled" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7074/7172771631_03b4300edb.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
Then came what were basically hazelnut truffles, which were fine, though a little sweet for so early in the order. But they were served on a wire mesh platter, which, you know, <em>craaazy</em>.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7357988636/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Untitled" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7236/7357988636_1edd9295cd.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
And then came "parma pasión," which was passion fruit with shaved Parmesan on top. Really. But also on mesh platter, <em>woooo</em>!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7172771805/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Untitled" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7104/7172771805_f5e78281cf.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
Sorry, do I seem whelmed? It's just that by this point in our lunch at El Club Allard, we'd been surprised by edible messages, inhaled tomatillo smoke and eaten fish over candlelight. And now I was supposed to get excited by an overabundance of cheese on a sliver of fruit?<br />
<br />
Okay, the next course was better: razor-clam niguri with black and white sesame. Things were looking up.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7172771917/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Untitled" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7243/7172771917_978bc760e7.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
And then the first genuinely brilliant, emotionally satisfying dish.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7357989006/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Untitled" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7237/7357989006_c3243bd953.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
Not the Gorgonzola mochi, though that was an interesting combination of texture and flavor. No, the awesome is in the background: a single young strawberry. Grilled.<br />
<br />
I don't know why it had never occurred to me to grill strawberries before. This was warm, soft, bursting with vibrant flavor. It made me stop and really take note of the moment. <br />
<br />
Was this going to be the high point of the meal? The next dish now stood in comparison. The cake of cod cheeks with black olive tempura was perfectly fine. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7357989098/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Untitled" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7087/7357989098_17ac47eda0.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
But it wasn't a strawberry.<br />
<br />
And thus ended the "Snacks" section of the meal; Act One, if you will. Act Two, "Tapiplatos," was a parade of small plates that covered more of a meats-and-veggies field. <br />
<br />
To start, a trio: oyster, a sliver of lychee gelatin, and a spoon of ... well, the menu says the third ingredient in this dish is borage. But my memory (and The Boy believes this to be true also), is that the spoon contains a (very delicious) sort of ham stock.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7172772315/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Untitled" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7092/7172772315_7363eae8f6.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
In other words, yes: <a href="http://youtu.be/BdmySY9Qiqo" target="_blank">Hot Ham Water</a>.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7357989472/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Hot ham water" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7227/7357989472_759851c2a5.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
For this dish, we were given instructions: Eat the oyster first, then the jelly, then the HHW. So we did. But the order seemed odd; the delicate flavor of the lychee was masked by the proteins on either side. Unless the lychee was intended as a palate-cleanser (in which case, it wasn't very effective).<br />
<br />
Okay, next was something that shouldn't have worked, but did: white asparagus in a warm mayonnaise with grapefruit. No, really.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7172772591/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7091/7172772591_01e25dd6c5.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
Maybe it was because the basis of the dish was classic, and had just been goosed enough to be clever. The sauce was rich but not heavy, and the citrus gave it a brightness and prevented it from being one-note predictable.<br />
<br />
And then, finally, something beautiful.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7357989672/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Untitled" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8168/7357989672_5b22714eb7.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
These were little bundles of squid and the most amazing onion confit with ink. The onions were sweet and salty at the same time, and melted in the mouth. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7357989720/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Untitled" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7228/7357989720_e405ee83a9.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
Next, langoustine wrapped in quinoa — an interesting take on maki — in a light garlic-honey sauce. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7172773101/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Untitled" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7076/7172773101_04f005aecf.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
This was a dish that worked as a whole; all the flavors were delicate, and balanced so that none overwhelmed the others.<br />
<br />
The Boy, of course, can't do crustaceans, so he got a plate of peas instead.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7357989910/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Untitled" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7104/7357989910_848389c9ce.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
Then came the beef course. And the first and only appearance of foam.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7172773359/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Untitled" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7079/7172773359_8cae53da94.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
The meat was Wagyu, insanely tender, with a light teriyaki glaze that brought out the flavor nicely. Sadly, the menu description does not mention the unnaturally green foam, and I have no recollection of what it was. Not memorable enough to outshine the beef, anyway.<br />
<br />
Next, more fish (because serving proteins out of order is <em>craaaazy</em>!). This time, rodaballo a la Gallega, a very nice piece of turbot cooked in a traditional style.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7172773511/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Rodaballo a la Gallega" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7228/7172773511_275e5d5155.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
The blobulous entity to the right was described to us as being either (I forget) a winkle or a cockle. My limited knowledge of such things is that both are meatier, more mussel-like, rather than the translucent orbs here. So are these a Mediterranean variety? Or juveniles?<br />
<br />
All I know is that they exploded saltily in the mouth (oh stop it), like one big gelatinous piece of caviar. And I'd like some more, please.<br />
<br />
And then some fowl, because we hadn't yet. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7172773703/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Untitled" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7089/7172773703_c02bbe744c.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
This was pichon con gelee-cru de manzana al Casis — potentially pigeon but also possibly some other type of small bird — with balls of apple in cassis. At least, I assume that's what they were. Who knows, with this craaazy molecular gastronomy stuff?<br />
<br />
Anyway, it was good.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7172773775/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Untitled" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7217/7172773775_9dfbdfabf2.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
Thus ended the tapiplatos; next came a sorbet — mandarin, in this case — to cleanse the palate.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7172774057/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Untitled" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7218/7172774057_35786b22d8.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
Not shown: The repeat performance with the liquid nitrogen to turn the fresh juice into frozen. Well, it was cute the first time around.<br />
<br />
And on to dessert. First, a very lovely strawberry soup with pepper ice cream:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7172774179/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Untitled" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8155/7172774179_8bb8a989bc.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
And then a bonbon of chocolate, ice cream, and nuts:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7357991276/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Untitled" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7212/7357991276_729518798e.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
But wait, there's more!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7357991338/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Untitled" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7101/7357991338_b0a8097bd1.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7172774685/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Untitled" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7088/7172774685_e730d0110c.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7357991540/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Untitled" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7225/7357991540_06d130fb77.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
Pink strawberry meringues; gianduja chocolates; passionfruit jellies; and donuts covered in white chocolate and filled with Baileys.<br />
<br />
This last plate really summed up the whole experience for me. It was well executed, pleasingly presented, and not particularly unusual.<br />
<br />
Yes, there were moments in this meal that stood out — the strawberry, the onion confit; the Wagyu beef — but you'll notice they were the simple elements done well.<br />
<br />
Maybe it isn't fair to compare it to lunch at El Club Allard. That was a different experience, at the hands of a chef with a different philosophy. And yet I'd hoped for more from someone who had worked with Adrià, for whom the emotional response to a dish is a core component of its enjoyment.<br />
<br />
At la Terraza del Casino, the level of technical excellence is extremely high. In terms of skill and knowledge, the chef and his staff are masterful. But there were really few surprises, and nothing that moved me in the same way as several of the plates at Allard.<br />
<br />
If I ever get the chance to eat a three-hour lunch in Madrid again, I know where I'm going.<div class="blogger-post-footer">[From the official site of this particular Carolyn Grantham]</div>LimeyGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388899118602772119noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33720146.post-78951931822288277062012-06-04T10:41:00.001-04:002012-06-04T10:43:50.792-04:00Back on the cancer train. Woo. Woo.Wow, I've been incredibly lax about posting lately, haven't I? Well, I have a pretty good excuse: I'm playing the Cancer Card.<br />
<br />
Yep, the Lump is back, and has taken residence in a jaw muscle that controls how well I can open my mouth (current status: not very much). After an MRI, PET, CT, and biopsy, the plan was to hit it with radiation. <br />
<br />
And then my radiation oncologist decided the area that needed re-radiation was too great (it's considered risky to do radiation in the same spot twice), so now we're doing chemo first to melt it down to a more zappable size.<br />
<br />
Which means I get to go back through the entirety of the <a href="http://limeyg.blogspot.com/search/label/cancer%20treatment">same treatment</a> as last year. <br />
<br />
Which means that I get to have a chemo port fitted. Again. This afternoon.<br />
<br />
To understand how little I want this, you'd have to understand how delighted and relieved I was to have the previous one removed last September. It makes me feel like I have an alien implant. I hated it. <br />
<br />
But what can you do? The port means I'll be able to have induction chemo at home, which involves being hooked up to a bag of drugs attached to a pump that I carry around in a nifty shoulder purse for a few days. The alternative is a five-day inpatient stay. You may remember how I felt about the <a href="http://limeyg.blogspot.com/2011/01/hospital-food-good-bad-and-cheesy.html">hospital food</a> last time. <br />
<br />
I've already had one quick shot of chemo. A few weeks back, we tried a different cocktail (more like a wine cooler: chemo lite) to see if it would have an effect. It didn't. Which is a shame, because the side effects were minimal, at least until this week when my hair started to fall out.<br />
<br />
The stuff I'll be starting next (and by "next" I mean "tomorrow") will be either the same as last year or a variation on it. Worse side effects, but a better result.<br />
<br />
Despite this very crappy news, I'm feeling pretty sanguine. Again, what can you do? Getting upset isn't going to make things better. And while I realize I'm employing selective memory here, I feel like there were good days last time around. <br />
<br />
Yes, there were bad days, and painful days, and miserable days. But there were also days I got to be with friends, and days where I played music, and days where I laughed and watched movies and read books and felt like a normal person.<br />
<br />
When we first started this whole process again, and were trying to wrap our heads around it, The Boy wondered whether this was like having a second child: The hard work of learning how to cope has been done, and this time we have a much better idea of what to expect. I like that approach.<br />
<br />
So I'll be posting about going through this experience agian, but also about other stuff (I still have a million photos from our trip to Spain to post, and there's another insane three-hour meal to tell you about).<br />
<br />
Hope you'll stay along for the ride!<div class="blogger-post-footer">[From the official site of this particular Carolyn Grantham]</div>LimeyGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388899118602772119noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33720146.post-61104403195385644902012-05-15T17:55:00.001-04:002012-06-17T12:09:59.748-04:00Three-hour lunch at El Club Allard, MadridWe went to Spain last month. What, I didn't mention?<br />
<br />
It was a fabulous trip: a week in Madrid, renting an apartment off Plaza del Sol; day trips to Cordoba and Valencia; a weekend in Barcelona.<br />
<br />
We didn't do too much planning, with two exceptions: We made lunch reservations at two Madrid two-Michelin-star restaurants.<br />
<br />
This is the story of one of those lunches.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.elcluballard.com/" target="_blank">El Club Allard</a> sits almost halfway between a park with a statue of Don Quixote and a park with an ancient Egyptian temple. The location may not have been deliberate, but it is somehow appropriate for a restaurant that manages to combine notes of mystery, fantasy, humor, imagination and creativity.<br />
<br />
We had a 1:30 reservation, which for Madrid is early; for a while, we were the only people in the place.<br />
<br />
Here's the lobby:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7189331688/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img align="left" alt="El Club Allard, Madrid" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5445/7189331688_c2dc678fdb.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
The dining room is modern-elegant and neutral, with just enough gold to provide warmth and richness.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7189332108/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="El Club Allard, Madrid" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7093/7189332108_200646c80d.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
At our table was a simple message:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7189331854/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Welcome to the silent revolution" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8147/7189331854_03cbf1d415.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
And then one of the servers came over with a bowl of light, fluffy peanut cream, and instructions to use the card — made from rice paper — as a scoop.<br />
<br />
So we did.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7189332444/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Untitled" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8009/7189332444_f4fec4fd88.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
And that's when we realized that this was going to be an unusual experience.<br />
<br />
Chef Diego Guerrero came out to talk to us. He was exactly <a href="http://thegourmetjournal.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/Diego-Guerrero.jpg" target="_blank">how I want a chef to look</a>: tousled hair, butcher's apron, Chuck Taylors, and an expression that combines enthusiasm, honesty, and fueled-on-espresso energy. <br />
<br />
He asked which menu we'd like (there are three options: Encuentro, Seducción, and Revolución, with increasing numbers of dishes), checked for allergies, and scooted back into the kitchen. He did this with every table. <br />
<br />
Then the sommelier came over, and we asked him to choose wines that would go with our food. Not knowing what lay ahead, this seemed a smarter strategy than guessing. The fact that he started us with a cava from the Costa Brava — and that it was really good — made us realize this was a wise idea.<br />
<br />
And then it began. I hope you're sitting down. And not currently hungry.<br />
<br />
First, what was described as "game truffle with foie and mushroom." Which doesn't go halfway to capturing the awesomeness. The truffle had the texture of a good chocolate version, slightly chewy and dense, but with a dark, meaty quality. The foie was chilled and shaved, so that it literally melted on the tongue. <br />
<br />
Oh, and it looked like this:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7189332650/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Untitled" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5035/7189332650_f9116162e4.jpg" width="375" /></a> <br />
<br />
And was served like this:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7189332512/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Untitled" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7096/7189332512_f72ea6993d.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
The bottom section of the bowl was filled with tomatillo smoke; lifting the bowl released the vapors and added another sensory level to the dish.<br />
<br />
Oh, not enough for you? How about the mini Babybell, actually filled with creamy Gorgonzola?<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7189332980/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Club Allard mini Babybell" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7074/7189332980_4e704beec6.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7189333152/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Club Allard mini Babybell" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8166/7189333152_550f4833ea.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
Or the dish set up like an aromatherapy-oil candle, except that a sukiyaki broth provided the essential fragrance, and the lid was made of seaweed and topped with a perfect mouthful of halibut?<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7189333208/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Tapa, Club Allard" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8159/7189333208_a7e8c7cfd1.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7189333422/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Untitled" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7074/7189333422_ea57e89c34.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
You either eat the tapa, fish, and soup separately, or allow the lid to slide into the broth.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7189333504/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Untitled" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5038/7189333504_b713f485d7.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
Next was the scallop empanadilla with black garlic sauce, another lovely Asian-Spanish combination (and so freaking pretty).<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7189333662/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Untitled" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7087/7189333662_c6cc22d29a.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
At this point, we switched to wine #2, a Viognier from Toledo. No, I'd never heard of such a thing either. It was lighter than the Viogniers I'm used to, and nicer for it.<br />
<br />
Next course: boil-in-the-bag veggies. Sort of.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7189333720/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Untitled" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7077/7189333720_ab378cfdd3.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7189334122/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Untitled" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5119/7189334122_92d263a18b.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
These were English peas, white asparagus, and smoked salmon, all in a light, fresh broth. Were it actually possible to capture spring and serve it up boil-in-the-bag style, this is how it would be done.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7189334214/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Untitled" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7074/7189334214_9f2ae51f77.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
Next up: bacon and egg sandwich.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7189334314/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Untitled" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7072/7189334314_7bf7c594d7.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
Okay, not exactly.<br />
<br />
This was <i>huevo con pan y pancetca sobra crema ligera de patata</i>. Which still just means "egg with bread and pancetta over a light potato cream sauce," but that still isn't in the neighborhood of describing it.<br />
<br />
The pancetta was so thin, it was transparent. The bread was rich but light. And the egg ...<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7189334482/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Untitled" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7083/7189334482_2e81e6933b.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
Bow-chicka-wow-wow ...<br />
<br />
Then we moved on to the fish course. Roasted sea bass with stock made from the fish itself; the traditional white garlic soup <i>ajo blanco</i>, but made with black garlic; a pu-her tea broth of cinnamon and lime; and a garnish of citrus caviar, aka <a href="http://www.shanleyfarms.com/Page_2_QD6G.html" target="_blank">finger lime</a>, an Australian rainforest fruit that's just starting to see cultivation in the US.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7189334664/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7086/7189334664_18bc3ab102.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
The combination of citrus and earthy broth and flawless fish was balanced perfectly.<br />
<br />
And then to our meat entree: hare taco, the meat cooked so slowly, and so full of flavor; three drops of fabulous guacamole; and a "false" jalapeño, which was actually a red-dyed carrot, turned into a pepper shape. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7189335948/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Untitled" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5239/7189335948_982b4af626.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
While I'm more of a small-plate-eater in general, and I'm happy to eat a few small mouthfuls of something incredible than a full-size serving of anything, this was one dish I'd love to have had super-sized. Or at least just a heaping helping of hare.<br />
<br />
And then to dessert. First, following our Mexican dish, a tequila shot.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7189336174/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Dessert, El Club Allard" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8151/7189336174_9f223bc99a.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
The shot glass was iced fruit, the sorbet was lemon, the base was macerated strawberries. To be honest, I don't remember whether the tequila was attached to the first, second, or third of these, but it really doesn't matter.<br />
<br />
Have I mentioned the silverware? For most of the meal, it was silver, but with dessert we switched to gold.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7189336298/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7244/7189336298_1c6a32a32a.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
The next dish made me burst into, if not tears, at least soft sniffles.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7189336872/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Pecera dessert in Madrid" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7081/7189336872_e0dc6581b7.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
The mousse was a tangy yogurt. The seaweed was bread and butter, dyed green and toasted. The mussel shell was white chocolate, delicately painted with silver powder. The coral was white chocolate with (I assume) freeze-dried strawberry.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7189337016/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5450/7189337016_be482366a2.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
All that was missing was a teeny tiny pineapple house.<br />
<br />
And then we came — sadly — to the final dessert.<br />
<br />
An egg.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7189337134/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Untitled" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5119/7189337134_3b08fc28ae.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
But of course it wouldn't really be an <em>egg</em>, would it? <br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7189337384/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Huevo poche dessert, El Club Allard, Madrid" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7223/7189337384_37c53e6c20.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
Of course not. Chocolate shell, painstakingly painted with metal powders; a coconut custard (tembleque) "white"; and a mango "yolk."<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7189337476/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="huevo poche dessert, El Club Allard" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7231/7189337476_ea6fd522b5.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
It was a lovely example of taking something simple and making it over in a new image, playing with sensory expectations but making sure the new result had its own internal logic.<br />
<br />
And a lovely way to end a three-hour lunch.<br />
<br />
When we were finished, chef Guerrero came out again to ask whether we'd enjoyed it. I got a little overwhelmed, and told him, in my broken Spanish, that I was probably going to start cancer treatment again soon (what, I didn't mention?), that I would lose my tastebuds, and that the memory of this meal would support me in the darkest hours. I may have sobbed a little.<br />
<br />
(I know, way more demonstrative than usual, but I couldn't help myself.)<br />
<br />
Anyway, he smiled, and took both my hands in his, and I think he understood.<br />
<br />
There are a million good places to eat in Madrid, and more than a few Michelin-starred restaurants. But if you have three hours to spare for lunch, you really, really should go to El Club Allard.<br />
<br />
And I almost forgot to mention the final mini-fryer of olive oil and white chocolate snackettes: <br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7189337576/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img alt="Untitled" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8027/7189337576_c943168736.jpg" width="375" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer">[From the official site of this particular Carolyn Grantham]</div>LimeyGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388899118602772119noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33720146.post-43655001477506644462012-04-16T10:18:00.005-04:002012-04-16T12:30:00.139-04:00Making tapas with friends at ArtEpicureWe spent Saturday night cooking and eating with friends. It's not something we do very often. Eating, yes, but at-home entertaining happens less than we'd like, in part because our place isn't really set up for many hands in the kitchen.<br /><br />So it was a special treat to have a private class at <a href="http://www.artepicure.com/index.html" target="_blank">ArtEpicure</a> in Somerville, where Mark DesLauriers has a fab and funky kitchen that he opens up to for people who want to make food and be social.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/6936258720/" title="ArtEpicure class by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5442/6936258720_d7f4bbd975.jpg" width="375" alt="ArtEpicure class" /></a><br /><br />Jars!<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/6936258798/" title="ArtEpicure class by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7241/6936258798_cd0d11661f.jpg" width="375" alt="ArtEpicure class" /></a><br /><br />Cookbooks!<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/6936258766/" title="ArtEpicure class by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7223/6936258766_38ee9e9511.jpg" width="375" alt="ArtEpicure class" /></a><br /><br />Sink with cat head!<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/6936259370/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5460/6936259370_b2bda7c502.jpg" width="200" alt="Untitled" /></a><br /><br />Mark offers a variety of classes, from classic French to knife skills to working with octopus. We decided on the tapas workshop, so after a short introduction and a chance to open some wine, Mark set us to work.<br /><br />Prepping watermelon and citrus:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/6936259640/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7046/6936259640_413f0d0213.jpg" width="375" /></a><br /><br />Mixing meatballs:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7082335407/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5447/7082335407_a3b360eef7.jpg" width="375" alt="Untitled" /></a><br /><br />Chopping peppers:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/6936260374/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7120/6936260374_108091f9aa.jpg" width="375" alt="Untitled" /></a><br /><br />Displaying newly learned knife skeelz on the parsley:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/6936261220/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7197/6936261220_8a2990855f.jpg" width="375" alt="Untitled" /></a><br /><br />Peeling asparagus for roasting:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7082337087/" title="Untitled by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5240/7082337087_1d36528893.jpg" width="375" alt="Untitled" /></a><br /><br />The pace was easy and the work was fun. Mark was a great host, giving instruction where needed and keeping things moving without pressure. He was a quiet force in the background, keeping track of the steps needed for each dish and assigning tasks accordingly, so that the meal started to come together almost imperceptibly: First there was eggplant, sliced and salted, and then there were tomatoes, roasted, out of the oven, and suddenly there was a soft, scented eggplant ragout.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7082338589/" title="Eggplant ragout by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7256/7082338589_9c957690cc.jpg" width="375" alt="Eggplant ragout" /></a><br /><br />The parsley starred in a light cucumber salad with sherry vinaigrette dressing:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7082337269/" title="Cucumber salad by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5032/7082337269_ef3532af0e.jpg" width="375" alt="Cucumber salad" /></a><br /><br />The fruit became a refreshing and delicious watermelon gazpacho (with baked prosciutto garnish):<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/6936262598/" title="Watermelon gazpacho by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7042/6936262598_1dfc120eef.jpg" width="375" alt="Watermelon gazpacho" /></a><br /><br />The meatballs were paired with huge broad beans spiced with ras el-hanout:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7082337775/" title="Lamb meatballs, broad beans, cucumber salad by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7195/7082337775_b4da4ddbba.jpg" width="375" alt="Lamb meatballs, broad beans, cucumber salad" /></a><br /><br />There was also a fabulous traditional paella, for which I chopped the chorizo but missed the construction of the rest:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7082338725/" title="Paella by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7136/7082338725_b607d29d66.jpg" width="375" alt="Paella" /></a><br /><br />Once the food was ready, we gathered around the table to talk and eat (of course) until late in the evening.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/diegocarolyn/7082338851/" title="ArtEpicure class by diego_carolyn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5447/7082338851_fd22ae9bd7.jpg" width="375" alt="ArtEpicure class" /></a><br /><br />As well as private group events, Mark holds open <a href="http://www.artepicure.com/classes%20lists/classes_index.html" target="_blank">cooking classes</a> (but they fill up quickly, so plan ahead). You should go.<br /><br />Meanwhile, Mark gave us the recipes for everything we made. I expect the gazpacho to be a mainstay this summer.<div class="blogger-post-footer">[From the official site of this particular Carolyn Grantham]</div>LimeyGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388899118602772119noreply@blogger.com2