If it's fried, it must be at the Big E

Today we made the pilgrimage to The Big E, the multi-state state fair in Western Mass, to do two things:

1) Eat disgusting fried food
2) Check out the farm animals

Let's take them in reverse order.

Cows!



Sheep!



Woolly and naked sheep!



Mexican wrestler sheep!



Just-back-from-jazzercise sheep!



Real Sheep of Beverly Hills!



Okay, enough of that. Now to the food.

One of my goals was to find a place selling deep-fried butter, which debuted at the Texas State Fair in 2009, hit Iowa earlier this year and finally (finally!) showed up on the East Coast.

Butter? Meh! How about this?



It was a tough decision, but we opted for the butter and the Kool-Aid.



The latter, it turned out, would be easy to replicate at home: the secret ingredient is Kool-Aid powder in the batter, with a generous amount shaken like sugar over the dough while it's still hot. Inside, they're a stunning color not found in nature.



And they were pretty good; the slightly tart flavor of the drink powder gave a nice contrast to the sweet dough.

And then to the other. The secret is to freeze the pats of butter so that they don't immediately soak into the dough. There's a pool of hot, cinnamon-sugary butter inside each ball, which means you have to eat them very carefully.



I liked the butter better; The Boy had expected a more salty, savory taste, so preferred the hot pink variety. Neither of us felt the need to eat anything else for a while.

After a couple of hours of sheep/cow/piglet/chicken/goat-gazing, however, we were ready for more. In particular, I had my eye on something I'd seen advertised in previous years but never tried: the Craz-E Burger.

All I knew was that you could buy t-shirts that said something like, "I finished the Craz-E burger!" which led me to assume it was either so huge, or so rich, or so labor-intensive to devour that the few who did so were hailed as champions.

Now I realize that it's because the Craz-E burger is crap.

Thing is, when I think "bacon-cheeseburger inside a doughnut," I imagine a hot, fragrant Krispy Kreme, fresh out of the oven, glistening with melted sugar, enveloping a patty of sirloin, cooked medium. The cheese is melting onto the meat; the bacon is crisp. The flavors dance together, varying levels of sweetness and saltiness playing off each other, creating a perfectly balanced whole.

This is what we got.





The doughnut was cold, the meat was gray, the cheese probably didn't even possess the capacity to melt. And yes, maybe I shouldn't have expected more from something served up at a state fair, but still. It was sad.

Thank goodness happiness was close by.





Hot, salty, with a crisp batter and perfectly soft cheese.

Then, as we have on previous visits, we headed to the houses of the individual New England states for dessert: rich, eggy Finnish pancakes with blueberry sauce;



and fresh raspberries.



And then, just because: a piece of bacon covered in dark chocolate. That's how you do the sweet-salty thing.



All in all, a fun trip, though not one we need to make again for another couple of years. The attractions were pretty much the same as on our previous visit (we later realized we'd taken photos of the exact same food stalls in 2009 as we did in 2011), and state-fair-food trends move so gradually that we're not likely to miss out on the next deep-fried delicacy if we skip a season.

Though I can't say the same about the spring line of sheep fashion ...

L'Espalier: Restaurant Week lunch time again

For the third consecutive Restaurant Week, LC Sarah and I became ladies who lunch at L'Espalier.

As always, it was delightful, not least for the fact that lunch involving white tablecloths and smartly be-suited waitstaff is eminently more civilized than a sandwich at one's desk and an afternoon spent dislodging cheese from one's keyboard.

And extra points for good record-keeping; without prompting, our waiter acknowledged Sarah's food allergies, information gained from previous visits. I wish more restaurants were this diligent.

L'Espalier's Restaurant Week lunch menu this time was not too different from our previous visits — soup or salad; pork or salmon; dessert of chocolate or fruit — but that isn't a bad thing. There are still seasonal elements, and new flavor combinations, that make each meal new.

Sarah's on a gazpacho kick, so she had to get that. It came with a saffron-infused crème fraiche and airy cucumber foam.



I ordered the salad, and ... I just realized something. The menu described it as:



And while it definitely had perfectly ripe melon, and fresh greens in a light yet creamy dressing that nicely complemented the shrimp, the dish was squidless. Last-minute change of plan or plating oversight?



As she has at the previous two L'Espalier lunches, Sarah ordered the burger, which came topped with pulled pork and Roaring 40s cheese (not oozingly melted this time, but rather in a satisfying chunk):



As I have at the previous two lunches, I went for the pork. This time it was belly, nicely varied in texture — crispy, meaty, fatty — which paired well with sharp pickled turnip and slightly bitter greens.



Oh, and with insanely lovely creamed corn, buttery and sweet, cooked only lightly so it still had a just-off-the-cob color and crunch.



And then dessert. Sarah chose the napoleon, which came deconstructed: chocolate and espresso mousse skewered with a wedge of puff pastry and finished with a swirl of intense blueberry.





My dessert looked almost exactly like Sarah's dessert from our last Restaurant Week lunch at L'Espalier.

That was then:



This is now:



Last time, it was blood orange, guava, lychee; this time, coconut, peach, lychee. Apparently their lychee supplier is persuasive.

So the question is: What happens next Restaurant Week? Back to L'Espalier for salad and pork, soup and burger, chocolate and lychee?

All signs point to well, duh.

This week, dessert comes first

I don't often write about food events, but this week I'm making an exception for something that is meaningful to me both personally and professionally.

May 3-9 is Boston Bakes for Breast Cancer, in which restaurants across Massachusetts offer a special dessert (that's the personal interest) to benefit cancer care and research at Dana-Farber (that's the professional one).

It's a huge amount of work to pull together; I've been following organizer Carol Sneider on Twitter for some time (@Boston_Bakes), watching as she works with restaurants and bakeries from across the state, bringing more of them on board. This year, more than 200 restos are involved. Here's the complete list.

Today, I got a sneak preview of what's in store, with a sample of an insanely good pineapple sundae cake from Mediterranean restaurant in Oak Bluffs on the Vineyard.



The top is a dense pineapple jelly, and underneath are layers of tropical trifle: meringue, cream, and fresh pineapple.



I wish I had photos of more desserts (because that would mean I'd eeted them all). Luckily, the Boston Bakes website has a slideshow. I'm particularly intrigued by Clink's baba au rhum (#12).

If you're planning to eat out at any point over the next week, it's okay to think about what you want for dessert first.

The curd tart disappears

If you grew up in the north of England, your mum (and her mum, and maybe her mum) had a Be-Ro Home Recipes book, which was the Bible for basic bakery.

My mum has used the recipes for so long that she doesn't even need the book any more. It's all in her head.

It's a great no-nonsense resource for traditional pastries and puddings: pork pie, dropped scones, bakewell tart (an almond/ground-rice cake over a jam filling), toffee pudding (first ingredient: suet. Don't start), and the ultimate Christmas cake.

I have two: the 38th and 40th editions. Neither has a publication date. Only one has a barcode.




Check the not-very-PC photo of the woman passing on womanly skills to the girl while the boy looks on with satisfaction.



"I will make an obedient helpmeet!"

Anyway, back to the point.

For Easter, I decided to dip into the book and make something I hadn't eaten since I was a kid: curd tart. It's a very simple cheesecake variation; though the traditional method uses curd (which not even WholeFoods carries), it's often made with cottage cheese.

Stop going "Ewwww!" Just be patient.

Curd tart recipe
6oz short pastry

1 cup cottage cheese
4 tablespoons sugar
4 tablespoons currants
1 egg
1.5oz butter, melted
cinnamon and nutmeg
(I also added a little lemon zest)

Line a shallow dish with the pastry. Mix all other ingredients together. Bake at 425F for 15-20 minutes.





It's not dense like cheesecake; it's more like a ricotta dessert, with just enough of the nutmeg/raisin/creamy combination to feel traditionally English without it freaking anyone out. No lard here.

I noticed, though, that the curd tart recipe was in the 38th ed. of the book, but not in the most recent one. Pineapple upside-down cake was also missing (replaced by upside-down peach and butterscotch pudding—eww!). As was the toffee pudding and the malted fruit loaf.

Replacing them were a coconut lime loaf, a "monster-faced pizza" and the dubiously named Sticky Blobs.

It's not often I shed a tear for the passing of tradition. And I understand food trends shift and change. Still, I'm sad that recipes I grew up with are archived in favor of exotic flavor combinations and fun foods for kids. They're not even on the Be-Ro website's recipe list.

My 38th edition lost its staples a while ago; the cover is spotted with dry dough and the pages are stained and warped. But I'll hang on to it for as long as it's legible.

Restaurant Week: Lunch at L'Espalier

Q: What's better than going to L'Espalier for lunch?

A: Going to L'Espalier for lunch during Restaurant Week. Three courses: $20.09.

Q: What's better (or perhaps worse) than having to read a long, rambling post about how well crafted, beautifully plated and generally delicious the food was?

A: Having to look at a whole bunch of photos. (Sorry.)

To begin, a salad of spring greens with rhubarb vinaigrette and Three Sisters cheddar:



And a light, sweet Vidalia onion soup dotted with licorice sugar (dark and explosive on the tongue)



with a tiny island of light, fluffy parmesan flan, topped with roasted almonds.



Next, pork belly with caraway-roasted potatoes and pickled-ginger sauerkraut.





And, for a little extra, one of the spécialités de la maison: juicy, salty sirloin burger with pulled pork (!), served in a toasted brioche bun with Roaring Forties cheese and slaw ...



The burger came with thick fries that were more like roasted potato (a slight crunch to the outside; light and fluffy inside), and a trio of condiments that included a homemade barbecue sauce and a lovely garlic-truffle ailoi.



For dessert: chocolate brownies with crumbled white chocolate ...



And a mango mousse with macademia nuts.



This is allegedly Restaurant Week for Winter 2009. But as of this dessert, spring has officially begun.

Deep fried cupcake. Deep. Fried. CUPCAKE!

On Friday afternoon, office buddy Dawn alerted me to the existence of the deep-fried cupcake from Kickass Cupcakes in Davis Square (a place I'd visited only once before, despite its relative proximity to home).

On Saturday morning, we were so there.

For future reference, this is what you need to make a deep-fried cupcake:



You got yer regular standard deep-fat fryer; yer necessary cupcake, of course; there's yer squeezy cream; and tucked in the corner would be yer bottle of chocolate sauce. Not shown is the bowl of light batter in which the cupcake is doused before frying.

Commence to drooling and/or dialing 9 and 1 and getting ready to dial 1 again.

While we waited for nature to take its course, we checked out the other cupcake options, which included pretty sparkles:



The Green Monster:



The S'mores:



And the, um, "Cheesy Catnip Kittycake," which I assume was not for human consumption.



And then our deep-fried cupcake was ready! Oops, no it wasn't; our server had switched on the fryer and thrown the cake in without giving the oil a chance to heat. I didn't even want to know what the result looked like.

She was very apologetic ("We don't usually start deep frying until the afternoon," she said), and soon had a second cupcake in and sizzling.

While we waited some more, we watched one of the bakers unwrap several three-pound blocks of butter—and when I say butter, I mean Plugra—top them off with a couple of wholesale-sized bricks of cream cheese, and set the whole thing to churning in a serious industrial mixer. That, my friend, is how you make frosting.

And then our server took a paper cone (genius, and the only possible way to present a deep-fried cupcake), swirled chocolate sauce into its base, placed the cake inside, added more chocolate sauce, and finished it off with a generous dollop of cream.

There's actually a deep-fried cupcake under here.



See?



In truth, it could have done without quite so much smothering; save for one small corner that had missed the chocolate-and-cream deluge, and was therefore still crisp and crunchy, the rest was a big, soggy fistful.

Not that it was bad, mind you. As things that are deep fried and loaded with fat and sugar go, it was a fine example of the form: sweet and warm and completely indulgent, halfway between hot doughnut and deep-fried Twinkie.





We ate it walking down the street, our faces smeared with chocolate syrup and cream. It's not something one can consume delicately or with any pretense of sophistication. It's also something best shared; a whole one may just finish off a healthy person of average size.

And then it was gone, and we were left with a slightly heavy taste of cooking oil on the tongue. I'm not sure whether the solution would be to change to a lighter oil, or to allow the cake to drain a little before serving, or just to crank the heat up higher to make the cooking time as short as possible; that might be something to work on.

Davis Square has few options for state-fair-like indulgence, with the exception of the Belgian sugar waffle at Mr. Crepe or a scoop of maple-walnut from J.P. Licks (and even there you can almost legitimately claim there are healthy choices; hey, strawberry ice cream has fruit!).

So now there's something else to add to the list of heart-stopping goodies, though note that Kickass only does deep-fried cupcakes Friday through Sunday. Maybe it's for the best.