Across the water for Australian meat pie

Last 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.

By Friday, I'd decided moping around wasn't helping in the least, and what I needed was an Adventure.

So I decided to head across the water for Australian food.

I've been thinking about a visit to KO Pies pretty much since The Boy and I went to the tiny restaurant in Southie ... wow, almost two years ago?? But somehow my meat-pastry cravings have never quite aligned with being able to get out there.

(You'd think it was a thousand miles away, rather than a fistful of Red Line stops.)

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.)

And then my friend Eric pointed out that the City Water Taxi 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.

And so, with the promise of delicious pie and a cheap boat ride, the Adventure came together.

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.



After a few minutes, a boat skimmed into view, and I was off across the water.




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.

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.

"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."

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.

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.



I looked over the menu, 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.

And also, beer. Because Australia.

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.



I know, it doesn't look 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.)

But on a sunny Friday lunchtime, when you're not in a hurry, and you want a change of scenery, it's perfect.

Wait — not in a hurry? I had to get a pie to Captain Rob before he crashed into Old Ironsides!

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.

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.

I'm not going to wait another two years before my next KO Pie fix. Might even try a Lamington next time.

Now THIS is a chicken pot pie

Last time, I wrote about the bland, gluey disappointment that is a Harrow's chicken pie. But I realized I had to put up or shut up, lest I seem like a hater.

So last night I made chicken pot pie from scratch. Went like this:

Chicken stock (okay, that part was pre-made) in a pan with black peppercorns, bay leaves, fresh sage, thyme, oregano.



In goes the chicken breast, which poaches for about 20 minutes.



The breasts come out, and in go diced carrots and celery, plus white boiling onions, for five-ish minutes. And then they come out too.



And the chicken is shredded.



And then a roux sauce, which I love because it begins with melted butter.



The stock is strained and used to make the roux.



And then the chook and the veggies go into the sauce, along with fresh rosemary and frozen peas.



Pastry time.

Full disclosure: I had completely intended to use the Good Wives puff pastry I'd picked up the week before. But while rootling around in the back of the freezer, I found something labeled "Be-Ro ruff puff, 12-21-08." Which left me with two questions:

1) Is year-old frozen pastry still good?

2) Why do I have absolutely no recollection of making pastry a year ago??

Obviously I'd used the time-honored recipe from North-East England's premiere flour distributor; I just had no memory of doing so.

Anyway, it defrosted well and was perfectly pliable. And so there was pie. Into a 350-degree C oven for 25 minutes.

See, Harrow's, when I say "chicken pot pie," this is what I mean:





Any questions?

Cheap eats and a meat ship

In these troubled economic times, we're all looking for ways to cut costs. One easy solution is to spend less on food.

But does that mean mealtime needs to become monotonous?

Heck no!

What would you say to a hearty bean soup, or perhaps some sophisticated cucumber-avocado sandwiches? They can be yours, as long as you have that magical, indestructable pantry staple: Spam.

Yep, get your fill of gelatinous meat-like-food-product menu ideas at spamrecipes.net, where you'll learn:

• The secret behind the Hawaiian Spam Sandwich (psst: it's pineapple)
• The mystery of the Polynesian Bake (apricots, maraschino cherries and more pineapple)
• And the complex distinction between the Hot Spam Sandwich and the Cold Spam Sandwich (hint: in one, the Kraft Sandwich Spread is optional).

What's that you say? You're looking for something made with slightly less mechanically separated chicken?

How about something with an exotic Asian element? Beef and Broccoli Stir-Fry, or Lo Mein, or Taco Ramen Salad?

Okay, the last one gives it away; we're talking Ramen recipes in all their high-sodium glory.

Still, who can say no to Chicken Hollandaise Ramen, all Frenchified with egg yolks, lemon juice and margarine?

Or, for a special occasion, Creamy Chicken Ramen:

1 package chicken ramen noodles
2 cups water
1 can cream of chicken soup
1 3oz. can mushrooms

Cook noodles according to package directions and drain. Heat soup concentrate, mushrooms and 1/4 seasoning packet over medium heat for five minutes. Top noodles with sauce.

Mm-mmm good! (And big thanks to Mike for finding the above and thinking, Hey, LimeyG would like these.)

But there are times when delicate dishes of chicken and pineapple and canned mushrooms just aren't enough; when even the most thrifty gourmand seeks something more satisfying.

For these occasions, it's worth checking out This Is Why You're Fat, a fantastic photographic picnic basket of artery-clogging, metabolism-slowing, sleep-inducing dishes (or handfuls, or things on sticks) guaranteed to fill you up.

Example: Gravy-covered pizza.



Example: The bacon donut.



Example (and my particular favorite): The meat ship, created from sausage, bacon, pastry and ground pork.



Ahoy, me heart(attack)ies!

Sofra, so good (ow! Sorry!)

A confession: we have not yet been to Oleana (what?). I know, I know; you'd think we would have managed by now, given its relative accessibility, its interesting Mediterranean/North African menu, and the fact that there's a general consensus about its awesomeness.

And yet--or perhaps to redress the balance--we have already investigated Sofra, the bakery owned by Oleana's chef, Ana Sortun.

Tucked around the corner from the big Star Market opposite Mount Auburn Cemetery, it's not the most convenient place for us to pick up pastries—not when we could stroll up the street to get poppyseed rolls from the Danish Pastry House or wander into Davis Square for lemon slices at Diesel.

So why do I keep fantasizing about driving out to Sofra?

Oh, I know why:





Sofra's cookies include a rich, intense chocolate earthquake mouthful and a fig-jam-topped thumbprint shortcake that has more butter than a whole cow:



Inside the earthquake:



The almond-rosewater cake manages to be dense, moist and fluffy all at the same time:



Not everything at Sofra is sweet, of course. We watched the busy kitchen staff stretching dough for the flatbread wraps they fill with chickpeas, feta, tomatoes, spinach and olives and then heat on curved griddles:



We also picked up a couple of savory items: plaki, a dish of white beans braised with onions, tomatoes and carrots; and a burek.

My experience of burek to this point had been limited to the Cornish pasty-like meat turnover served at Sabur. Sofra's version is more like a lasagna pie: thick layers of dough striated with ground beef.



It came warm and ready to eat, in which state I'm sure it would have been fantastic. However, we saved it for a picnic the next day, which may account for the chewiness of the dough and the fact that the meat had settled into one thin layer near the bottom. It was great, but not the greatest.

Sofra would probably be a lovely place to hang out for a while; it's light and airy, with cosy window seats and colorful upholstery. But butt-space is limited, and (at least on our Saturday afternoon visit) was hostage to a passel of gray-haired ladies whose plates held just crumbs and who evidently had no intention of moving.

A better suggestion, if not a request: go early to Sofra, for breakfast. Pick up the morning bun with orange-blossom glaze, the Sicilian ricotta-chocolate croissant, the date and walnut brioche.

And then tell me all about it.

Tatte: rich, buttery, aloof

There's a bakery around the corner from my office that looks so immaculate, it makes me feel I've walked in on a movie set by mistake. Tatte, on Beacon Street in Brookline, is tiny and light-filled, and half the store is taken up with an oversized table holding a minimalist selection of perfect pastries.



Tatte's dessert selection is limited, but the star seems to be the nut box, shown above in the grande variety. The smaller one is equally pretty.



It's basically a pastry shell filled with nuts. Doesn't that sound lame? Okay, how's this: the pastry is so butter-loaded that it's practically shortbread. The nuts (pecans, pistachios, hazelnuts) are covered in a not-too-sweet caramelly coating. For a handful of nuts and a bit of pastry, it's amazingly rich.

I also picked up a ricotta-spinach brioche, which was likewise decadent, rich and buttery (but it had spinach, so it was healthy. Really).



And I had a fresh pear juice, which has a subtle note of cinnamon and caused co-worker Sarah to say, "Wow, it makes me wish it was fall already!" I don't love the sentiment, but I know where she was coming from.

So Tatte creates lovely treats (albeit expensive: my three purchases cost me $13). And yet I'm hesitant to recommend it. Why?

Because the counter staff at Tatte are decidedly unfriendly.

Now you know me: I'm a pretty laid-back, thick-skinned gal (and, allegedly, a bit of a ham). So it doesn't offend me personally if people are restrained or reserved. What does bug me, though, is when people who work in customer-service positions cop attitudes of superiority.

The salesgirls at Tatte were unsmiling and aloof. When I asked whether it would be okay if I took photos, they looked at me as though I'd asked if I could gut a fish on the counter. And then one said, "Well ... I suppose so," and the other said (though not to me), "The Phoenix sent a photographer round last week."

I don't often feel uncomfortable around other people, but here I did. So I picked up my change from the counter (because she wouldn't put it in my hand) and scuttled out.

And then I started wondering whether I was being paranoid. But cube-neighbor Nikki said, "No, the South End Buttery is exactly the same; they're very obnoxious. Plus their cupcakes are terrible."

I don't want to suggest this is a trend: the staff at Sweet on Mass Ave are lovely, as is the owner of Kickass Cupcakes, so there's no direct correlation between bakeries and bitchiness.

But I'd be interested to know whether there are other examples of posh pastry shops with poor personalities. Or, for that matter, places where the service is as sweet as the confectionary.

Anyone?

What happens when you neglect your Papa

I've never liked those good news/bad news jokes.

Good news: Your doctor says you have 24 hours to live.
Bad news: He meant to tell you yesterday.

Bad news: Your blood is all over the crime scene.
Good news: Your cholesterol is way down.

See? Not funny. Depressing and lame.

Why am I cranky?

Because I was looking through this new booklet the T has produced, which lists discounts and freebies for CharlieCard holders.

And I saw something that said:



"Ooh," I sez to myself, I sez, "Macanchee on a stick? That merits investigation."

Google searches brought up no results for the business (tsk, tsk!) but there was a Chowhound thread on Boston-area mac and cheese recommendations that seemed to offer a clue.

I scrolled through and found this:



"Where Beard Papa used to be"??

If you missed my earlier paean to Beard Papa's light and delicious cream puffs, or if you're not lucky enough to live in New York or California, you won't understand why this is bad news indeed.

Beard Papa's website confirms that there are now no outlets in Massachusetts. None.

It was bad enough when they took away Krispy Kreme and replaced it with Kelly's Roast Beef (no, not cool).

But this?

The Boy, of course, says we're responsible. If we'd picked up a dozen vanilla puffs every day, Beard Papa might still be in business. He has also decided that even though mac and cheese on a stick sounds like a wonderful thing, on principle he will not be visiting the Green Organic Bowl (which doesn't even have a website) to try it.

Maybe that is the good news.

National Pie Day!

Did you know there was such a thing as the National Pie Council? No, me neither, though I'd love to know how one applies for membership. I swear, I'd go to every single meeting--even the boring ones about EU Crust Measurement Regulations. 'Cuz you know what they'd have to serve afterward. And possibly before. And during.

Today, of course, we're all members. It's National Pie Day!

Okay, so the NPC is sponsored by Crisco (ah, the insidious tentacles of Big Shortening) and membership can be yours for the paltry sum of $35. So much for my imaginings of oaken boardroom tables scattered with pastry crumbs ("Miss Haversham, please fetch me the third-quarter earnings statements ... and a slice of chocolate pecan à la mode.")

But still, in honor of Pie Day:



"Mehhhmrieees ... like the corners of my miiiiindd ..."



"Misty water-colored mehhhmmmries ... of the way (snif!) we were ..."



For many more pretty pastries, check out the Pie Club pool in Flickr.

And then go stuff your pie-hole. With pie.

English foods I miss

A stroll round Asda in Stockton reminds me of the healthy and nutritious snacks I occasionally crave. Such as:

1. Cake!

Ah, the cake aisle. Strawberry sponge, lemon slice, Jamaican ginger, Bakewell tarts, Battenburg and Soreen.



Whether it's fresh cream:



or the entire oeuvre of Mr. Kipling:



I linger over the shelves ...

2. Pastries!

Specifically, the savory, meat-filled, high-fat, super-tasty pasties,



pork pies:



and ... ohhh ... scotch eggs (that would be a hard-boiled egg enrobed in pork-sausage meat, breaded and deep-fried) ...



3. Bacon bacon bacon!

'Specially when grilled, along with yellow tomatoes, and served in a brown bun with ketchup.



4. Crisps!

(Aka potato chips.) Yeah, I know you can get them in the US, but not in flavors like prawn cocktail, roast chicken, smokey bacon. Or:



5. Ambrosia rice pudding!

Total nostalgia. Sweet, creamy and fabulous when hot with a spoonful of strawberry jam. Or cold straight out of the can.



Of course, this isn't to say that everything in English supermarkets is delicious. Take, for example, this limited-edition taste sensation:



Could be worse, though. Could be Budweiser and Clamato ...

Beard Papa's: you can't eat just one

How have I gone this long without mentioning the bestest sweet pastry in the entire world?

(Okay, maybe that's hyperbole, in which case I'm prepared to be fed alternatives until I recant. Bring it.)

We first heard about Beard Papa's from Richard and Heather, whose enjoyment of all things edible (and enviable location in Manhattan) mean they're excellent heralds for new food discoveries. While visiting them a few years ago, they mentioned their latest find.

"It's this little storefront in Astor Place," said Richard. "You go in and the whole store is bright yellow. It's like a Japanese cartoon. And they have these cream puffs ... they're amazing. Real vanilla cream, and they fill them to order. I've never tasted anything like it."

"Sounds worth a trip," said The Boy. "Maybe we'll stop by tomorrow and get one."

Heather laughed. "One? One? No. You can't just get one. You need at least two. Trust me."

So the next day, after an almost-authentic, overpriced fish 'n' chips lunch at A Salt and Battery in Greenwich Village, we wandered toward Broadway and almost walked past our destination; luckily, the Captain Birdseye logo caught my attention, and we hustled inside.

The selection of treats is quite varied: everything from the puffs (filled with strawberry, chocolate, green tea or earl grey cream, as well as vanilla) to molten chocolate cakes to mango shaved ice. But we'd been instructed to go straight for the original. So we did. Two each, of course.



Real flavor indeed!

The puffs are baked ahead, and then filled while you wait, so there's no time for the choux pastry to get soggy; it's incredibly light and delicate, yet strong enough to hold the filling without falling apart.

And the filling ... ('scuse me while I pause reverently) ... creamy, smooth and thick, but not overly rich or heavy. It's sweet without being overpowering, just enough vanilla to define the flavor withough being strident, and the dusting of powdered sugar on top of the pastry adds an extra edge of sweetness.

As it turns out, Heather was right: it's very important to get two. The first one is so damn good that the only thing to do is cram it into your mouth and revel in the experience. (Be aware that you will roll your eyes heavenward and make noises considered inappropriate in public.)

Once the heady decadence has subsided, the second puff gets more careful scrutiny, with closer inspection of the filling with its tiny black flecks of vanilla bean. And then it quickly disappears the way of the first.

I assume the name comes from the French barbe à papa, which translates as "father's beard" but means cotton candy (which translates to English as "candy floss"), rather than from the French children's series about an amorphous shapeshifting family.

But where, I hear you asking, where oh where can I experience this for myself? If you're in California, Manhattan or Hawaii, you have the choice of numerous locations.

If you live in Massachusetts, there's only one location: the Faneuil Hall food court.

Go now. Go! Run! Hurry!