Being (almost) normal in NYC

We always try to do something special for our anniversary, and this year it felt particularly important to celebrate. So we headed to New York City for eating, shopping, eating, museum-ing, eating, and walking. And eating.

The big caveat was that I was supposed to avoid crowds, sniffly kids, and any risk of exposure to colds, germs, and general infection. I've been fantastically lucky so far in terms of staying healthy throughout treatment, but a nasty flu would be tough on my immune system. So we were more observant about our surroundings that usual, but otherwise took no strict precautions.

We always visit MoMA. This time, there was a good exhibit on the design of the modern kitchen and the movement to more efficient use of space. Among the articles on display was something I recognized from my childhood:



I have a strong memory of drinking ice-cold milk out of these Tupperware beakers.

There was also an installation by George Maciunas, displaying the packaging from all his food consumption during one year in the '70s. His diet seemed to consist of imitation rum, powdered egg nog, and some 200 cans of lemonade.



Yep, that's healthy.

(Having said that, I was quite taken with this poster and was happy to find the related postcard in the gift store:)



Healthy and Good with Butter!

And then, of course, it was time to eat in the MoMA Cafe. The Boy had a salad with arugula, paper-thin bresaola and Humboldt Fog cheese (which, due to my no-blue-cheese restriction, I could only stare at, wistfully).



Mindful of my nutritionist's advice to pile on the protein, I went for a trio of bruschetta: tuna with olives; lemon hummus with prosciutto; white-bean puree with roasted root veggies.



Dinner that evening was at Union Square Cafe, which was fabulous. Sadly, it was too dark for good photos, so you'll just have to take my word for it that The Boy's pork chop was nine inches thick, and that my grilled lamb chops came with a creamy, garlicky gratin dauphinioise, and probably took care of my protein quota for the day.

On Saturday, we'd initially planned to walk the High Line, but then I saw that the Concorde was on display at the Intrepid Museum. I'd always wanted to fly in it, and this was the closest I was now likely to get. So we headed to the waterfront, and ended up seeing not only inside the pointy bird but also exploring a submarine and the aircraft carrier itself.













After lunch at Vynl, where the service was so-so, the food was diner but good and the bathrooms — four separate spaces dedicated to Cher, Dolly Parton, Elvis and Nelly (?) — were fabulous, we took a cab to the halfway point of the High Line and started walking.

It was so cool to get a different view of the city.





There's a nice gallery of old photos showing the High Line in operation.

Our next stop was a couple of chocolate stores in SoHo: Kee's Chocolates and Vosges. Apparently I was too overcome to take photos in either place.

At Kee's we tried four flavors of handmade chocs: smoked salt, fennel, blood orange, and lemon-basil. They were all amazing, though the latter was a definite winner.

At Vosges we picked up some items we hadn't seen locally, and I was also forced (forced!) to get a chili-cinnamon hot chocolate. Oh boy: a warm, spicy embrace. Completely delicious. Apparently I need to pick up their Aztec Elixir blend to keep me going at home.

Dinner that night was at Resto, a Belgian-isch place whose motto is "Bringing fat back." This speaks to me.

Actually, what spoke to me most was that one of the first items on their menu is bitterballen, which we fell in love with on Aruba and actively sought out while stuck at Schiphol airport at Christmas. They're usually deep-fried balls of meat in a roux sauce, but at Resto they're a little drier, which doesn't detract at all and makes them easier to eat.



Then we went for the charcuterie plate:



Again, it was a little too dark for good photos, but this gives a sense of the selection:



Each meat had a side — the lamb with tzatziki, the chorizo (unexpectedly) with honeyed ricotta — and each was full of fresh flavor. We also ordered the tête de cochon sandwich, which was good but not fantastic; the thick brioche and the slaw overwhelmed the meat, which to me is the whole point of eating a pig's head.



Full to bustin' as we were, it was somehow necessary to get the beignets. They were more like donut holes than the rectangular, powdered-sugar-coated treats we expected, but they were warm and accompanied by three dipping sauces: berry compote, melted chocolate, and caramel. So that was nice.



Apologies again that the photos do not do justice to this meal!

All in all, it was a lovely break; so good to get away from all the hospitally stuff, and stress, and overload, and just act like normal people.

Eating Christmas in England

We spent Christmas with my parents in England while the country was wearily digging out from the tail end of a two-month snow emergency.





Though things were more or less back to normal, we were happy to embrace snowboundness and stay home, where there was a cozy fire and copious quantities of Christmas foodstuffs.

On Christmas Eve, The Boy and I made the traditional Puerto Rican dinner, more or less: roast pork (pernil), here in its "before" state:



and the coconut custard tembleque for dessert. We used this easy tembleque recipe, which was made more entertaining by the use of my mom's magic stirring gadget:



Christmas lunch, of course: roast beef, roast potatoes done in goose fat, Yorkshire puddings ditto, roast parsnips and carrots, Brussels sprouts and lovely cauliflower cheese.



And the very necessary Christmas pudding with custard:



Christmas pudding is one of my favorite things, possibly because I know there's only one serving a year. I love the sticky-sweetness of the fruit and the extra-hot custard. Actually, I'd still love it if I could eat it all year round.

The family came over on Boxing Day. We made sandwiches and chocolate cake, benne wafers and key lime pie. And there were quiches and cheeses and prosciutto and dates. And people brought more chocolate cake, and carrot cake, and my aunt's famous corned beef pie:



My dad did a ham, which means not pre-brined, pre-flavored meat, but raw fresh pork leg. This is also one of my favorite Christmas things.



So are mince pies, here served warm with Greek yogurt (okay, not traditional Christmas fare, but it works):



And not particularly related to Christmas, but certainly connected to fabulous pork products, black pudding.



Also, my mom makes an amazing fruited tea loaf.



And none of this includes our trip to York. Mayhap we found pork and pastries and cheese there too, hmmm?

KO'd by Australian pie

When you move to another country, it's with the understanding that you're leaving a lot of things behind: family and friends, of course; customs and traditions; and — and in many ways tied up with the first two — foods you love.

I don't get nostalgic cravings often, but when I do, they're for very specific dishes: real fish and chips, Battenburg cake, proper bacon, steak pie, pork pie, cheese and onion crisps ("Greeat fleeavas, Chudah!").

Often, I can distract these cravings with more accessible imports: Bird's Custard, Branston Pickle, and HobNobs are available (at a price) in the grocery store.

But sometimes, the call is too strong.

And sometimes, the call is answered.



Australian? Eh, close enough.

This is KO Catering and Pies, a short walk from the Broadway T stop (in the former St. Alphonzo's Kitchen space). It's not much to look at from the outside:



But inside it's fragrant with the aroma of warm pastry and decorated with ceramic budgies and a clock displaying the only important time zone:







The menu is expansive:



But we were there for one reason: pie.

The only other time we've found proper meat pie in this country was at an Australian pie place in Austin, Texas. I'm not sure why it's left to our antipodean brethren to demonstrate the magic that happens when you combine meat and pastry, but there you go.

We ordered a meat, a meat-and-cheese, and a sausage roll. There were paper napkins but no forks; when The Boy went to ask for some, he was handed a postcard that explained the correct way to eat a pie was by picking it up and shoving it in your face.



Oh, this was some good pie.

The bottom was a shortcrust and the lid was a light, buttery, flaky puff pastry. The meat, simmered into a slightly sweet ragu, had just enough gravy to season the pastry without turning it to an unmanageable handful. The addition of cheese to the second pie gave a little touch of salt that balanced out the sweetness of the meat.





I'm not sure I could ever make a pie like it. But sausage rolls I do bake now and then. So ordering one was more of a "because it's there" decision than a need to sate a craving.

Here's the thing: this was no ordinary sausage roll. The meat inside was less like sausage meat and more like pork pie: densely packed, almost pressed.



So this is perfect: I have a place to satisfy my need for meat pie and pork pie, and also to pick up much better sausage rolls. And with KO Pie's food truck launching soon, I might not even have to go to Southie to get some.

Home is coming closer to me!

Foundry on Elm: More decent food in Davis!

At the start of the 2000s, I worked for a custom publishing company in Davis Square, temptingly close to secondhand booksellers McIntyre & Moore. Their collection was broad and deep, and I spent many lunch hours browsing the shelves, which held everything from ethnomusicology to science fiction.

And then the store closed and moved to Porter Square, and apart from a brief stint as a store selling wooden salad bowls, their cavernous former location was empty.

Until this week, when Foundry on Elm opened. We went to check it out last night.

It certainly doesn't look like a bookstore any more. Though the bar does seem strangely familiar.



No, despite the marble counter, the red leather bar stools, the staff in black vests and the stacked arrangement of bottles in front of oversized mirrors, this is not Eastern Standard.



Behind the bar, however, is Andy Kilgore, formerly of No.9 Park (and Stoddard's; perhaps his departure explains why now Stoddard's cocktails are crap).

The cocktail menu at Foundry on Elm is short but thoughtful: a few new creations plus a handful of classics. I went for the Seelbock, which here was made with Buffalo Trace and came in a coupe.



The Boy chose the Sazerac — always a good test — in which the glass was rinsed with absinthe; the rye was Old Overholt.

So far, so good.

We were surprised at how busy the place was; we arrived just before 7, and Foundry on Elm was hopping. I'm glad we made a reservation, as there were a lot of walk-ins waiting.

Our table was a red-leather booth toward the back (somewhere around the fiction section, IIRC). The place was just louder than I like, in a lean-across-the-table-to-be-heard way. But the food made up for it.



A charcuterie plate of flaky duck terrine, pâté de campagne, tissue-thin and perfectly salted prosciutto and a deep, almost chocolatey duck liver mousse. I wiped the mousse dish clean with their (also fabulous, and reminiscent of my grandmother's) brown bread.

Also present: a selection of delicately pickled seasonal veggies.



And then the mains. For me, beef carbonnade, slow-cooked in beer and served with root veggies. Apologies that the photo does not to it justice; the meat was tender, the juices both sweet and savory, the carrot and parsnip just-crunchy.



The Boy had steak frites (again, sorry about not-great photo):



The fries were not the best — though tasty, they were a little dry, as though they'd been sitting around a while — but the steak.

Oh, the steak.

No special silverware needed; it hardly even required a knife.



The condiments here are garlic butter (fore) and a kind of shallot jam (aft). The Boy thought the shallots would have been better warm, but the flavor was sweet and lovely.

We were too full for dessert, but that just gives us a reason to return. Possibly not on a Saturday night, though; by the time we left, at around 8:30, Foundry on Elm was packed and a little too scene-y for my taste (hey, I'm old, I admit it).

But given the proximity to our house, the creativity of the bar staff and the skill of the kitchen, I could see Foundry on Elm becoming a regular destination. We're already planning a visit some Tuesday night in the depths of winter for the weekly coq au vin special ...

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.