Icey Goodness

In rebellion against expensive ice cream ($6 per half pint), I've turned into an ice cream factory. It all started innocently enough, with a large tub of vanilla bean ice cream. Quick and easy, no stewing, no seeping, no chopping – just a quick splice of the vanilla pod and I let it chill out in the fridge before it turned into frozen creamy goodness. Then enticed by cheap and surprisingly sweet strawberries, I produced another couple of tubs of strawberry balsamic ice cream. First I roasted the strawberries in some balsamic vinegar and then then threw some extra balsamic into the custard before it chilled.

A couple of days ago, one of my coworkers commissioned a tub of olive oil ice cream. The only place we've had olive oil ice cream is at Otto's pizzeria in New York, where they also coincidentally have a strawberry balsamic offering as well as other delicious flavors. On one particularly hot summer day, my friend Melissa and I went to Robert Moses beach when the currents were ripping and the jellyfish were out, but we still were hell bent on swimming. Once we came back to the city all toasted and crispy, we went to extra virgin for dinner and sat outside and ate grilled fish and toodled over to Otto's with our boogie boards in tow for some gelato. 3 flavors each – olive oil, lemon verbena and salty caramel. It was deeeeeeelightful.


fresh but still goopey from the ice cream maker

Anyway, I digress. Thanks to David Lebovitz, I now have a tub and a half of lemon olive oil ice cream in the freezer, and hopefully a happy coworker tomorrow.




So to commemorate my first food commission and to underscore how I've turned into a mini ice cream factory, I've come up with my name (thanks Angela!) and logo....just in case I want to expand my delicious (mini) empire.

My ice cream offering will be artic themed – polar bears being adorable, penguins throwing ice cream snowballs being insufferably adorable, I can change out of my winter outfit if one weekend I decide that I want to set up a lemonade stand in and charge Georgetown prices for a (fancy) cup of lemonade.

In the meantime, if you're in DC and want some Janicey Goodness, I'll all ears, eggs and spatulas.

General DC-ness, stomach still firmly lodged in NY

Oh no! Blog neglect!

So sorry for the winter absence. I've spent the cold part of the year shuttling back and forth, trying to learn french and pry myself away from NY, but every 3 weeks or so, my stomach says SHABU SHABU! or Diner! and I always find a good excuse, give in promptly and make a scramble for the Acela. I've tried to eat my way around DC which resembles midtown, to almost no avail. I've had friends who are also NY transplants confirm that I should save my appetite for trips up north. Besides a bargain, and enough leftovers for a steak and egg breakfast the next day, DC food has always always always left me wanting something a little more special (Except the steak frites with the mysterious green sauce as Bistrot du Coin) and wishing that I cooked at home instead.

This is not to say though, that I am not enjoying the fresh air, flowers, languid weekends, and my larger kitchen. I can now afford enough time for a weekend paper subscription, quality time on the couch and a decent night's sleep with a nap in the evening. Small things that make me happy – showering and eating before dark. The word "suburbia" no longer makes me weak at the knees and grass doesn't make my heart go aflutter. I'm struggling with how much of my New York City induced psychosis I should let go of – the sound of traffic at night, for one. But dammit New York, your food and farmers markets are unmatched.




The silver lining though, is access to Polyface farm's metropolitan buying club that delivers to the Takoma Park area in Maryland. It's a well run operation with tons of coolers and boxes of eggs. How it works is that you place an order with the farm to pick up at a specified location at least a week in advance – there are a handful of locations to choose from. All you have to do is pick out some food and wait for your delivery day. They'll even lend you a cooler bag if you don't have your own. Joel Salatin raises an exquisite grass fed steak. I also have a couple of pastured chickens in the freezer. The Salatins were made famous by Michael Pollan's book the Omnivoire's Dilemma and his farm was subsequently featured in Food Inc. and Fresh the Movie, two films about food, produce and responsibly farming and eating. I recently went to a Joel Salatin lecture at Columbia as he waxed lyrical about happy chickens as I stared, transfixed, by the chickens on his tie. Knowing that I now live within his food shed pacifies me somewhat. Now my last bastions of hope for fresh, moderately priced vegetables are the Veggieporium at a farmers market in Glover Park, unaffiliated to the FreshFarm markets (I ate reasonably priced sugar snap peas to my heart's content today) and my CSA (Community Supported Agriculture) which should start up in a week or too which will deliver vegetables direct from farm to doorstep.

So many gastronomical trips have been undocumented in the last quarter, so indulge me while I spew some of the highlights of this year's indulgence.


First dinner of the year in NY. First at 5 Leaves in Greenpoint, then at Roebling Tea Room. I have mixed feelings about that place. Love the atmosphere, not so much the staff.



Sun's up, time to hightail it to Abraco.




Brunch time!




More brunch at my other love, Diner. I had a bit of a strange sandwich I'm glad I tried – a fried oyster and country pate sandwich on focaccia, but probably not the best while still waking up. Angela had the country breakfast with rabbit sausage. slurp.




Bunch again! Pumpkin pancakes at Kitchenette.




Brunch with Rachel & Ed at Prune featuring the Steakginormosaurus.




Brunch with Melissa at Flatbush Farm. More eggy delights.





A legitimate reason to be back up in NY! A wedding! And a tasty one too with a mini cupcake wedding cake, BBQ, and yummy drinks.




Secret restaurant underground. I won't tell where!





Murrays Cheese Shop, the happiest place in the world. I used to live a 5 minute skip away from here and I'd bring back cheese and munch on them on the fire escape.




Adorable ice cream truck. With unicorns.




Oh, shabu shabu! Nothing is more delightful than dipping slices of raw beef into a hot pot, then dredging them through ponzu. I'm fortunate enough to be friends with dedicated shabu shabu enthusiast, who is seldom able to turn down a night of feasting, although I oftentimes out eat Nick by a full half hour. The other great thing about this arrangement is that he is also a little lactose intolerant, so I get to eat an extra scoop of green tea ice cream that comes with the meal at the end.


Meanwhile, back in DC:


Sofia & Colin come to visit. Their only complaint? Noisy birds at 5am.



Master chef Colin whipped up some steak and eggs with some hashbrowns and asparagus wrapped in prosciutto. I made some pizza.




Small bundles from the farmers market and a slightly oversized rhubarb galette.




Oh DC, we have some growing pains for sure, but at least you're charming sometimes.

Secret Supper Club

Berlin is a city of subcultures: art house squats, anarchist bars, locationless dance nights, and secret supper clubs. For my first foray into underground dining in Berlin, I had a guide. My new Australian food buddy Rohan (now with new Sydney food blog) sent me the menu the week of:

* ~ *
An Apéritif
Pickled winter vegetables, parmaschinken, and little lettuces
Ricotta gnudi with pumpkin caponata
Lamb and root vegetable stew with farro
Apple cobbler with ginger ice cream
* ~ *

"Wait! How do I get there? There's no address!"
"No, there isn't."
"How do people find out about it then?"
Rohan cocked his head and gave me a sly smile.
"You just do!"

We met beforehand at Rohan's favourite gourmet food shop in Prenzlauerberg to choose wine for the evening. There would be wine there as well, but being lushes on a budget, we decided to come prepared. We chose three bottles for the four of us, the highlight being a German wine from a small winery that has totally taken my heart: Holger Koch, a delicate Pinot Noir (Spätburgunder in German) from 2007. This was not like any Pinot Noir I have ever had. Retaining all the complexity of this difficult grape, it was so light as to almost resemble a Rosé in colour and weight. For a wine industry whose strength is floral and fruity Rieslings, this red was a beautiful showcase of the power a light wine can have in impacting the palate. I took home an extra bottle for Christmas on a hunch (and was duly rewarded with an approving nod from Dad over Turkey dinner).

Rohan led us to an apartment building in Friedrichshain and we followed the buzzer directions to the third floor. We were greeted by a friendly American, who was the host and server for the night. He explained to us after the dinner that he was a DJ originally from NY who had come to Berlin for the opportunity to play 80's disco to an appreciative crowd(!). Gotta love Europe for that. His partner was the chef, also a New Yorker. Having found a day job in a local bakery, he missed the pleasure of cooking full meals for guests and the idea for the supper club was born.

The living room turned dining hall was cosy and comforting, as though we had been invited to a special event in a friend's home, perhaps an engagement announcement or the celebration of a birth. The room was set up with 4 tables and about 18 guests. Our party of 4 was seated with two other expats - our table consisted of 2 Australians, 1 Swede, a Belgian/German, a Russian/American, and a Chinese/Canadian. Naturally, the conversation turned to the question, "Where do you come from?" and how complex that question is becoming in a world where the old idea of national identity shows itself to be a transitioning chameleon, a creature uncertain of where to belong but sure of the list of places it wants to go. Introductions are no longer the simple fare they were designed to be. At least not in Berlin, where you are more likely to meet a Turk, Korean or South African than a native Berliner.

The sparkling wine aperitif served with a twist of lemon started us off lightly and delicately. Our friend, Ceci, ordered the most delicious German beer for a more substantial aperitif - Riedenburger historisches Emmer Bier. I have spent the last two months searching every specialty shop, liquor store and late night corner store for this taste of heaven and come up empty handed. (HELP!) The beer hails from a small organic and artisanal brewery in the South of Germany. It belongs to a lost tradition of beer brewing originating before barley made all other grains in the brewing industry obsolete. Brewed with emmer (farro wheat), einkorn (a traditional German wheat) and spelt, it is rich without being heavy, complex without being overwhelming. Nourishing and round, and still light enough to not be a meal on its own. You can find an excellent review of this beer here. Riedenburger is only an hour from Nuremberg... perhaps a roadtrip for lebkuchen and Emmer bier is in my future.



The starter was a refreshing take on the seasonal and local, pairing parmaschinken (a German take on prosciutto) with German folk fare of pickled winter vegetables and brussel sprouts, giving some of the most underrated members of the vegetable kingdom a class and elegance truly deserving of them.



The entree was in my opinion, the star of the meal. The pairing of creamy ricotta dumplings with spiced and roasted pumpkin winter comfort was pure genius. I made a mental note for future mid-winter dinner parties.

The main was a satisfying but unremarkable lamb stew that allowed the conversation to take the main focus, turning animatedly to Jordana's 10 day silent meditation retreat, Buddhism, Daoism, and well, Heidegger. (what else am I good for in the middle of thesis writing? ;)



The apple cobbler was elegantly cupped and had a delectable puff pastry crust. The fresh ginger ice cream gave a beautiful lift. More European than American in its weight in the mouth, this dessert was a hit for me.

At 25 Euro a seat, this alternative to The Shy Chef was a treat.


Palisaden Supper Club, Friedrichshain, Berlin.

Pet Eggs

One of the most annoying things about DC is the proximity between things. One cool shop is at least 2 blocks from the next one, leaving me with lazy legs, blistered feet and a slight aversion to exploring. Also, my size of my DC fridge trumps the size of my NY fridge by at least half and is now taller than my person, which means a very arduous trek home with heavy HEAVY bags from the grocery store or farmers market, at least half a mile a way. Even up in the boring upper east side I had my pick of grocery stores (though either crappy or expensive). 4 of them within a quarter mile radius and dozens of delis sprinkled in between the supermarkets so planning last minute fritatta or pancakes was no big deal if I ran out of milk. or potatoes.

<rant>
I'm also aghast at farmers market prices here. Come on, get real. Michelle Obama is for these farmers markets, but when you have to pay $2.50 for a pound of apples or $4.50 for a dozen eggs, her local produce activism has to be a little more than just requesting a farm stand to be planted outside the White House and making vegetables in her backyard.
</rant>

I fretted for a couple of days about expensive eggs from a (i suppose) trusted local source and weighing them against less expensive eggs from a suspicious mass distributed source and ultimately decided to buy the cage-freest eggs I could at whole foods. Until I casually struck up a conversation with a coworker who interestingly enough bought a quarter of a pig from a farmer and picked it up from the butcher when it was ready (a quarter of a pig is a large amount of pork). She also gets free range eggs from a friend for free. Free range eggs? From pet chickens? I began to salivate and asked her how much it would cost to buy them and have her bring them in to work for me.

$2 a dozen. Approximately 17¢ an egg, compared to 38¢ an egg.

Pet eggs. They were so pretty. Some were brown, some were grey, some were white and some were blue like my apartment walls.




In the morning when everything is still quiet except the sound of pouring coffee, I make soft boiled eggs mixed with soy sauce and strips of toast without fear of salmonella. The yolks fall out and ooze a bright orangey yellow and are hard to clean once they stick to the bowls – the hallmark of happy chickens that lay eggs packed full of vitamins and omega-3s.


courtyard view from my kitchen

After staying up to watch the tennis finals last night, I woke up when it was snowing and made some soft boiled eggs and blueberry pancakes as fat fluffy robins hopped around on the frozen pond. Is this what civilized living is?

Now to find some pet milk.

Handicraft Hash House

My friend Ted has always given me food for thought over the years, often over a whiskey or two into the wee hours, so when Ted and Roisin invited us to London (Ontario) a few weeks before I took off to Europe this past August (I know, I am attacking my post backlog!) for a barbecue and campout to end the summer, I was thrilled to finally be tasting his "thought for food" (that's "thoughtful food" said with a mouthful of Ted's homemade burgers!).

You see, I met Ted in Halifax, Nova Scotia way back when he was a fine arts student at NSCAD (now NSCAD university). What started as a couple kitchen jobs to pay the rent took over as a full-on artistic passion and career. I left Halifax in 2006 having had only a small taste of his famed gelato flavour creations at the popular but now closed, Dio Mio Gelato house on Spring Garden Road. I remember being in town briefly to see the first attempt at home brewing stacked in Ted's living room (my former apartment), sealed and fermenting. Sadly, I left before I got a chance to taste any.

This August, in Ted and Roisin's new home in London, we finally got the full treatment. We were fed homemade burgers with the full fixin's and a fantastic spread of goodies. The highlight was the most impressive homebrew I have ever had in my life - a delicious Cerveza (Corona and Sol are examples of Cerveza), and a couple darker brews, including a hearty nut brown that I loved. B and I stuffed ourselves around the campfire and got to know Ted and Roisin's London crowd.

(Pesky camera strap wants a bite of my huevos rancheros too!)

The gastronomic peak for me was breakfast the morning after. Ted had started a pot of Mexican beans from the day before straight from dried to let the spices seep slowly in as the beans hydrated, slow cooking through the party festivities into the morning. When we woke up, we were treated to an authentic huevos rancheros breakfast cooked over the still burning coals of the campfire. The beans had a fantastic aroma and heat to them and Ted made my eggs deliciously runny, just like I like them. This was served with homemade guacamole and campfire-heated tortilla bread. As if this wasn't pampering enough, we were also treated to fresh watermelon and lime margheritas to accompany breakfast and give it an extra kick.

Ted and Roisin have created a beautiful home for themselves in London, with a vegetable garden out back, Roisin's textile studio for Bespoke Uprising and Repeat overflowing into the halls, and a kitchen humming with Ted's latest catering and food delivery venture, the Handicraft Hash House.

Ted's signature is the incredible thought and detail he puts into his craft, from the organic and locally sourced ingredients, to the second edit of the food manifesto he sent me recently for another look, to the design of his new food labels (you can give your input by joining the facebook group: The Shoofly Appreciation Consortium).

You can order Ted's homemade meat pies, baked goods, preserved soups, sauces and pickled foods here and even set up a weekly meal delivery service within the London area. (w/ occasional trips to Toronto and Essex County). HHH Pies span everything from Cornish pasties to Jamaican patties to crawfish. I am intrigued by the Kentucky Burgoo, a stewed concoction of small game (rabbit) and mixed vegetables, a recipe originating in hobo camps of the 19th Century American West. And from the preserves and spreads, I can't wait to get a lick of his Calvados (apple brandy butter).

On the habitué delivery menu this week...
bread - anadama bread
soup - scotch broth
pies - Jamaican patty, bierock and tortiere
potted meal - polenta povera

Oh, Ted. Tell me you were serious about couriering that meat pie to Berlin...

Eating jumpstart

Sorry for the lack of posting – I haven't been eating. I've been stressed out, scurrying around like a headless chicken, looking for a new place, packing, ridding my current dwelling of a stubborn mouse, fighting an ant invasion and other nonsense.

Then came the new stress....my quest to eat at all the restaurants where I haven't yet eaten at before I skip town and move south to DC. After packing up enough boxes to make me feel like it won't be a mad dash to the finish and buying a lovvveeely yellow Le Creuset cast iron pot (it is waiting patiently in its box) and lifetime supply of All Clad cookware from the Woodbury outlets, I felt like I could concentrate on eating well, rather than getting perpetual take out from Chipotle (indigestible, according to my farmer's market conditioned stomach), eating hot oatmeal, while trying to console myself in apartment in complete disarray.

After half an apartment's worth of boxes and a cup of emergency coffee from the Mud truck, I had some sense kicked (caffeinated?) into me as if to say "why are you drinking sub par upper east side coffee from around the corner? You should know better than that!!! Now stop eating this garbage." Therefore, I'm on a very serious mission to eat my way through New York City again, a little like the Very Hungry Caterpillar.

I started with Abraço. It was so amazing, I've been there twice in two days. three times in 3 days. 5 times in 7 days. The coffee was good and lethal. I've been trying to hard to get there in time to eat their fritatta, but I am always too late. Last weekend, the last slice of fritatta was eaten in front of me, while I diligently waited in line for a consolation prize of Concord grape cake, a cured olive cookie and a rose almond cookie.

Today, instead of a fritatta, I munched on a warm green salad with blanched tomatoes and a grilled eggplant and mozzarella sandwich while contemplating another coffee.



Then there was the time I got some corn soup.





Then there were the two times I got a pork sandwich with Rachel and Melissa (separate days) after coffee.



And then got a cupcake from Butter Lane with Rachel.

7th Street used to have all my favourite stores but it's kinda turned into an eating street, starting with Abraço, then moving down to Porchetta (formerly a boutique called Sugar) and finishing off with Butter Lane.

Last week, like a crazy fiend, I trekked out in the rain for the coffee, meeting my friend John there. After 2 cups, I melted into a semi delirious state, saying how relaxxxxed I was and it was like God had parted the skies and I could see and think clearly again. John glanced sideways at me and said that he felt like he just did drugs with me or something.

Today, I sipped as I looked out of the little counter, envisioning romantic thoughts of me on an Electra Amsterdam cruiser bicycle with FAT tires and a basket, transporting baguettes and running out for coffee in Georgetown, "tooling by the mall", zipping under cherry blossoms on my way to pick up a quiche. Man this coffee is so good.

So if any of you want to hang out and say See You Later before I trade a shoebox apartment for luxurious residence with a dishwasher and separate bedroom, we can make a date at Abraço, or Roebling Tea Room – my other New York love.

Tomme Du Berger

I'm not sure who took this photo – I found it on a blog in Swedish and since my Swedish is limited to the alphabet, tongue twisters (Knut knöt en knut bakom knuten, och när Knut hade knutit knuten så var knuten knuten...anyone? Sex kvistfria kvastskaft?) and uh.."green hedgehog" (grön igelkott)...I am not sure who it belongs to. Anyway, it is a lovely photo, but it is not mine.

I've been eating increasingly stinkier and stinkier cheese. In college I used to wander into Murrays and make all sorts of timid cheese choices. Tasty, but timid. I'd munch on Felino Salami and Pyrenees Brebis (which is a delightful combination, btw) and buy all sorts of interesting cheddar with nettles. Then I started my extreme obsession with Monte Enebro (Spanish goat's milk cheese with a blue ash rind) that I used to have with Grayson or Adrahan. They were wash rind cheeses but they were still pretty civilized, meaty and beefy. I finally hit my Monte Enebro peak when I was in London and had some deep fried and decided that I almost died and went to heaven and subconsciously decided that my imaginary mission of Monte Enebro was complete.

On my birthday this year one of my friends gave me a little piece of Hooligan by Cato Farms...a super stinky cheese that smelled like the insides of boots on a spring day. It was a little nutty and a little sweet but really...pungent, in a dainty way. After that, nothing was ever quite the same. Because then I had some Gres des Vosges. And I was so enthralled, I brought a whole slab of it to my friend's apartment who was put off by it immediately and was quite visibly offended, saying that she loved me but she really could not understand me and stinky cheese...until she tried it. It's a little yeasty and nutty and seems like it would be a good idea to wash it down with some beer.

Then, one day when I was waiting half dazed at the Murray's Cheese counter, the cheesemonger called my number and asked me what I wanted and I pointed to the Tomme du Berger and said I wanted a quarter of a wheel. As well as a staple slab of Monte Enebro and a third of a pound of the strongest Stilton so I could make some roasted pear salad. I'd never had any Tomme du Berger before and I don't even remember the description on the label, but it seemed compelling enough. It's a raw sheep and goat's milk cheese, I think the goat's milk is from Provence. It a bit of a finicky cheese because it goes in and out of season....right now supply is dwindling because there was a drought in Provence, so I recently purchased...quite a lot of it.

It is..........LOVELY.

It is my new favourite cheese of the moment, ousting Monte Enebro. So if you are not in New York (because I kinda want to hoard this cheese for myself), get thee to a cheese shop and buy some Tomme Du Berger before it disappears for the rest of the year.