tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83026808713135677952024-02-20T14:51:48.484-08:00Unorthodox FoodieA foodie from high to low and the adventures of everywhere in between with a little literature and art critique thrown in.Unorthodox Foodiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05758899285090940586noreply@blogger.comBlogger275125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8302680871313567795.post-9393425498234556372013-01-23T12:05:00.004-08:002013-01-31T11:41:10.705-08:00NEW UNORTHODOXFOODIE BLOG!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Hello dear readers! I am happy to announce that this blog site will no longer be my place, but that my new and improved Unorthodox Foodie site now lives at <a href="http://www.unorthodoxfoodie.com./">www.unorthodoxfoodie.com.</a> Please come join me over there, enjoy the fun and sign up with your email to receive all of my posts!<br />
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Here's to a new world of food adventures in 2013!</div>
Unorthodox Foodiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05758899285090940586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8302680871313567795.post-46580872545453401252013-01-13T07:54:00.005-08:002013-01-13T10:54:34.171-08:00Art Riddled Day at the Fango Mango<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</style> <span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Back in my hometown yesterday, I received a
special invitation from one of my favorite friend families to come and join
them for an afternoon of art making and food. Now this is no ordinary trio. Leslie,
one of my closest friends who has that uncanny ability to make me feel and act
twelve again whenever I am around her, is the brilliant mastermind behind <a href="http://www.teawithiris.com/">Tea<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>With Iris</a>. Her company, inspired by her pet turtle Iris, is all about taking
life slow and reusing materials and upcycling fabrics to make clothes, house
wares, jewelry, purses and a variety of other DIY-chic groovy things in her
back yard studio that faces a desert garden full of herbs and greens. Her
husband <a href="http://www.shockleysculpture.com/">Tim</a>, also equipped with a lovely Peter Pan-esque joie de vivre, is a
noted artist whose conceptual pieces in bronze and other fabricated materials
evoke an utter love and passion for life and constant reflection. Their
daughter Elle is a hipster in slippers, already knowledgeable about farming her
own food and inspired by cooking and painting. As a matter of fact, a tray of
Meyer lemon peels fresh from drying in the oven, sat cooling on a counter when
I arrived as Elle explained that she had been juicing tons of freshly plucked
fruit just the day before. Nothing goes to waste in this household. </span></span>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">She also told me that her kitchen restaurant called Fango <span style="font-size: small;">M</span>ango was now open, and with apron on and order-taking pad in hand, asked what she could do for me. I handed over a bag of <span style="font-size: small;">Satsuma </span>tangerines and a
voluptuous butternut squash from the Cute Gardener’s back yard and said, “Let’s
make something!”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">To take advantage of the crisp and cold arid
desert climes underneath a lemon yellow sun in the backyard, we decided to make
the meal simple and healthy, as pre-fuel for an afternoon of painting. We split
the squash in two lengthwise and roasted it in a 400-degree oven for about 40
minutes until it blistered and the skin peeled naturally off. Then we put the
flesh into a blender and poured in a cup of heavy cream and stripped five
sprigs of fresh thyme into the mix before pureeing the soup. A thin baguette
was heated in the oven and then quartered for dipping into the soup. Elle made
a nice plate of mango and avocado, peppery salad dotted with tiny slivers of
cucumber to accompany our meal. Some red wine for the adults topped off the
outdoor lunch as I recalled how much I loved looking at the Santa Rosa Mountains
in the middle of a bright winter day. </span></span>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Afterwards, we each got to work on one of our
own art projects while Big Audio Dynamite Pandora spun on the laptop. Leslie
worked on a new series of coasters for her company made out of vintage book
illustrations, used CDs and felt. I worked on a small still life painting on
cardboard for a large, overall art piece in progress. Tim worked on two
sculptural wall pieces, which will be going into a restaurant in Laguna Beach.
And Elle painted small labels for her mother’s beet plants in the garden. </span></span></div>
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At the end of the day, to work off the creamy soup and clear our heads from the
wine, Leslie and I rode old-fashioned bicycles up the mountain near her home.
Thigh burn and giggles were the perfect way to end a whimsical day of
creativity and play. </span></span></div>
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</span></span>Unorthodox Foodiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05758899285090940586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8302680871313567795.post-63040235300843229732013-01-11T08:34:00.001-08:002013-01-11T09:55:14.071-08:00Good Bye Caffeine Jitters and Hello Comfort and Joy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</style> <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I don’t believe in New Year’s Resolutions: they
are a resolute way of making one feel bad about one’s self because they set us
up for failure. Picking one day to suddenly change something, usually negative,
in one’s life is like expecting to wave a magic wand to make a wish come true.
A true transformative change occurs when an intention is set and given enough
mental energy to bring a person’s behavioral patterns slowly up and over a new
horizon. It takes concentration, planning and a crescendo of
momentum to build. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">My intentions for 2013 were to become more
mindful in my every moment, to stay completely conscious in the present, and to
nurture only authentic connections in my life. Why? Because I am going to turn
40 this year and let’s face it, with age we start to finally pay attention to
the fact of our mortality and we no longer want to waste time. There were a few
small things I could see that would help along my goal if they were erased from
my habits. One of them was accepting social invitations to parties where the
only thing occurring would be small talk and drinking and the other was to stop
drinking coffee every morning and switch over to the poignant ritual of tea. </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">For fifteen years, I have been a three-cup a day
girl and oh how I loved the smell of fresh roasting beans and the taste of a
cup sweetened with cream and sugar. Oh how addicted I was to instant jolt of
“hello world” a cup of java would bring. Oh how I would sail through the
morning getting work done a plenty only to crash around mid-afternoon into the
much-needed nap of coming off of my drug of caffeine. Oh how I realized that in
my new intent towards mindfulness I no longer wanted to ingest anything into my
body that caused it to operate on rote and then come down into a cloud of funk.
I wanted coffee to be placed back in a proper place of the occasional after
dinner party drink or a quick espresso in a smoky cafe while traveling,
relegated back into the land of a special treat. </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">So I did it. I packed up the espresso machine,
cleaned the French press for its new life as a steeper of tea, told the Cute
Gardener he could put the pot I use for sleep-overs away in deep storage,
ordered up a bunch of fresh leaves of Earl Grey, Yerba Mate, Chai, Morrocan
Mint, Vainlla Rooibos and Sleepy Time Chamomile from <a href="http://www.teavana.com/">Teavana</a> and started my new
life as a tea girl. </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Everyone told me I would experience migraine
headaches from quitting the amount of caffeine I would consume, but strangely
enough because I meditated daily filling my head with white light and
visualization exercises to counteract the potential aches, I miraculously had
NARY A ONE.</span></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">What I have come to love deeply about tea is the
way you have to mindfully prepare a cup knowing that each one is different. The
way you treat each one especially for its own identifying properties whether it
be the length of time the water heats or boils to the amount of time it steeps.
The way some cups go better with warmed milk and the way others go better with
honey. The way you hold a hot cup in your hands and breathe in the
life-affirming scents of deep roots, herbs and leaves. The way your belly rises
to meet the stream of liquid diffusing anti-oxidants and other soul-essentials
into your berth. </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">My body and my mind are my temples and this is
the year I treat them as the powerful vessels they are with respect and a
disciplined ascent into their full powers. I think 40 is going to be my best
year yet …</span></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>Unorthodox Foodiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05758899285090940586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8302680871313567795.post-18074827009636110772013-01-09T08:19:00.000-08:002013-01-09T09:15:00.134-08:00Endless Possibilities in the Lavash Pinwheel<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</style> <span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">When I first encountered lavash pinwheels I was
in my late twenties and it seemed to be the sudden trendy item bought by Costco
bulk card carriers for any occasion requiring food for many mouths. It seemed
like every banquet table, after work mixer, holiday cocktail party or business
meeting boasted a tray or two. Like the great Jewish bagel and Japanese sushi,
it was one of those foods that suddenly became popular amongst the likes of the
great white middle class when the fifties palate got old and started craving a
little suburban diversity. But unlike its true Middle Eastern root uses, the
lavash rolls I encountered in those years were always a bastardized deli
version stuffed with ham, cheese, olives and mayonnaise and other cold cuts
parading as something exotic. </span></span>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Traditionally, the thin unleavened flatbread is
a Persian, Turkish and Armenian staple because of its diversity. When fresh,
the bread is quite flexible and used to make wrap sandwiches that please
because of their ability to host multiple types of satisfying filling. Even
though it can dry out quickly, it can be stored for up to a year and
reconstituted with water or used dry as an additive with butter, milk and
cheese to dishes that need toppings or a starchy component to soak and sop up
liquids. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I like the bread because it is low calorie,
non-fat and lacks any cholesterol but also because the possibilities are
endless when it comes to thinking up creative strains of the pinwheel.
Basically you can spread anything on the full sheet in thin layers, roll it up
into a nice compact log, refrigerate it for long enough to have the flavors
merge (at least twenty minutes but no longer than a day) and slice and serve.
One lavash roll can be cut into ten pinwheels serving four to five people for
snacks or two people as an entrée. </span></span>
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The real fun comes in thinking about the
stuffing. It is a good thing to roll out with refrigerator leftovers. This past
New Year’s Day, we watched the Rose Bowl after a trip to the local Armenian
market from which I had purchased a bounty of authentic dips and spreads. My
lavash offerings included one with roasted eggplant spread, crumbled feta
cheese and slices of oily, salted black olives and another with roasted red
pepper vegetable spread, leftover shredded pork from a Mexican chili verde meal
and labne yogurt cheese - both accentuated by dunks into tzatziki cucumber yogurt dip. A few days later, for breakfast I rolled up a
superfood version containing tahini, acai powder, rose jam and sunflower seeds. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">And for the fourth piece of the bread left I covered it with hummus, carrot
puree and tabouleh and dipped the pieces in comforting tomato soup! </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Lavash is easy to find with a quick trip to any
true Middle Eastern market where there are literally shelves offering different
types and brands. If you wish to make rolls, make sure you purchase a bag on
the day of or a day before you plan on using it. </span></span></div>
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</span></span>Unorthodox Foodiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05758899285090940586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8302680871313567795.post-5215513023950758872013-01-07T09:31:00.000-08:002013-01-09T09:15:29.860-08:00Great Grapes and Grilled Cheese Honor Out With the Old and In With the New<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizIe7MFP4kFutTwb2oLyoeI3L_sMBCCjjNpbayy8s0g7O_f9SCJrlfl7RMxNHkYzA-E13U53gi3kOnogXxiVJeC6RkSXMzHNavOoKhZX5LbT9JI-lIlhD8h93KCIXtccXlgolsLSRBbB1B/s1600/IMG_4422.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizIe7MFP4kFutTwb2oLyoeI3L_sMBCCjjNpbayy8s0g7O_f9SCJrlfl7RMxNHkYzA-E13U53gi3kOnogXxiVJeC6RkSXMzHNavOoKhZX5LbT9JI-lIlhD8h93KCIXtccXlgolsLSRBbB1B/s320/IMG_4422.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">There’s a time in one’s life when the way we
celebrate changes and this past New Year’s Eve I felt my own transition from
party girl to home body palpably. I no longer desire the cramped festive fete
with flowing booze and too much dense and caloric small plate food and
deafening music to shout over amongst people who either don’t know at all or
would rather spend quality time with one on one during the normal daytime
hours. And I like this about myself: the crawling inward towards the comforts
of home, the safety of living it up off the streets, the nice cocoon of not
needing to see and be seen. It’s like a warm blanket after a life of living so
exposed. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">So in conjunction of my seeing the need to be
social whirl away on the breeze of 2012, the Cute Gardener and I decided our
New Year’s Eve theme would be out with the old and in with the new. We had just
finished a whirlwind holiday week of visiting relatives, too much food and
constant activity so we decided that instead of trying to shop for and produce
another in the stream of lavish seasonal meals, we would simply try and empty
the refrigerator of all the extra food that was plumping its berth. The most
logical thing to do with all the assorted ingredients was to play with the idea
of grilled cheese sandwiches alongside a wistful goodbye to one of our
cherished grape vintages. </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The Tom Feeney Ranch in the Russian River Valley
produced a strain of grapes that had starred in some our favorite wines of
2000’s first decade. These included Starry Night Winery’s obsolete 2005 and
2006 Old Vine Zinfandels as well as Williams Selyem’s 2007 and 2008 Zinfandels.
The Starry Nights in particular have become a highly sought after wine as they
are almost completely obsolete at this point so drinking these two bottles was
a special and poignant signifier of the true end of pieces of our old lives leading
into the seeds of our new. So we uncorked all four to enjoy sips with the food,
enjoying the experimentation of what wine went with what ‘wich. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The idea for the grilled cheese started simply
enough, grab a piece of bread and stoke it with a leftover type of meat, cheese
and veg and slather that baby with butter and fry it up American diner style.
From there it twisted into a gooey and luscious adventure of which no sandwich
could be termed low brow enough for the open road but more worthy for a high
class gastropub’s late night bar menu. </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">First up was a more traditional version of
thick, white sourdough bread, cheddar cheese, leftover beef from Christmas cold
cuts and creamy avocado – all of which blended together with a fine meat funk
between its crispy covers. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Second was a brave combination of Christmas Eve and Night leftover chow mei<span style="font-size: small;">n</span>
bella button mushrooms, <span style="font-size: small;">bacon bits, </span>my holiday balsamic onion marmalade, and feta on hearty
whole grain bread. Sweet, tangy and earthy all combined underneath a nutty
crunch turned into a gourmet concoction to remember. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">An earlier in the week magnificent Jewish
delight at <a href="http://www.brentsdeli.com/">Brent’s</a> had provided us with leftover corned beef, Swiss cheese and
marbled bread. This became a sandwich of its own, the last of our night,
tempered nicely between the sweet and savory notes by peppery fresh arugula. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">It was an evening of equal goodness favorites
and an enjoyable bunch of good memories of both food and wine and a sense of
saying good-bye to one era and welcoming in another. Another in which we will
continue to carry on in our fantastic wining and dining adventures as our palates
and our miens mature and ripen. I do feel like my own are growing better with
age!</span></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
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Unorthodox Foodiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05758899285090940586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8302680871313567795.post-34386002885253205662013-01-03T08:13:00.000-08:002013-01-03T08:19:30.463-08:00Neapolis Delivers Rose Parade Worthy Small Plate Breakfast in Pasadena<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</style><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I love Pasadena for nostalgic reasons. It reminds me of all the glamorous
things Southern California used to stand for like a sunny manifest destiny,
ranches and fruit groves, old school men who were half cowboy and half
business, and sprawling and romantic architecture full of articulated details
like porcelain colored molding and stamped interior roofs. It still glimmers
beneath its modern exteriors of a time when craftsmanship reigned in the city
that has my second favorite bridge in the state. Today that historical beauty
remains in its parks, gardens and legendary estates and is spruced up once a
year for the traditional Rose Parade and Bowl game. </span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">We had stumbled upon <a href="http://www.trattorianeapolis.com/">Neapolis</a> while coming home
from a trip to the desert a few weeks ago. Hungry and tired of traffic in the
rain, we hopped off the freeway to grab a pizza after dark. We found a rather
dreary and doughy pie but then adventured into the small plates portion of the
menu where we were pleasantly surprised. </span></span>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">A dish of Sicilian meatballs came with four tiny
gems of super-densely packed, but with a meticulously fine gritted, pork that
was seasoned in a subtle pink tanginess that verged on savory but with a dose
of pickle. It tasted like a totally reconstructed and elevated corn beef with a
new identity. The kale salad was simple and beautifully dressed with leaves how
I long for them – not too hard but not too wilted, teetering right in the
center about to submit to their fate on the palate.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">We were so excited, we noted that we would have
to come back again and skip the pizza and pasta that dominated the offerings
and continue to veer off into the starters and sides because clearly that was
the chef’s gift.<b> </b>Even though we
rarely visit a restaurant twice, and NEVER go to breakfast at a joint, we ended
up back there a mere week later for post-Christmas brunch with the Cute
Gardener’s folks.<b> <br /> </b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">It was actually kind of nice and homey to
revisit the restaurant in daylight after driving past the makings of the Rose
Bowl parade throughout the city. Bleachers and porta-potties were cropping up
all along the route and banners with the grand festival logo were strategically
draping the city. As we drove down the streets we even gave halfhearted little
Miss America waves to the empty seats that would be crammed full in a few days.
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">It seemed apropos to enter the morning-gleaming
restaurant, draped with Stanford banners, and looking classy in the damp, crisp
winter air. We got a better chance to see the grandiosity of the three dining
rooms dressed in old times where red acrylic meat machines glistened on
counters near deli cases strewn with freshly made charcuterie, bar tops were
stacked with polished glasses for the day, and a television played sports in
black and white. Mirrored tiles dusted with gold flecks lined the cozy and deep
upholstered benches and even the bathrooms boasted floor to ceiling wooden
doors for private quarters – a classy joint.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The Cute Gardner who rarely finds a breakfast
entrée that can compete with the basic eggs he makes at home finally found his
dish. A gorgeous pile of golden polenta came bearing two beautifully plump and
pillow-y poached eggs (even if they weren’t exactly runny inside) alongside two
savory rafts of fried pork belly and little piles of sautéed mushrooms. A
deeply satisfying and earthy dish for a cold day. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I, the mother of all who cannot resist risotto,
ordered the arancini balls, which were crunchy on the outside and swimming with
gooey cheese on the inside. The rice was cooked perfectly and studded with
tender, flavorful cubes of butternut squash. I could barely eat two of the full
four-piece order because they were so rich and delicious. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I also ordered the Brussels sprouts, which was more like a dolled-up
fruit salad. Crunchy, diced Brussels sprouts halved shared equal space with
nutmeg spiced apples, cranberries, walnuts and daubs of goat cheese. I am going to copy this
one at home.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I was happy I had chosen to venture further into
the small plates, which is definitely where the chef shines best. Like the Rose
Parade itself, it seems that a great breakfast out of the house is something
special that tends to come around only once a year. </span></span><br />
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</span></span>Unorthodox Foodiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05758899285090940586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8302680871313567795.post-17177466685389348502012-12-31T18:47:00.000-08:002012-12-31T19:23:14.908-08:00My First Chow Mein Christmas<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</style> <span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">To carry on in the vein of non-traditional
traditions I seem to have acquired this year I was invited to spend Christmas
with the Cute Gardener and his family for seafood and chow mein dinner. </span></span>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Christmas dinner for me has always meant turkey. While growing up, the holiday
morn meant waking up early to the smells already wafting in from the kitchen as
mom cooked a trough of stuffing for the basted bird that would soon go into the
oven. The family would converge in the living room around the tree with a big
black garbage bag for discarded gift wrap and we would gorge on trays of brie
en croute, goose liver pate and my mom’s famous white trash dip alongside
cracker bread from San Francisco and miniature pumpernickel and rye bread
slices while opening our stockings stuffed with treats. Throughout the day
guests would arrive as my mother always claimed the day for all our orphan
friends who had nowhere else to go. Hot toddies and white Russians would be
poured long into the evening and clean up would be saved for the following day
when we would scour the pots for leftover food and slices of pecan and pumpkin
pie. As an adult, I continued on with the turkey to feed my own orphans but
developed my own recipes for things like my famous (and constantly requested
even from other people for dinner at their own houses) sausage and sage
stuffing and tarragon green beans. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">But this year it all started for me at Santa
Monica Seafood, which became a strange Dickensian scene of mass people gathered
around the fish monger deli counter five deep waving their hands in the air as
their numbers were called in a frantic symphony of buyers and sellers of fruits
of the sea. We danced around the crush of bodies, weaving in and out to choose
salmon and crab and other tantalizing things to eat. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Later on our holiday destination, I watched as
the CG prepared chow mein, something I have never participated in but have
always been strangely fascinated by. For, like the CG says, “Chow mein is an
odd meal in that you take a dry noodle and make it wet only to make it dry
again and then make it wet again before it even reaches the dinner plate.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">In laymen’s terms this meant watching him first
boil the special chow mein noodles in a large pot. </span></span>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Then he painstakingly fried handful batches of
the cooked noodles and then put them aside.</span></span>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Next he stir fried cubes of tender pork that had
been marinating in dark mushroom soy sauce all morning. </span></span>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Then, he prepared vegetables: carrots, yellow bell pepper, mushrooms, and bok
choy for the wok, cutting them all into roughly the same ratio of julienned
strips. This was all stir fried together in a strategic order before a dousing
of chicken broth, corn starch and oyster sauce that married all of the flavors
together.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The noodles were then added and everything was
tossed and plated along with the body, legs and head of this shell-y beast. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I had the pleasure of cooking the salmon, simply
baked, lain with thin, whole rounds of lemon slices under a sprinkling of fresh
chopped parsley.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Although I am typically a<span style="font-size: small;"> red wine drinker, I<span style="font-size: small;"> find that it's really hard to find a libation that goes with Chinese food. Although, for this meal we found the perf<span style="font-size: small;">ect accompaniment in a Corpse Reviver cocktail<span style="font-size: small;"> that consists of gin, Lillet Blan<span style="font-size: small;">c, li<span style="font-size: small;">me juice, <span style="font-size: small;">C</span>ointreau and absinthe. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I have never really cared for chow mein in
Chinese restaurants because it tends to be oily, mushy and fat-ridden – not
worth the calories. But after having this version, I am now an ardent fan and
even may try to copy it in my own kitchen experimenting with the types of
veggies, meat and sauces. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I also didn’t mind being the orphan for a
change!</span></span><br />
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</span></span>Unorthodox Foodiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05758899285090940586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8302680871313567795.post-6619478625763323552012-12-29T15:53:00.000-08:002012-12-29T16:31:33.675-08:00Ringing in a Puffy Christmas Eve En Croute<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b></b>The Cute Gardener and I are very fond of making
our own traditions that are customized to us and unlike the normal ones we grew
up with, not that there is anything wrong with those. This has meant eating
Chinese food on the Fourth of July in the basement bowels of San Francisco’s
Chinatown; creating private in-home tastings of food and drink away from the
party-goer social world of New Year’s Eve; and for the past two grand occasions
it has meant starting the meal with crackling, cold oysters. We even discovered
a way to treat the occasional odd oyster swimming with the funky stuff by
elevating it in a fluffy, egg yolk heavy, olive oil fried, fresh omelet. </span></span>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Because we eat out so much, many of our favorite
co-created rituals tend to be the ones that take place in the kitchens of our
own homes. For Christmas Eve dinner this year, this meant starting a new annual
event where we would dine in together, cook a meal together, and all that
mattered is that whatever we cooked would be somehow integrated into puff
pastry.
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I have been an ardent fan of puff pastry ever
since falling head over heels in love with it when I made <a href="http://unorthodoxfoodie.blogspot.com/2012/11/menage-trois-la-rustic-french-fare.html">mustard batons </a>with
it earlier this year. You just can’t go wrong with this brilliant creation of
dough, painstakingly concocted by the a perpetual folding over method that
means layers of flaky goodness when cooked, and multifaceted in that it can
support any kind of dish from breakfast through dessert and in sweet or savory
forms.
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">For our debut dinner in this vein, we chose to
adapt Emeril Lagasse’s <a href="http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/emeril-lagasse/fish-en-croute-with-lemon-butter-sauce-recipe/index.html">Fish en Croute</a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=8302680871313567795"> with Lemon Butter Sauce </a>. It
had a little bit of French to satisfy the Cute Gardener’s butter lust and a
little bit of green New Orleans spice and sass to cover my bohemian blood. I
copied the recipe exactly save for two things. I didn’t spice the fish with
Emeril’s Essence Blend because it would be too hot for my man, so instead I
added a couple dashes of <a href="http://www.penzeys.com/">Penzey’s</a> Tuscan Sunset blend but you could use
any bevy of spices that float your boat. And I didn’t sieve mesh the lemon
butter sauce at the end because all my lemon bits fell to mush anyway and I
didn’t feel the need to do so and it turned out perfectly fine.
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">You can also use any kind of whitefish for this
dish and we chose two large filets of fresh sole bought at the <a href="http://unorthodoxfoodie.blogspot.com/2012/12/festa-dei-cinque-pesci-birthday.html">Santa Monica<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>Seafood Company.</a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I found it was really important to place the
cooked spinach on the fish in equally spaced out portions so that when the meal
was done, every forkful from the belly of this creamy beast was an equal ratio
of fish to veggie. </span></span>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">To make the lemon butter sauce, I chose a Clos
Du Bois Sauvignon Blanc for the called for dry white. It was an excellent
choice and smarted off well with the tart lemon, creating a tangy juxtaposition
for the two sticks of butter. Poured over the final presented puff pastry fish,
browned in an egg wash, the sauce brought together the meal with a dose
of swimmingly warm satisfaction. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Simply roasted carrots and three kinds of
sautéed mushrooms (baby bellas, white button and a few shiitake) were the only
sides needed for this overall decadent dish. It kicked off the weeklong food
coma to come quite nicely and prepped our palates for the parade of holiday
goodness that only comes around once a year along with the excuse to eat
everything you want until the final relatives are gone. </span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
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Unorthodox Foodiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05758899285090940586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8302680871313567795.post-41208288653871112312012-12-26T09:33:00.000-08:002012-12-26T16:33:46.432-08:00Desert Déjà vu at Europa<style>
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</style><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">It’s always a little strange for me to visit the
Coachella V<span style="font-size: small;">alley</span> as someone who doesn’t live there anymore after spending three<span style="font-size: small;">-</span>fourths
of my life there completely entrenched in the arts and non-profit communities.
It was a place where I couldn’t walk down the street in the morning without
seeing someone I knew. When I
left, I extricated myself from that kind of familiarity in return for the
anonymity of Los Angeles where I could hide my head in the sand, focus on my
art and writing and not have to socialize for work anymore but rather spend my
spare hours on foodie adventures in a strange, new land.
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">So I found it very amusing when the Cute
Gardener and I went to the desert for a friend’s birthday party last weekend
and had a quintessential case of desert déjà vu while dining at <a href="http://villaroyale.com/dining/">Europa Restaurant</a> in the charming and quaint Villa Royale resort in Deepwell, which
remains one of my favorite non-disturbed neighborhoods in Palm Springs. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I had only eaten there once before about ten
years ago, treated to a meal by a well known donor in the gay community who I
worked with closely on a yearly humanitarian awards gala. Funnily enough, the
moment we were seated, in walked this same man who had introduced me to the
place all those years prior with a new party of people to introduce to the
restaurant. And even funnier, I knew each and every one of those people too as
they had been people I had either worked with or had been clients of mine when
I lived there. I chuckled inwardly at the fact that I couldn’t get away from
these people or the desert in my blood if I tried but that I was really happy
to be causally dining next to them as a visitor from my new life rather than
feeling that old feeling of the impetus to network instead of enjoying my meal.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Over enormous Hendrick's gin martinis, the déjà vu continued with the meal because
Europa represents an ambiance that is customary to old school valley cuisine.
There are certain characteristics of this culinary genre like expensive classic
dishes from the archives of a glamorous yesteryear perpetually served and
rarely updated for the times, dim golden lit living room type settings, the
excessive usage of seasoning and sauces, beefed up manly cocktails and the last
bastion of above average service. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">So of course, I ordered the escargot to start
given all of these particulars and it was an odd variety of four mealy little
nuggets served on top of a hard sourdough bun cut down the middle and swimming
with lemony, thick marsala sauce. All of the elements were tasty albeit a
little strange as the snails seemed to have lost their sense of chewy that I am
used to, instead breaking down in the mouth like a wet meatball would. <br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The Cute Gardener’s beef tartare came in a huge portion seemingly shaped by an
antique deviled ham can and was speckled with an overdose of capers. Again, the
dish was perfectly tasty, but a little odd and served with a generous
smattering of bread slices. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">For dinner I had the tipsy Sardinian pasta. True
to its moniker, it started out looking really good: a hearty pile of linguine
sauced with a saffron cream vodka sauce that was surprisingly spicy and large
meaty shrimps and scallops. But as the dish had time to sit in the sauce and
get drunk it turned loose and greasy, as sots tend to do and became a little
too much. There was also something off about the scallops texturally to the
point of not being finished off by the CG who never leaves anything left on my
plate untouched. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">His risotto was very good in my opinion, full of
mushroom flavor and made with quality Arborio rice. I am used to chefs in Los
Angeles naming plates “risotto” and then serving glorified pilafs or other
versions of less starchy rice. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">And of course, everything was stuck with little
trees of parsley just like in the old days. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">As we were leaving I glanced at a few more
tables that had filled up alongside us and noticed more people whose faces I
knew. The sense of déjà vu followed me throughout the evening as we mingled
with old and new friends who had merged into a larger circle of my same old
life and I knew that no matter how much I left; there was a part of me that
would always be back. </span></span><br />
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</span></span>Unorthodox Foodiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05758899285090940586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8302680871313567795.post-77497402178492296562012-12-21T15:48:00.002-08:002012-12-21T16:31:40.526-08:00The Santa's Lap of BOA Steakhouse<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-90yCN406mb0AJ0vtwwY7Mv0jD8OK9aU2EJ4weeHmAkJXKDNJv9nD5PvDRDBWaETccDVE9_MTyS2PDmFLxgnjrey-sjBMd4pNFI_WrKpl36M90O8KPFwL3mmS7J26jaC1GU0okOr_B4O-/s1600/IMG_4328.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-90yCN406mb0AJ0vtwwY7Mv0jD8OK9aU2EJ4weeHmAkJXKDNJv9nD5PvDRDBWaETccDVE9_MTyS2PDmFLxgnjrey-sjBMd4pNFI_WrKpl36M90O8KPFwL3mmS7J26jaC1GU0okOr_B4O-/s320/IMG_4328.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Goat Cheese Baklava at BOA Steakhouse</span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">In the twelve years I have known my friend Mark,
I have only seen him eat a handful of different things: football game potato
chips and French onion dip, yogurt, milk, hamburgers, Kraft macaroni and
cheese, feta, Caesar salad, corn, watermelon, swordfish, take-put pizza and gnocchi.
In many ways he is the most All American Danish dude I’ve ever met. All the
aforementioned foods float in as sides and snacks around his main food of
choice, which is prime beef steak. Getting him to order anything beyond an aged
New York for dinner is like trying to give blood to a vegetarian. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">So the classic American steakhouse tends to be
his restaurant of choice and I get to reap the rewards of his prime cattle love
when he takes me out to celebrate certain special occasions in our friendship.
On the way to Burning Man together one year, Flemings Steakhouse became our
last solid meal before a week of starvation and radical self-reliance and our
first meal when we returned from the Playa ashen with dust. Last year for my
birthday I enjoyed another meal, this time at <a href="http://www.innovativedining.com/restaurants/boa">BOA in Santa Monica</a>. And last
week for Christmas, he treated me to BOA again as a merry way to ring in the
holidays. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I don’t do steakhouses often. Nothing wrong with
a piece of perfectly rare beef, sublime vegetable sides and savory starches but
the Cute Gardener and I tend to adventure all over the culinary map. Meat and
potatoes never seem to win the choice over all the other more exotic choices
on our “to eat lists.” But on the rare occasion I do step back into a
really great steak house I remember just how wonderful they are and get a silly
sense of nostalgia for things like John Wayne’s voice, a warm crackling fire
and my grandfather’s laughing belly. And BOA is absolutely my favorite
steakhouse of all I’ve tried. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Butterscotch pudding at <span style="font-size: small;">BOA Steakhouse</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Here’s why:</span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span></span><br />
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</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">- The goat cheese baklava is on my top five
favorite appetizers list. A fluffy, creamy <span style="font-size: small;">whipped pillow</span> of the cheese is placed
between two perfect puff pastry pieces dotted with pistachios like some kind of
bastard Middle <span style="font-size: small;">E</span>astern whoopee pie and there’s no way to express how the
mixture of dense dough to oozing, sweet cream is on the tongue. </span></span></div>
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</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">- They make your Caesar salad on a rolling tray
right next to you at the table with superbly fresh and salty anchovies. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">-The bread is served warm and the butter
lukewarm. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">-They offer you two cuts of meat when you order
a steak, one that is full fat and one that is leaner with the fat cut off. The
second option gives you more meat for the protein dieters of L.A. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">-They have a filet mignon option that comes on the bone. </span></span></div>
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</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">-They offer four rubs or crusts and four sauces
that you can choose from to adorn your steak. My favorites are the blue cheese
crust, the peppercorn rub and the chimchurri sauce. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">-There sides are more creative then your normal
sautéed mushrooms or spinach a la carte options. The smoky, chipotle corn
kernels are incredibly addicting and go well with the rare tenderness of the
meat. </span></span></div>
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</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">They were out of the seasonal gingerbread
pudding by the time I had unwrapped all of my presents including an amazing
Nespresso milk-frothing machine so we settled on the butterscotch pudding. It
came in a cute little glass jar and wasn’t as sinfully decadent as <a href="http://unorthodoxfoodie.blogspot.com/2012/04/non-conformists-oyster-easter-brunch-at.html">Gjelina’s butterscotch</a>
pot de crème but delivered in flavor and was topped with perfect pieces of caramel
popcorn!</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Another thing my friend Mark likes to do is read
this story by comedian Steve Martin to inspire the true meaning of love and
Christmas unto all he adores:<br />
<i> </i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i>THE GIFT OF THE MAJI
INDIAN GIVER</i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i>Carolyn wanted so much to give Roger something nice for Christmas, but
they didn't have much money, and they had to spend every last cent on candy for
the baby. She walked down the icy streets and peered into shop windows.</i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i>"Roger is so proud of his shinbones. If only I could find some way
to get money to buy shinbone polish."</i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i>Just then, a sign caught her eye. "Cuticles bought and sold."
Many people had told Carolyn of her beautiful cuticles, and Roger was
especially proud of them, but she thought, "This is the way I could buy
Roger the shinbone polish, selling my cuticles!" And she rushed into the
store. </i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i>Later at home she waited anxiously as Roger came up the steps to their
flat. He opened the door and wobbled over to fireplace, suspiciously holding
one arm behind his back. </i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i>"Merry Christmas!" they both said, almost simultaneously. </i></span></span><br />
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</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i>Roger spoke, "Hey nutsy, I got you a little something for
Christmas."</i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i>"Me too," said Carolyn and they exchanged packages. </i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i>Carolyn hurriedly opened her package, staring in disbelief. "Cuticle
Frames?! But Roger, I sold my cuticles so I could afford to buy you some
shinbone polish!"</i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i>"Shinbone polish!" said Roger, "I sold my shinbones to buy
you the cuticle frames!" Roger wobbled over to her. </i></span></span><br />
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</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i>"Well I'll be hog-tied!" said Carolyn. </i></span></span><br />
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</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i>"You will? OH BOY!" said Roger. </i></span></span><br />
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</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i>And it turned out to be a great Christmas after all!</i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">There’s nothing like the masculine ambi<span style="font-size: small;">a</span>nce of a
serious steakhouse for a nice little S<span style="font-size: small;"> a<span style="font-size: small;">nd </span></span>M Christmas ditty. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Of course, I sent the Cute Gardener the story
the next morning<span style="font-size: small;">.</span> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span>Unorthodox Foodiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05758899285090940586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8302680871313567795.post-89741136927486510842012-12-19T17:35:00.002-08:002012-12-19T17:35:45.417-08:00The Palate Paradise Phenomenon of the Los Angeles Strip Mall<style>
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</style><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Three of the best things about Los Angeles’ food
scene are: there is so much to choose from that you can seek out a restaurant
and miss miserably but literally have another option right around the corner at
any given time; you can eat at a new joint once a week for years and never
return to the same place; and you can stumble upon the quirky ethnic or
niche-specialty food shops in practically every neighborhood that turn into gem
little prizes to be found at random. The Cute Gardener and I pride ourselves on
having the ability to flex with the first trait (he keeps plans b and c and
even d in his mental pocket whenever we venture out for a meal). We’ve
definitely availed ourselves of the second, having only returned to a mere two
or three places out of lust or nostalgia in our entire year together. And of
the third, we’ve happily discovered quite a few treasures that have provided
our fridges and pantries with exotic delights. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">For example, take our endeavors this past
Sunday. At eleven o’clock after a morning of movies on the couch we got a
burger craving and so took a trek to Glendale on the search for a beefy lunch
at <a href="http://www.edenburgerbar.com/">Eden Burger Bar.</a> Located in a seedy little strip mall in a nondescript
stucco building attached to a wine shop, we found an odd interior paradise that
was conducive to a Russian strip club mob scene in a bad B movie. A dark and
cold dining room full of chairs and tables already laid with oversized wine
glasses awaited as we were seated by a leather jacket wearing and tattooed
hostess who was the only other person there behind the young, fresh faced boy
tending bar. White upholstered and padded walls surrounded the periphery of the
space that was also lined with plush royal purple benches. Bizarre massive
paintings in color blotches and intricate chandeliers completed the strange
European club-like ambience that took us back to the early nineties and the
feeling that at any given second my dining companion could be potentially
approached in solicitation of a lap dance. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">We ordered from the short and simple burger and
pizza menu. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">He chose the Mediterranean burger, which came topped with hummus, feta,
mozzarella, heirloom tomato, onion, arugula and a slab of roasted red bell
pepper that resembled a tongue. In the mouth it provided a dose of salty,
comforting and savory goodness. Unfortunately, it dehydrated the CG hours later
after he was home.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I had an odd, never-heard-of-before burger that
was topped with slices of grilled fig, seared in a soy-like crust and topped
with lemon basil aioli, gruyere, sundried tomato, crispy prosciutto and olive
tapenade. The prosciutto gave it a kick of crusty salt that married well with
the strangely nice blend that took place with the other sweeter ingredients. I
loved the brioche bun in original taste and content although by bite three it
had entirely disappeared as an element becoming completely shriveled and sogged
in the juice of the ample patty. The juice of the meat proved that the burger
was good though and packed a meaty flavor. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">We ordered sweet potato and regular fries at $4
a pop for sides and they were the hit of the meal. After trying countless fries
in the city, I have come to learn that I specifically enjoy those that are
relatively thin and cooked in a way where the outsides are crispy, the insides
are moist, and the ratio of those two facets are equal. Eden succeeded in this
department. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Back outside, and realizing it was still
daylight (something the cave-like restaurant with its generous stream of midday
Sunday diners dressed in more nighttime-esque clothes had surreally masked), we
decided to look around the rest of the strip mall. A strange little chocolate
shop called Mignon (the chocolate shop and restaurant could have changed names
and they would have fit each place better) beckoned from the corner. I didn’t
buy anything because the candies in the case looked average but it did have an
interesting selection of ethnic candies wrapped in beautiful jewel like foils
and I knew this was a good place to find all those treats that perform in
Middle Eastern celebratory occasions. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Then we ventured to the other side of the
parking lot to the Middle Eastern market where I hit Eureka! Strolling slowly
down the aisles (freezing cold), I started to spot items infused with rose –
something I had desired for a while. I grabbed a jar of rose butter and the CG
asked me if I wanted a cart. I declined. Then I grabbed a quart of rose and
sour cherry juices and he asked again and I declined. By the time, I reached
for the chai masala and rose hip teas, I took his suggestion and went on to
fill the basket with hazelnut and milk chocolate spread, rose jelly, and red
pepper spread for my egg scrambles and labne covered toast breakfasts. For
twenty dollars I scored a trip to the Middle East and all the foreign
condiments my heart could possibly want. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Another ordinary food adventure in L.A. filled
with cinematic worthy and strange settings, moody winter weather, a cornucopia
of multi-cultural delights and unexpected twists. </span></span></div>
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</span></span>Unorthodox Foodiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05758899285090940586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8302680871313567795.post-59495379047241479822012-12-17T11:10:00.000-08:002012-12-17T16:18:06.833-08:00The Foundry's Elevated Bar Food<style>
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</style><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">It’s getting cold in Los Angeles, finally, after
a month or so of thinking that global warming was truly going to bestow a
summer-like winter upon all of us who choose to live so vicariously near the
tempestuous sea. I noticed the cold more than ever this past weekend, as if a
frost light switch had been flicked from warm to cool in a matter of 24 hours.
This was ever present as The Cute Gardener and I found ourselves at an outside
table Saturday night warmed by the buzzing heat lamps that become part of the
California dining equation at places all up and down the state this time of
year. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">We were at <a href="http://thefoundryonmelrose.com/">The Foundry on Melrose,</a> renowned Chef
Eric Greenspan’s homey little joint known for odd things like grilled cheese
sandwiches and other bits of upscale bar food that are as equally quirky as
their jolly giant of a creator. Originally on our list because we’d heard of
its burger, tonight we were searching for a proper dinner. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">We ordered a truly bizarre assortment of dishes
merely because we chose based on what we craved from a chaotic and disjointed
menu of delights rather than trying to put together a cohesive weave of
flavors. In each dish, we noticed that we really liked certain flavors and
textures but had never tasted them paired quite the same way before. Although
everything was truly good, we were left a little baffled at the end from each
thing we had tried. This is good in that it’s not something that happens often
– the surprise combinations and wondrous gazes across the table as if we were
finding new ways to eat – but also strange in that you aren’t sure after eating
something whether or not you love it, are just mildly shocked and happy about
it, or have just been given a question in which you are struggling to find a
satisfactory answer that seems to just float a few inches past your grasp. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The famous grilled cheese was made from taleg<span style="font-size: small;">g</span>io
cheese and bits of short rib between two slices of raisin walnut bread and an
apricot caper puree. It was delicious, elevated from the norm but not too
fussy. Of course, any grilled cheese other than the superman version we
discovered at <a href="http://www.viceroyhotelsandresorts.com/en/palmsprings/dining_and_nightlife">the Citron</a> in the Viceroy Palm Springs will always be second
best. It’s not hard to make bread, cheese, and meat look good when married
together. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Prawns over beans with interesting sweet and
sour bits of sauce that alternated with a smoky crunch of cicharon<span style="font-size: small;">-</span>style bits
became the very mysterious dish of the night. The taste of burnt fat with plump
shrimp, neutral buttery beans and the strangely spiked sauce was an underhanded
gift. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The cocktail menu was interesting. My first
drink was made with rum and honey and bitters and my second was a nod to egg
nog -- perfect for this time of year. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Pork belly scallion pancakes were more like
shredded pork quesadillas, arriving on the plate at two wedges per a
five-dollar order. A good deal for some seriously generous bites of meat
between dough, perfect for dipping into the black vinegar dipping sauce and
topping with a sliver of brightening scallion before popping in the mouth! </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">My entrée was a hand rolled, fresh pasta adorned
simply with sprightly lemon juice, bits of al dente broccoli and cauliflower
bits and an odd dash of mealy breadcrumbs –super simple and satisfying and
something I could easily see myself making at home.</span></span>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">That was oddly enough the theme of the evening –
most dishes becoming things that we admitted we could easily make at home.
Although we want to eat out in places that make things we cannot create at
home, we didn’t mind so much that this was our experience here because it gave
us some ideas to try at home, particularly with the pork belly pancakes. <br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">A plate of comforting seasonal turkey on a bed
of grits and smothered in a rich, plum<span style="font-size: small;">m</span>y gravy was the CG’s choice for an entrée.
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">We shared a bowl of steaming apple beignets for desert, which were more like
doughnut holes than crispy exterior and puffy beignets. But we didn’t mind –
the heat helped at the end of the night under the stars and crisscrossing power
lines of industrial L.A. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">It was a nice thing to note that Chef Greenspan (fresh from his falling off of The Next Iron Chef competition -- in t.v. time, not real life time) was strolling the dining room and being super hospitable to his guests. Reminded us of our Sunday supper at <a href="http://unorthodoxfoodie.blogspot.com/2012/07/evas-sunday-supper.html">Mark Gold's Eva</a> a few months back and how much we respect chefs that walk the room and talk to their guests. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">There were other interesting items that I wanted
to try on the menu but we simply couldn’t get to that I might go back to order
in the lounge after a later concert night or something to that effect. These
were things such as mustard spaetzle, shrimp toast, chicken and peach terrine
and a potato soup poured over leek and bacon pudding with Gruyere and egg. </span></span></div>
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</span></span>Unorthodox Foodiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05758899285090940586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8302680871313567795.post-58401713074797721232012-12-15T17:06:00.002-08:002012-12-15T17:20:46.594-08:00French Onion-Hued Adieu at the Tournee au Chat Noir<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">What happens when you unleash a coven of dramatically
inclined and artsy fem<span style="font-size: small;">mes</span> upon the task of creating an au revoir dinner for a
fellow Francophile female? Nothing less than an impromptu yet perfect Tournee
au Chat Noir (Evening of the Black Cat) -- a creative and crazy, wine-soaked
evening of comforting and classic soup, silk scarves instead of goodie bags, gourmet
cookware, fresh fruit desserts, sexy costumes and the Edith Piaf station on
Pandora radio as background for theatrical, still-life photo shoots. Dressed in
black with a dose of my ancestors of the family Doucette around my neck in a
vintage gold drape necklace, I arrived with mustard and olive batons (French
puff pastry breadsticks that has become one of my new culinary calling cards)
in tow and proceeded to enjoy my time around the cauldron with the rest of my
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with creamy cheeses on baguette slices with various jams made of combinations
such as roasted kiwi, strawberry and pear.</span></span>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">A hearty and rustic table laid with wooden bowls
and warm-toned linens helped us channel the spirits of Simone De Beauvoir,
Amelie, Collette, and the tart-tinged spirits of other art and literature
mademoiselles lounging in the ethers.</span></span>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I enjoyed filling each bowl with the hot onion
broth for the ladies and then floating the mustard baton chunks melted with
dried, aged Swiss on top in a flavorful alternative to the normal cheese and
bread topping.</span></span>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">(Small salivation interlude. If I were a piece of cookware, I would be made out of <span style="font-size: small;">cast iron and cerami<span style="font-size: small;">c</span></span> and fired a
passionate and burnt, tomato red just like these guys.)</span></span>
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Rhones, our host created a gorgeous ice bucket out of a mold using nothing
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walnuts, spinach leaves, dried cherries, miniature cucumbers and other nutty
bits of goodness. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">A knife in the hand of our friend who was
leaving us all for the next chapter of her life….</span></span>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">….cut the final moments of our evening together
through slices of freshly baked berry pie, conversation about our memories
together that we will all cherish forever, and many expressions of exuberant
good luck for all of us in our respective futures. </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
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Unorthodox Foodiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05758899285090940586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8302680871313567795.post-71936569923888105842012-12-12T17:57:00.000-08:002012-12-12T17:57:24.608-08:00Best Friend Worthy Four-Garden Egg Breakfast<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Up until over a year ago, I lived across the street from my best friend and my
nightly ritual was to walk to her house after work where we would recap our day
over a bottle of wine on the porch near her koi pond, her husband’s artistic
landscaping, and her lounging French bulldog. The ritual was like soul food
because we got to dump the activities of our day, embark in a kind of therapy
together and boost each other up with a never-ending communication loop of
support. When I moved three hours away from her over a year ago, I missed this
nightly ritual and had to learn to live with the once in a while phone call and
the mutual stalking of our Facebook pages to see what was going on in our
lives. One of the things about having a best friend is that you share
everything and when you don’t see them but once a year, a lot of information
that you want to share piles up in the brain. So when she came to visit me last
night for a long overdue sleep over we recreated our nightly ritual with a
dinner out, long conversations on my front porch over a special bottle of red,
chatting till the wee hours of morn and then waking up this morning ready to go
for round two of the mutual brain dump before seeing her off to home. </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I wanted to make her a special breakfast full of
fresh and soul affirming foods. I had some gems from the Cute Gardener’s yard
to share and we spent a few early morning hours walking along the beach and
stopping at various stores to choose more items that I would come home to cook.
I wanted the meal to be full of vitamins but also comforting tastes to warm the
bones while we ate together, again on the patio, dumping the rest of that
encyclopedic storage of catching up from our minds.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">In the spirit of a four seasons pizza, I created
a best friend worthy four garden egg plate consisting of the following:</span></span>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">One butternut squash, peeled, diced and tossed
in one tablespoon of olive oil and sea salt and then roasted in a 400-degree
oven for 25 minutes. Once done, I tossed the perfectly caramelized cubes in a
tablespoon of mignonette, the vinegar and shallot coating the nuggets with a tangy
and warm, apple pie-type kinship. </span></span></div>
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sautéed in one tablespoon of olive oil till wilting and then covered with a lid
for five minutes while the pieces softened and turned velvety. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">A perfect pair of eggs scrambled to fluffy
goodness and then sprinkled with Parmesan cheese and diced San Marzano
tomatoes. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Three leaves of chopped collard greens sautéed with
onions and topped with a fresh sprinkle of fresh lemon juice to brighten and
punch. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Cooking for those I love is one of my greatest
joys. That mixed with a healthy dose of talking and sharing, listening and
giving feedback is one of the things I live to do.<b> <br />
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</span></span>Unorthodox Foodiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05758899285090940586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8302680871313567795.post-88110674727935693602012-12-09T18:29:00.000-08:002012-12-09T19:25:26.600-08:00Festa Dei Cinque Pesci Birthday<style>
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</style><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The Italians have a Christmas tradition called
<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Feast_of_the_Seven_Fishes">Festa dei <span style="font-size: small;">Sette</span> Pesci </a>in which they serve seven different kinds of fish
including salt cod and smelt and join together with family to celebrate the
holiday season. Yesterday, I took part in an adapted version minus two fish for
the Cute Gardener’s birthday.
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Because we are such avid foodies and eat out all
the time, it’s just not the same to think about birthdays in terms of a fancy
meal out at an expensive restaurant so instead, when it comes to celebratory
occasions we do a reverse ritual of making the days special with creative food
sojourns of our own. For New Year’s, this meant caviar tasting at home; for
Valentine’s Day I made homemade ravioli; and for the Fourth of July we spent
time in San Francisco whirling through an Asian extravaganza. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I am pretty sure that the Cute Gardener would
choose crab as one of the elements in his last meal alive if it was something
he was able to plan ahead so I called the <a href="http://www.santamonicaseafood.com/">Santa Monica Seafood Market and Café</a> to make sure they were stocked on fresh Dungeness before we made our
way there. With crab as the centerpiece of the day’s wish list, I knew
everything else could go a little more organically. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">We started out at the Café for lunch to eat down and dirty
comfort-food-on-a-cold-beach-day traditions like fish and chips fried to a
fluffy pillow of perfection and a buttery, lemon aioli-dressed lobster roll in
baskets full of perfectly cooked fries. I soaked mine in malt vinegar and
enjoyed memories of the East Coast when I had first discovered a love of the
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">After lunch, we grabbed more food from the
fresh, deli case and headed home for a disco nap before a gluttonous seafood
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">We bought a dozen Pacific oysters for $1.50 a
pop and prepped them on ice in my fridge. There was something extremely
satisfying about shucking them and presenting them as a gift to my man. Six of
them were scintillatingly salty and crispy, brine<span style="font-size: small;">-</span>tinged Malpeques while the
other six were large and meaty, black and smoky Fanny Bays in the most gorgeous
gradients-of-green, lotus blossom layered shells. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Next the CG sashimi-sliced a dark slab of opah
moonfish to clean the palate before our main course. We ate the raw delight
with small dabs of salt and black olive tapenade, which made a surprisingly
good bite on the tongue. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Although I shucked the oysters, I left the crab
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">This in particular is one of those funky things
the CG likes to eat and specifically asked the fish monger at the mart to leave on
and un-cleaned – the head. I tried a spoonful of the mustard yellow, mushy stuff
he pulled out from its ethers and gladly handed over the rest of the delicacy
to him as a birthday gift. I actually got pleasure off watching him enjoy it
though, unlike the gelatinous eyeball I saw him once slurp off a red fish at a
Chinese restaurant. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">We proceeded to eat the rest of the crab meat
alongside a nice pile of angel hair pomodoro.</span></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLR9SFR3GV4x1W3XKRBqNtIOc4OEraErUwjvsCtg1tylzE6IhX24kmO14WYZhqePv48kK-joJVnCX0TthHq2usu3eF2h906Hln8QWc_9Lm4NcXu02TjIXMXyw-NkSyplGZ6ZsY0oRBkHFO/s1600/IMG_4226.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLR9SFR3GV4x1W3XKRBqNtIOc4OEraErUwjvsCtg1tylzE6IhX24kmO14WYZhqePv48kK-joJVnCX0TthHq2usu3eF2h906Hln8QWc_9Lm4NcXu02TjIXMXyw-NkSyplGZ6ZsY0oRBkHFO/s320/IMG_4226.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">To top of the <i>festa</i>, we enjoyed my homemade
almond lace cookies with Satsuma tangerines from his garden, a pile of LEGO and old black
and white movies. Traditions are best when made fresh<span style="font-size: small;"> and unique</span> by the participants
involved!</span></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
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Unorthodox Foodiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05758899285090940586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8302680871313567795.post-38704621009683971142012-12-06T10:31:00.000-08:002012-12-06T10:32:47.329-08:00Words in Bars with Blackened Fish<style>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg46nNg4NFcEBUXQSTXtkmUR57T97-aHMCDlPPoPmd8i2wiEecezpJqYgqLnGtP19rUpLndH045qvmJece9YCN6OZi5gI1S9q54-l5znE3GIPF3fOdHVcFDbkdz7pWeXRk1Fxtk1YrUry86/s1600/IMG_2704.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg46nNg4NFcEBUXQSTXtkmUR57T97-aHMCDlPPoPmd8i2wiEecezpJqYgqLnGtP19rUpLndH045qvmJece9YCN6OZi5gI1S9q54-l5znE3GIPF3fOdHVcFDbkdz7pWeXRk1Fxtk1YrUry86/s320/IMG_2704.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I’m sitting on a bar stool amidst
a body-to-body packed house at <a href="http://www.enterprisefishco.com/santamonica/menu/">Enterprise Fish Co</a>. at five p.m. Next to me is a
couple on a date spearing oysters; the girl half giggling in an eerie piano key
tinkle and every time she moves her head a waft of overly sweet perfume floats
over to me. On the other side is an old man enjoying the happy hour scenery and
the flirtations he has with the gracious Swedish waitress every time she comes
to give him his chowder or a refill on his vodka tonic. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Give a little bit….give a little
bit of your love to me…” </span></span><br />
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</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">A dim song from my youth in the
1970s starts up from the sound system competing with all the young and preppy
Santa Monica-ites in the bar, competing as well with the soccer games playing
on the overhead televisions. I whip out my small orange notebook, elbow up to
the bar, take out the ponytail to let my hair down, unwrap the scarf from my
neck, order a Cuba Libra and start to write new bits of my novel feeling
exquisitely invisible and entirely visible simultaneously. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">It’s been a while…</span></span><br />
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</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">…like many romanticized ideas in
my life, it started with Jack Kerouac and my early teen visions of the
flannel-backed poet sitting at an aluminum counter in some Denver dive diner at
3 a.m. with Allen Ginsberg. I knew that if I had been alive in the glorious
Beat days, I would have been sitting there right alongside the<span style="font-size: small;"> boys</span> discussing
philosophy, sex and books over scrambled eggs in ketchup bought by the hustle
up of each of us of a few coins from the pockets in our tattered pants and that
the conversation alone would be more belly plumping than the food. Something
became inherently linked for me back then between eating at bars and words – an
ironic stark comfort in laying down naked bare prose alongside drunks, loners,
strangers and the hungry all beneath either an omniscient neon glare or its
juxtaposition: a red-bulbed sort of dark and dim room. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">My first attempt at this endeavor
included a male poet friend who I would meet in the lounge of the now defunct St. James after
work every weekday for a month in my twenties. We would sit silent and pass a
spiral notebook back and forth while sipping dirty martinis and write exquisite
corpse pieces without uttering any real words. The silence was indicative of
our real unrequited relationship so I quickly decided that my writing in bars
fantasy had to become something undertaken alone. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I spent a good part of a decade
sitting at a solo chaired table at <a href="http://www.peabodyscafepalmsprings.com/">Peabody’s</a> coffee shop where I would sip a cup of
cappuccino tortuously slow because it was all I could afford and get miles out
of the customers who would go in and out and help me fill my notebook with
frantic observational poems. Sometimes my brother would accompany me on his
roller blades and leave me alone to channel Henry Rollins while he enjoyed the
girl scenery downtown in his prepubescent ten-year-old days. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">In my early thirties, every trip
to San Francisco included a visit to <a href="http://www.vesuvio.com/">Vesuvio</a>, where I would write for hours,
letting my surroundings disappear into the smoky North Beach atmosphere. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">There was something about being
out in the open and rolling the pen across paper that made me feel alive as a
writer and part of the world; as if my creativity was being constantly fueled
by the never-ending parade of anonymous humanity right in front of my face yet
still somehow separated by the steam rolling off of my cup. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">When I started to get published
and became a mom, my writing habits changed. Most of the time I wrote at home,
late at night once <span style="font-size: small;">my</span> daughter was put to bed, or in the wee hours of morn
before the real job began its toll on day. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">But after arriving at the beach
last year and beginning to work on the long overdue completion of a novel, I
decided to take inspiration from my friend<a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0741942/"> Dan</a>, who spends alot of his time penning work at local bookstores and coffee shops. He
told me that sometimes the best ideas come from actually just sitting in a
crowded place and being part of the energy of the world going by. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I wanted to find a place that
would be all my own and not a typical café because in L.A. they are full of every
other one of the million people trying to be writers. So I discovered the fish company down the street from my house where I could sneak in
alongside the crowd at happy hour and eat a blackened salmon Greek salad and
disappear amongst the pick up lines, the inebriated frat boys, the cheeky
staff, the scents of fried food and fish and the clinking of glasses – a place
so removed in ambiance from anything I would normally choose as a place for me that
I could simply fade away into the crowd, nothing between the blank paper and
me. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>Unorthodox Foodiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05758899285090940586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8302680871313567795.post-5483773529298563622012-12-02T21:36:00.000-08:002012-12-03T16:25:54.840-08:00Explorations Into Ramen<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I am very fickle when it comes to
grocery stores. Most of the time I am obsessed with Whole Foods. Recently, I
dumped Whole Foods as a favorite and replaced it with an Armenian market in the <span style="font-size: small;">San Fernando Valley</span> over some lavosh, basmati rice, and bulk tahini and I think the truth is that my palate
is fickle and it’s hard to nail me down to wanting my kitchen stocked with any
one cuisine over another. Sometimes my kitchen is American, other times Indian,
and still others a hybrid of Greek, Middle Eastern and Thai. What I have given
over to realizing is that I truly am an unorthodox foodie and tend to make
dishes at home that are a cross breed of multiple culinary landscapes (thus the
unorthodox) rather than any purist version of one. It is a little strange at
times I am sure but in the end, everything I create ends up being inherently
me. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Recently, the Cute Gardener and I spent a rainy afternoon at the <a href="http://www.mitsuwa.com/tenpo/sant/eindex.html">Mitsuwa</a>
Japanese Marketplace and Food Court. First we stopped at Santouka in the Food
Court for a bowl of hot ramen. I am relatively new at the ramen game only
having tried about five different restaurants for the classic noodle soup in my
lifetime. There are so many varieties of noodles and broths and so many
different ways that people favor the bowl for themselves. What I have started to
discover for my own liking is ramen that has a hearty pork flavor, a touch of
miso, perfect hard boiled eggs, some kind of salty seaweed or seasoned mushroom
with a rubbery texture and noodles that are firm and not to thick or not too
thin and more eggy-flavored than plain. For all of those reasons, the bowl from
Santouka is my favorite so far, although the pork didn’t compare to the soft,
fatty meat that came floating in the homemade variety I experienced lately made
for me by my man. </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDjpeRR08ZSSJQ7HzlZxDYYuYeFb_wVkqpS4WWwOECzcXwbjdtl38Pe3ccTHF1zE2gELX4M0F02KD4qnKZvtUyVI4HCeo3kZBbWZwLSXGrGVbr96W0eQdEsI6_heHgRzQuU6MjVo26JxAp/s1600/IMG_4133.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDjpeRR08ZSSJQ7HzlZxDYYuYeFb_wVkqpS4WWwOECzcXwbjdtl38Pe3ccTHF1zE2gELX4M0F02KD4qnKZvtUyVI4HCeo3kZBbWZwLSXGrGVbr96W0eQdEsI6_heHgRzQuU6MjVo26JxAp/s320/IMG_4133.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Inspired, I spent some time after
our lunch shopping at the Japanese market. I love spending a week’s grocery
budget in an exotic store and this time I bought a bounty of Asian ingredients
like eggplant, matcha chocolate candies, mochi ball desserts, bok choy and then
gathered some items to make my very own ramen bowl including chicken stock, marinated
and cooked eel, udon noodles, and soy sauce. I enjoyed making the soup at home
and even added some chopped, fresh kale that had been sitting in my crisper.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkSs11iLzAhHKQRqLFOMUv1HLsBSPywdYOCNs3yX8ozPliy33rp_c24oIhgfBoAp3vRuqAJRrVfp-skbSycjXC6lVkI65ELeaLj6AG_iTWKfs9H-mYdvLeOq8r4dgRmHWOrw_6z_y32kFl/s1600/IMG_4139.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkSs11iLzAhHKQRqLFOMUv1HLsBSPywdYOCNs3yX8ozPliy33rp_c24oIhgfBoAp3vRuqAJRrVfp-skbSycjXC6lVkI65ELeaLj6AG_iTWKfs9H-mYdvLeOq8r4dgRmHWOrw_6z_y32kFl/s320/IMG_4139.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The end result was a bowl of
spicy fat noodled goodness accentuated nicely by the sweet bits of eel. I am
looking forward to experimenting more with ramen in my kitchen, as the
possibilities seem endless. </span></span></div>
Unorthodox Foodiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05758899285090940586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8302680871313567795.post-50625133457116306332012-11-29T08:50:00.000-08:002012-11-29T16:01:49.329-08:00The Cilantro Gene<style>
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Everyone has different palettes
and it’s common for people to have widely different lists of what they like or
don’t like to eat. For example, I can’t stand mayonnaise and have never really
understood why. The Cute Gardener <span style="font-size: small;">hates</span> some white<span style="font-size: small;"> foods</span> from bananas to
coconuts to marshmallows. We both tend to agree that our food dislikes probably
stem from childhood traumas or instances when we were forced to eat versions of
these things cooked badly or force fed to us simply too much in our early lives.
</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">But one thing that has always
confused me is the true hatred that some people feel towards cilantro. It’s one
of those herbs that have no shades of gray. You either love it wildly and
viciously (as do I) or it causes such a recoiling sense of dismay (as in the
Cute Gardener.) Recently, I stumbled upon news that some people actually have a
gene that causes cilantro disgust. That is the only way to explain why someone
like culinary queen Julia Childs could possibly hate the stuff. I think she
called it one of the most offensive things ever. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Needless to say I do not have the
gene. I could shove a whole bunch of the leafy stuff into my mouth at random
for its sprightly perfume and the way my mouth instantly feels soothed by the
freshness of its crunch. It’s as if my whole entire body perks up and takes
deep breaths in the presence of the stuff. But because so many people in my
close tribe do not share my lust (perhaps proving the old adage that opposites
like puzzle pieces do indeed attract) it is an herb that I oftentimes find
myself eating alone. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">This week I made myself a big pan
of my favorite cilantro tomato sauce with some San Marzanos fresh from the
garden and was glad I didn’t have to share it with anyone anyways. </span></span></div>
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx7L9C1cvWotDxylw5Z8-v4XdtHy-Wo-k-RzEVdkPhONANEFlEQnNsc2x6B-Fwp2N5gMRaBqyXDtpsJtDZD2CccIj8JQHp6RxY7-xSm3ZzaQToN4Mnlo6VJmeezGHFLXQ7MFG2sDqwm6h9/s1600/IMG_4082.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx7L9C1cvWotDxylw5Z8-v4XdtHy-Wo-k-RzEVdkPhONANEFlEQnNsc2x6B-Fwp2N5gMRaBqyXDtpsJtDZD2CccIj8JQHp6RxY7-xSm3ZzaQToN4Mnlo6VJmeezGHFLXQ7MFG2sDqwm6h9/s320/IMG_4082.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>CHOCK FULL’O CILANTRO SPAGHETTI</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">1 cup chopped cilantro</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">8 diced San Marzano tomatoes</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">1 small yellow onion</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">3 cloves minced garlic</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Olive oil</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">4 ounces whole-wheat spaghetti</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Heat a saucepan on medium
low heat and place in a tablespoon of olive oil and onions. Put on a lid and
sweat the onions for 8 minutes until translucent. Then add the garlic and sauté
for one minute. Then add the tomatoes and bring to a simmer. Simmer for about
15 minutes until tomatoes start to break down and integrate into sauce.
Meanwhile cook the whole-wheat spaghetti. After tomatoes simmer for 15 minutes,
remove from heat, season with salt and pepper and then add the cilantro making
sure to blend it all in evenly. Serve on top of pasta and enjoy!</span></span></div>
Unorthodox Foodiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05758899285090940586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8302680871313567795.post-5292926535575032122012-11-26T07:59:00.002-08:002012-11-26T14:08:51.804-08:00Best Los Angeles Burger Found at Plan Check <style>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfH4UkfAfjYGoOqaNjVJePS1idoIyNSgOa9vuynSe1hF-d7MD7vS13H8TQfk-dZEKb6Gue4dtalOA6K0ei5uOM-9cZ-0BoJmJe37VLDZS96jbmoIU20C-U1WDnZyECVtgJ45Kx1v9kVmPR/s1600/IMG_4076.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfH4UkfAfjYGoOqaNjVJePS1idoIyNSgOa9vuynSe1hF-d7MD7vS13H8TQfk-dZEKb6Gue4dtalOA6K0ei5uOM-9cZ-0BoJmJe37VLDZS96jbmoIU20C-U1WDnZyECVtgJ45Kx1v9kVmPR/s320/IMG_4076.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">House made vanilla cream soda at Plan Check on top of </span></span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">their cocktail menu filled with nice little surprise<span style="font-size: small;">s</span> </span></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Hyped up and hungry after seeing
the latest James Bond flick Skyfall in Westwood yesterday, we planned on
checking a burger off of our burger-hunt list by visiting <a href="http://www.plancheckbar.com/">Plan Check</a> on
Sawtelle. The restaurant, which
sits like an alternative, last resort on a street filled with Asian dining is
something that has intrigued our radar for a while, especially in the beef
department. After an intensely satisfying meal there and my subsequent coining
of it “my favorite burger in Los Angeles” of the moment (yes, even throwing the
almost unflappable one at Rustic Canyon to second place) we decided that it
could also be our go-to food haunt post-movies in Westwood since we’ve
discovered there just aren’t that many great choices in eating around there. </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAw0t4OfDy2ceZQyKGKhw2rhPmaNGNb8Lryw0UAOzj5fgKppJ1h6R24X5jCsGGJlojW0oEuYaciWQvQwd0QpIJUPTcRZNBAACxRClCKcIsCqtYH_ozkQK02bxVxKYtIpt1x9voMw3ZuVEm/s1600/IMG_4078.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAw0t4OfDy2ceZQyKGKhw2rhPmaNGNb8Lryw0UAOzj5fgKppJ1h6R24X5jCsGGJlojW0oEuYaciWQvQwd0QpIJUPTcRZNBAACxRClCKcIsCqtYH_ozkQK02bxVxKYtIpt1x9voMw3ZuVEm/s320/IMG_4078.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">We sat outside since it was a
balmy warm post-holiday weekend on non-pretentious and old-fashioned cast metal
chairs around an industrial chic concrete table. To start we shared the chunky
fries cooked in beef tallow and discovered the tangy, pickled ginger spiked and
fresh tomato pureed ketchup that was a fresh and sprightly delight. </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHKRDFMPdFyhTkiLyX3NIK1P-vr0soz8KyospcD0orJP1mrMYbttILXTtd0qKECpclVyc9zZquhyRm89aErhyZwzONCfe0wahCRLE8OPIoNl5AN_c0ml-z5ZWHj4JnFPJ3G7tni2HDiQk8/s1600/IMG_4079.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHKRDFMPdFyhTkiLyX3NIK1P-vr0soz8KyospcD0orJP1mrMYbttILXTtd0qKECpclVyc9zZquhyRm89aErhyZwzONCfe0wahCRLE8OPIoNl5AN_c0ml-z5ZWHj4JnFPJ3G7tni2HDiQk8/s320/IMG_4079.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I ordered one of three burgers,
which included a plain wagyu beef and cheese version, and a messy and lustful bacon,
hot sauce and egg version, and mine – The Bl<span style="font-size: small;">eu</span>print. This is simply the best
tasting burger I’ve had so far anywhere: meat that was dripping red and warm on
the inside while retaining a nice smoky caramelization on the outside; a bun
that was crispy and golden brown yet soft; just enough fried onions to add
texture and saltiness without overwhelming with hard bits; a few sprigs of
peppercress, a luscious dollop of roasted garlic steak sauce; and pig candy,
which was basically bacon turned into a sticky, chewy, sweet fruit roll up that
I swore is the object embodiment of sin. </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjZhBTJYxUYO6m5QAr5T0x98TiIUs6VCjuYMUprroYi6q7AGeHgc-CSR4dmbnM9i6_h5jMWeotNVIgU4gCUu-gUS3QZQGd49QjWg8wTpwACihMY31RQmaNeIgHpWHU3TFw64WHPGd4YFu0/s1600/IMG_4080.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjZhBTJYxUYO6m5QAr5T0x98TiIUs6VCjuYMUprroYi6q7AGeHgc-CSR4dmbnM9i6_h5jMWeotNVIgU4gCUu-gUS3QZQGd49QjWg8wTpwACihMY31RQmaNeIgHpWHU3TFw64WHPGd4YFu0/s320/IMG_4080.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The Cute Gardener ordered the fried chicken because
he has a fried chicken list as well as a burger list and knew he would get half
of my dish in the end. A generous portion arrived where a great, crumbly fry
crust covered perfectly tender chicken pieces, swimming in a lovely smoked milk
gravy with some freshly made yam preserves on the side that tasted bright and
fruity. The spicy, pickled okra was a crunchy and juicy little gem of a side. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Consistently with each dish no
ingredient or item served were ordinary, but a custom created blend of unique
flavors that became signature to the restaurant’s tastes. I haven’t had a meal
like this in a while; where every single element stands out and completely
causes awe and a smile. I left already mentally planning what I would order on
my next trip, happy tongue and tummy ready for a continued lazy Sunday.</span></span></div>
Unorthodox Foodiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05758899285090940586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8302680871313567795.post-61808263618584281502012-11-24T20:02:00.001-08:002012-11-25T11:15:23.245-08:00Post-Thanksgiving Grace Period Gluttony<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The most beautiful thing about
the 24 hours directly following the Thanksgiving holiday is that you float
around in a sort of surreal food coma where your body is both in shock from all
the food you ate the day before as well as hungry for more. And because it is
the 24 hours directly following the holiday, you are allowed a kind of grace
period to wean yourself back into the normal realm of diet you are used to while
giving you just enough leeway to properly devour and dispense of all the
leftovers that have accumulated pushing the limits of your refrigerator door. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">This is when all kinds of
crazy happenings ensue. </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyvfh02lCIU7M8VxRb0aMHv_3srWtMPxqvrNRxtWYCIkZmpAy4TGIUW-_5RMYBLqnwkKnI2LoMpw6ka6eW8dQQwvlm9uK9tFla_g8_L3SWYLNDZ4p9T63v_8uW3eHcU4vGpybKXHgabJzW/s1600/IMG_4058.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyvfh02lCIU7M8VxRb0aMHv_3srWtMPxqvrNRxtWYCIkZmpAy4TGIUW-_5RMYBLqnwkKnI2LoMpw6ka6eW8dQQwvlm9uK9tFla_g8_L3SWYLNDZ4p9T63v_8uW3eHcU4vGpybKXHgabJzW/s320/IMG_4058.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Like taking the random
opportunity to consume six peanut butter and cacao nib cookies for breakfast,
dunked into exquisite steaming mugs of coffee adorned with all the remaining
whipped cream from the night before pies. Of course, you conveniently forget in
your tryptophan daze that you had already consumed about 15 of them the day preceding
or the night before that in the kitchen of your <span style="font-size: small;">boyfriend</span> as he lovingly pulled
them from a hot oven. </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdX5kSJkyqlW4ErdDWng-70XIiEfQQdclpNwqNOLPPQkxoGEqWb6TmVoljpZlReL8XB_QwFaw974vQ7nXlx94cDlVbDeScegmB0i-BeF77GV6NV8On3uJpk-XhE3cFpLf9kjqhL_n5d5xc/s1600/IMG_4048.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdX5kSJkyqlW4ErdDWng-70XIiEfQQdclpNwqNOLPPQkxoGEqWb6TmVoljpZlReL8XB_QwFaw974vQ7nXlx94cDlVbDeScegmB0i-BeF77GV6NV8On3uJpk-XhE3cFpLf9kjqhL_n5d5xc/s320/IMG_4048.jpg" width="256" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Or deciding to boldly stop off on the way home from
relatives’ lodging at the <a href="http://metrofinefoods.com/">gourmet Greek food store</a> for lunch just to see how their
distinct version of comfort food compares to that which you so heartily consumed
on your own cultural and historical day. And you discover that yes, the
homemade moussaka comes mightily close to a turkey-mashed potato-gravy compiled
biscuit with its lasagna-esque, stacked strata of potatoes, ground beef, nutmeg
and cream. The dolmadas with acidic grape leaves wrapped around mushy and
savory rice reminds you of the starch piles dotted with nary a green from your own aforem<span style="font-size: small;">ent<span style="font-size: small;">ioned</span></span>
Thanksgiving plate. </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKaVL_joedU6y2H6Hn_BAzGw2KVrnJzFT2zTzhtf3-l7ebuVMrff96vofIb21xrFuaupebefw55oA6uL20qY6OxEDQ1UPqJFGryb_iX0TDPUxfu2FnlXofBsZzG7AxRloLVSFH-SBX_Ndg/s1600/IMG_4051.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKaVL_joedU6y2H6Hn_BAzGw2KVrnJzFT2zTzhtf3-l7ebuVMrff96vofIb21xrFuaupebefw55oA6uL20qY6OxEDQ1UPqJFGryb_iX0TDPUxfu2FnlXofBsZzG7AxRloLVSFH-SBX_Ndg/s320/IMG_4051.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Then you tackle the problem of elevating the turkey
leftover beyond the typical dry sandwich or watery-brothed soup or reheated bre<span style="font-size: small;">ast</span>
smothered in cranberry sauce by <span style="font-size: small;">the</span> Cute Gardener's version
of spontaneous, faux-turkey comfit. It starts with shredded light and dark meat
turkey remnants poached in olive oil so that they turn rillette-like, smoky,
dense and rich. Added to this are hen-of-the-woods mushrooms and fresh minced
garlic and basil, tossed together over perfectly al dente linguine…</span></span></div>
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidbMNkIhwZZCPE5Qn36KT9cq0PQw0OPbglCbSBpaaoO2MxtjP06cuxN0wM13X9OOPDUG8uzCLoDpsEmIXWsBc4g1KudCtQET3b_HThbDU2iBmaNPcIzVtMqmhpJ3gfG3RYzFgzvoT8_4d3/s1600/IMG_4053.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidbMNkIhwZZCPE5Qn36KT9cq0PQw0OPbglCbSBpaaoO2MxtjP06cuxN0wM13X9OOPDUG8uzCLoDpsEmIXWsBc4g1KudCtQET3b_HThbDU2iBmaNPcIzVtMqmhpJ3gfG3RYzFgzvoT8_4d3/s320/IMG_4053.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">…and served alongside a Chinese sup-choy…so at
least you get the greens you’ve been lacking to start the veer back on to your
normal course of eating….</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><br />
</b></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZTQANApSCv7c4qA9KUpr1TP_dfufVPUUsavSaRppB54NySu-1G5e90Hfey5KZQnonKaJCQ3jLyIRT8h9zgZ8iPfzCyBkqUU_cG6YwxVUa33TTZlYruIa_9ERd50IJhIQA8Kk4hBNPuxfy/s1600/IMG_4054.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZTQANApSCv7c4qA9KUpr1TP_dfufVPUUsavSaRppB54NySu-1G5e90Hfey5KZQnonKaJCQ3jLyIRT8h9zgZ8iPfzCyBkqUU_cG6YwxVUa33TTZlYruIa_9ERd50IJhIQA8Kk4hBNPuxfy/s320/IMG_4054.jpg" width="250" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">You gain five pounds but you don’t care. It will go
away over the ebb and flow of the next few weeks when your body and chemistry
return to normal. </span></span></div>
Unorthodox Foodiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05758899285090940586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8302680871313567795.post-16666954396378636882012-11-21T17:11:00.002-08:002012-11-21T17:40:19.225-08:00Menage a Trois a la Rustic French Fare<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfNFuYopBxuTH-vIxHVmUhsjJOfGYGN6S88ITpJQs6AwBWm4xGm9PA0ao2fGPgm7o84W7zt-eyu4nIU4qenyALFYDkbqoLKulU8MvcNeSJXDzoXWAQ5v5X0mreo2_vWfUmpOZdif6b3z8p/s1600/IMG_3924.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfNFuYopBxuTH-vIxHVmUhsjJOfGYGN6S88ITpJQs6AwBWm4xGm9PA0ao2fGPgm7o84W7zt-eyu4nIU4qenyALFYDkbqoLKulU8MvcNeSJXDzoXWAQ5v5X0mreo2_vWfUmpOZdif6b3z8p/s320/IMG_3924.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I have been a really bad member of a supper club
ever since I moved<span style="font-size: small;">, </span>missing the last two occasions (one
Italian-themed and the other Oscar party snack-oriented) and even more so my
good, foodie friends. So I corralled one member with a newly purchased house
and another member who is a great organizer and then myself from afar, and we
decided to throw a special dinner this past weekend called Menage a Trois. As
menu designer I was looking to create a meal of rustic French fare after
spending the last half a year curled up on the couch on many occasions at the
Cute Gardener’s house flipping through the pages of Dorie Greenspan’s “From
Around my French Table.”</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I came up with the following: </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">St. Germain cocktails<br />
Assorted French Wines</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Mustard Batons</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Vichyssoise</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Beef Bourgogne</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Haricot Verts</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Potato Gratin</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Tarte Tatin</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Cheese Plate </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The concepts behind these dinners are that each
person invited signs on to make one of the prescribed menu dishes from scratch;
of course, cranked up a bit above the norm with a flourish of their own voice. </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieuOd28VuwejShtMoUsQjzBOfZC4cS_Y5P15tGLA4289RE8VSCBPhWTPVm0Inm4ahyZ0DEYkF8IXYY7KXrVHi-k-3FEXc_jwXbn6dCHFw4ODDtei6qThK4kT1OTwvqu_f4iZ-BcinyRPmt/s1600/IMG_3933.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieuOd28VuwejShtMoUsQjzBOfZC4cS_Y5P15tGLA4289RE8VSCBPhWTPVm0Inm4ahyZ0DEYkF8IXYY7KXrVHi-k-3FEXc_jwXbn6dCHFw4ODDtei6qThK4kT1OTwvqu_f4iZ-BcinyRPmt/s320/IMG_3933.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">As guests arrived, we enjoyed various bottles of
French wine and the cocktail of the evening titled the GOLD Standard. Made by
one of our illustrious ladies who brought a package of finger tattoo mustaches
for us to choose from Pepe Le Pe<span style="font-size: small;">w</span> style, it consisted of St. Germain and pear
vodka – strong enough to be a proper cocktail but sweet enough to pair well
with the berets and stylish handkerchiefs that dotted the guests’ attires. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">We also snacked on my mustard batons – my newest go
to recipe for appetizers. They are distinctly French and are basically puff
pastry breadsticks with middle sections ripe with Dijon. But because they are
so easy, and the possibilities are literally endless (think raspberry jam ones
for breakfast, <span style="font-size: small;">N</span>utella and cacao nib dusted versions for dessert or olive oil
and sea salt powdered varieties for a champagne and salad lunch!), I have
become quite fond of the perpetual crowd pleasers. </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNo9oY36yy7wvKZJx3B8jpqEeRZJAAKHD-A4c483ZkuaNxO-ax6bgjtkbo8iQQwyc40jdiUOTzoFDmwv9HPLk81BZgrZqB94Wot56Hf5kFd4pClia59vZRYMjp-J9ku7FX5ZgQrBgH6RkW/s1600/IMG_3940.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNo9oY36yy7wvKZJx3B8jpqEeRZJAAKHD-A4c483ZkuaNxO-ax6bgjtkbo8iQQwyc40jdiUOTzoFDmwv9HPLk81BZgrZqB94Wot56Hf5kFd4pClia59vZRYMjp-J9ku7FX5ZgQrBgH6RkW/s320/IMG_3940.jpg" width="260" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I also cooked a hearty pot of vichyssoise in a
countryside style where the potatoes, leeks and onions were steamed and charred
with butter and herbs first to provide a smokier robustness to the normally cream
intensified dish. We served this in small wine glasses so that guests to drink
the starchy puree without utensils. The starch of the soup was the perfect
setting for the fragrant entrée to come. </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8BR6O_239YN5UmvPL1cI0lTXpDcJWxly8-I10BfhgrsoZ1QDviN2ts5fNDNMKzOFTGmdTZvbdgpCVL_inxKz7A5GM9R2I4VMhfStuFVq_4y23yHQddRkLWN54iB9ILunK_dDNoVhU0xVI/s1600/IMG_3941.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="171" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8BR6O_239YN5UmvPL1cI0lTXpDcJWxly8-I10BfhgrsoZ1QDviN2ts5fNDNMKzOFTGmdTZvbdgpCVL_inxKz7A5GM9R2I4VMhfStuFVq_4y23yHQddRkLWN54iB9ILunK_dDNoVhU0xVI/s320/IMG_3941.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The beef Bourgogne arrived smoking hot and perfumed
with a potent scent of wine on top of bacon notes from the 24 braising the meat
had incurred. The delicious stew was ripe with pearl onions, baby carrots and
mushrooms – all the makings for the perfect French countryside main dish. </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMScASzhZkj3IFDMAPL_JgnO4CpZcLcElqaR-vUP2FuRZAE57l7Z9BYbDNeVYiftE7ZmiCSiDC4Zliiw0UxZ_kZXz4jSP3f5FT6NairJTHDMlprNXRz8T0Vd98_DXHv-4QP5icNoam7OHR/s1600/IMG_3932.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMScASzhZkj3IFDMAPL_JgnO4CpZcLcElqaR-vUP2FuRZAE57l7Z9BYbDNeVYiftE7ZmiCSiDC4Zliiw0UxZ_kZXz4jSP3f5FT6NairJTHDMlprNXRz8T0Vd98_DXHv-4QP5icNoam7OHR/s320/IMG_3932.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Alongside that were haricot verts – the green beans
painstakingly split in half to expose the textural crunch of the inner seeds,
apparently a major step in the classic side dish that can not be side stepped
in order for it to be deserving of the term “authentic”. Sprinkled with diced
almonds, it was both nutty and green tasting. </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrjm_ww5WqRX_l2WU1EhV-VYrP_G585LXIFJfhgwBqL0LTA2FpLlB9iCzcCGlwNh2QJMrqyPZbBAqKKEZCqg3LMvuEHXjuGyStsLHj0z9GAcOuA58Yo_zvFqTC0jhb30iLMFv5Bgo1VyC4/s1600/IMG_3929.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrjm_ww5WqRX_l2WU1EhV-VYrP_G585LXIFJfhgwBqL0LTA2FpLlB9iCzcCGlwNh2QJMrqyPZbBAqKKEZCqg3LMvuEHXjuGyStsLHj0z9GAcOuA58Yo_zvFqTC0jhb30iLMFv5Bgo1VyC4/s320/IMG_3929.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The tarte tatin, made by our tart of a host,
featured pears instead of the typical apples and delighted in its novelty.
Baked under a beautifully imperfect and hilly crust …<br />
<br />
</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6RSXLgL7qgtkVrMqnQ3w5ME3U83qZT3ERQwK1T7BjeBThaFAc6F6vLnotkzHojwhaGyi-VVUql1K4BALdVJFgkCn8ob8JoCJXHGZKk4Mqv3CTJdElvwQ0Ss6MS303bRWJqr0Qjys_5JnS/s1600/IMG_3946.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6RSXLgL7qgtkVrMqnQ3w5ME3U83qZT3ERQwK1T7BjeBThaFAc6F6vLnotkzHojwhaGyi-VVUql1K4BALdVJFgkCn8ob8JoCJXHGZKk4Mqv3CTJdElvwQ0Ss6MS303bRWJqr0Qjys_5JnS/s320/IMG_3946.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">… the true caramelized heart of the dish was
revealed when turned over and out on a platter. Buttery yet light, dense and
sweet simultaneously, the crust provided a nice heft for the juicy and chewy
fruit.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Dy9AIykrwHC07XlgYzH8cjNJ2xge4K-fOjm2mbPqqwbhIpZebEJawgSrgHCOVN_lMchX0p-syHdV_4rHzemh-UUTwm2xXnpiRN-9qITiPvhDpZW8yKCW7C7T-THhNwdjB_UfHmVJWGRi/s1600/IMG_3943.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Dy9AIykrwHC07XlgYzH8cjNJ2xge4K-fOjm2mbPqqwbhIpZebEJawgSrgHCOVN_lMchX0p-syHdV_4rHzemh-UUTwm2xXnpiRN-9qITiPvhDpZW8yKCW7C7T-THhNwdjB_UfHmVJWGRi/s320/IMG_3943.jpg" width="307" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">And of course … no French feast would be complete
without a great cheese plate to <span style="font-size: small;">accentuate</span> up all the aforementioned indulgences. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I did end up eating leftover beef Bourgogne for the
next two mornings, as it is the kind of dish that gets better and better as it
ages. </span></span></div>
Unorthodox Foodiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05758899285090940586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8302680871313567795.post-64642891058441497282012-11-19T09:29:00.000-08:002012-11-20T12:47:18.474-08:00Getting Closer to the Perfect L.A. Pie <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The hunt for good pizza in Los Angeles has been an
interesting one where we will first hear about a place and then seek it out,
typically ordering a basic margherita and then another more creative option,
sometimes splitting the choices simply between a white and a red. Our
adventures have turned up an assortment of experiences including:</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">800 Degrees in Westwood, our choice before a movie,
which provided us with a floppy, non-flavorful crust with charcoal black
pockmarked dough and inconsistencies in topping delivery across the area of the
dough due to the careless assembly-line style of creating the pizza. Nothing I
dislike better than seeing beautiful pieces of basil-strewn slices of pizza and
then tasting nary a bit of its flavor on my own slice. It is also the place
that made us realize we rarely ever agree with Johnathon Gold’s food reviews in
the LA Times. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.unorthodoxfoodie.blogspot.com/2012/02/lazy-sunday-pizza-pie.html">Pizza Antica,</a> which actually serves up a good pie
on a solid foundation on a mall rooftop in Santa Monica overlooking the sea –
but because it’s located in a housewives of the West Side consumerist heaven, I
tend to want to stay away. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.unorthodoxfoodie.blogspot.com/2012/02/figgy-bliss-at-il-fico.html">Il Fico,</a> which provided us the score find of our
favorite bowls of pasta yet left much to be desired in the pie zone. The pizzas
tasted fine but were really thin with crust that didn’t stand on its own and a
very bland tomato sauce that constantly needed spruced up with the pot of chili
oil brought to the table with a miniature spoon. Again, there were bad
consistencies in delivery of toppings on the pizza. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.unorthodoxfoodie.blogspot.com/2012/05/grey-may-in-malibu-at-savory.html">Savory’s in Malibu</a> surprisingly had the best
sausage topping we had tasted in a long time. Although known for all kinds of
food and not just pizza, we ordered a pie and were in awe of the meat done in a
soft, dense and herbal-packed bite and halved meatball where the sausage stood
out amongst the other ingredients as a star that still played well with others.
Of course, like a lot of places we fall in love with, it was gone within a few
months of our visit.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://unorthodoxfoodie.blogspot.com/2012/09/pizza-pizza-in-echo-park.html">Masa in Echo Park</a> for a deep dish that was a true
delight for a one time meal with an almost dare I say sausage patty for a
topping that was very delicious albeit a little strange. </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhROp2Brand1FWeS24rU6T7DKcC0qX67_6fpk3ljCzW28IM34AxE5dAAuyJARHSTBbXw8gYNeihFTdLHe2XXLUe4YGXR89hyphenhyphenoDrliwK7z8EBiGuJt0lhgB5-1yPNxiG-xYd0LAoGntdh11G/s1600/IMG_3865.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhROp2Brand1FWeS24rU6T7DKcC0qX67_6fpk3ljCzW28IM34AxE5dAAuyJARHSTBbXw8gYNeihFTdLHe2XXLUe4YGXR89hyphenhyphenoDrliwK7z8EBiGuJt0lhgB5-1yPNxiG-xYd0LAoGntdh11G/s320/IMG_3865.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b> </b><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.pizzeriaolio.com/">Olio</a> is probably the Cute Gardener’s favorite
so far, with its marvelous margherita made extra flat with a unique tomato
sauce and a true basil taste and mozzarella cheese spread throughout even
though the look contradicts that fact. But it was still a little too ordinary
for me with its ultra plain crust. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Then there was the time where we spent an hour
stalking the downtown L.A. freeway tangle on foot looking for the illusive and
mysterious Hollywood Pie that we later found out had aborted their physical
space in lieu of becoming a delivery only service. And only to a select chunk
of neighborhood. </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7SH3FVzJx7n4p3qAIzIiEol8jAx9N_1MHI0BxZbqzWzUWtvAKotSLnB9tJsAxWy8ChDHrKBebLovjF5Dqm7P50axgp-dCERiLZKojYDt2T-eky5IA4mGh5iwTX0ddAfkzQ_nlE4rCsrfn/s1600/IMG_3918.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7SH3FVzJx7n4p3qAIzIiEol8jAx9N_1MHI0BxZbqzWzUWtvAKotSLnB9tJsAxWy8ChDHrKBebLovjF5Dqm7P50axgp-dCERiLZKojYDt2T-eky5IA4mGh5iwTX0ddAfkzQ_nlE4rCsrfn/s320/IMG_3918.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">And finally, last Friday night we ventured into
<a href="http://stellarossapizzabar.com/">Stella Rossa</a>, nicely situated only a half hour walk from my home to try out
their highly-hyped and super-crowded space for some pie. Our proposed 45 minute
wait ended up only being 20 and we scored a seat looking into the baking oven
area while still being off to our own. You can’t escape the loudness of the
joint because the dining room is centered around a massive square cocktail bar.
You can sit at the cocktail bar if you want for food on a first come first
serve basis as well. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">True to form we had our margherita and a sausage. I
loved both pies, and the sausage comes the closest for me a being my kind of
preferred sausage. Richly seasoned old Italian style with fennel, it is
delivered crumbled across the cheese with a lovely ground texture that I have
yet to find in the area. The distribution could have been more even but I
enjoyed the flavors that were also quote good in the crust itself- a salty,
buttery bed. The only complaint of mine was that the crust to topping portion
of the pizza was almost 50% meaning you get a lot of crust on the pies and less
ingredients. Eating all of that crunchy, crust caused me to cut the upper roof
of my mouth because it was quite hard as it cooled down. I loved the beet salad
appetizer with ricotta and arugula and a hint of fresh lemon in the dressing.
It was a refreshing beginning to the pizza that would come. Because it is in my
neighborhood and the pies and wine are all priced right, I will no doubt come
back again and consider this the pizza place in my neck of the woods. That is,
until another one comes and wows me more. </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-xYYZIUHUV5SzWGMmyrIS2lTUflwR7YXGhNxKwr3W-mu2VttY04PXjTpUL_EZNTas63lyVt1DfuZXhyphenhyphen6WZ-RqDwW4VJONffJUj7lJqD6ppznKXfIN05JqcYb9bE1c_SZtkRoT8qMubKK-/s1600/IMG_3602.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-xYYZIUHUV5SzWGMmyrIS2lTUflwR7YXGhNxKwr3W-mu2VttY04PXjTpUL_EZNTas63lyVt1DfuZXhyphenhyphen6WZ-RqDwW4VJONffJUj7lJqD6ppznKXfIN05JqcYb9bE1c_SZtkRoT8qMubKK-/s320/IMG_3602.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">And then there are those di<span style="font-size: small;">rty little secrets we all have, like <span style="font-size: small;">the ones we order <span style="font-size: small;">really late a<span style="font-size: small;">t night when we are hungry<span style="font-size: small;"> and too tired to drive or eat a proper pie at a p<span style="font-size: small;">r<span style="font-size: small;">oper place <span style="font-size: small;">so we call in our favorite tra<span style="font-size: small;">shy, cheap and easy order for a delivery pie. Mine always <span style="font-size: small;">tends to be the Bada Bing onion<span style="font-size: small;"> and peppers delight from Bravo on Main S<span style="font-size: small;">treet. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<br />Unorthodox Foodiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05758899285090940586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8302680871313567795.post-45316619605455913432012-11-15T12:17:00.000-08:002012-11-15T16:42:20.801-08:00Cozy Football and Comfort Food<style>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I never thought I would say this, but I am going to
miss college football when this season is over. I am an artist and a
progressive: I am not supposed to like watching a bunch of men, gladiator
style, performing dangerous exhibition sports for a sea of grunting, pounding
on the chest peers but I do. It’s become an almost soothing sort of ritual that
harkens back to my childhood when the sounds of Saturday and Sunday sports
provided a weekly monument of familiarity in an otherwise chaotic household. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Growing up, I had that kind of family that spent
whole weekends during this time of year huddled in the living room. My
stepfather had a special La<span style="font-size: small;">-Z-Boy</span> type chair that nobody else was allowed to sit
in. From this perch he would command the atmosphere, gruffly barking out orders
to the athletes on the television screen as the day progressed and the kitchen
started to heat up with mom’s one pot casseroles that we salivated over while
munching on tortilla chips and her famous white trash dip on the communal
overstuffed couch. My mother would stand behind the billiards table at her
ironing board taking care of the week’s laundry pile while acting as supportive
cheerleader to her favorite teams during their games. From my adjacent bedroom
I would type away at my typewriter keys, writing angst-ridden poems with the
sports soundtrack from the other room juxtaposing wildly with my deepest
thoughts coming out in courier font on pieces of blank white paper. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I left the noise for almost two decades and then
rediscovered it again this season with the Cute Gardener who plans whole
Saturdays around the schedules of his favorite teams. It has become a ritual
for me again, only this time much more cozy as I sit on the couch all day in
pajamas huddled under a blanket in the coolness of winter with an excuse to do
nothing all for twelve hours other than root for the favorite teams. And at the
end of the day as the games start to dwindle down to the last of the slate and
hunger starts to set in, I look forward to the home-cooked meals – one pot
comfort dishes cooked by my mate that have replaced the maternal chips and
dips. </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC6_puUWrktFI_8id0mzjaAYfmbJtVhCAljkIjN-OHwKPNi04AW60b62PWWBZNhVPLCz9NLMsThwsZLaSrEelN09w_s4Ph9o1wCuMAl9Z4MZkvJMk9187kYFqvJzyjP3kmt26l-8BrAXRY/s1600/IMG_3854.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="189" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC6_puUWrktFI_8id0mzjaAYfmbJtVhCAljkIjN-OHwKPNi04AW60b62PWWBZNhVPLCz9NLMsThwsZLaSrEelN09w_s4Ph9o1wCuMAl9Z4MZkvJMk9187kYFqvJzyjP3kmt26l-8BrAXRY/s320/IMG_3854.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">My favorite of late was a simple Mediterranean
chicken dish made expertly tangy and creamy by the addition of Armenian olives
and feta bought at a Middle Eastern market in Granada Hills that was selling
whole blocks of the crumbling white cheese for about 3 bucks a pound, providing
five times the amount we might pay the same price for in a store like Whole
Foods or Trader Joe’s. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">To make, simply sear four chicken quarters and then
drain the fat. Add half an onion sliced, twenty kalamata olives, four
cups of deseeded tomato, and oregano. Cover and simmer. Add half
cup crumbled feta and serve.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPl9b8ilP8k02RjVA-BZ6bdcorSSELkKIt_UJJ05BaGf0ntBrU8VdI03cQUYDpFM8bMdo-UDvUdBFTARdRQO9wBWDvGmBoQKWKaKT-xVexXICUgln6CKj5wqpkZyPW89wDmaLSDPVY_YWp/s1600/IMG_3856.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPl9b8ilP8k02RjVA-BZ6bdcorSSELkKIt_UJJ05BaGf0ntBrU8VdI03cQUYDpFM8bMdo-UDvUdBFTARdRQO9wBWDvGmBoQKWKaKT-xVexXICUgln6CKj5wqpkZyPW89wDmaLSDPVY_YWp/s320/IMG_3856.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I will be sad to see this season end but like the
idea of having something to look forward to again next year<span style="font-size: small;"> an<span style="font-size: small;">d an excuse to whittle away Saturdays in the dimly, lit de<span style="font-size: small;">n capped with comforting fo<span style="font-size: small;">od.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
Unorthodox Foodiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05758899285090940586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8302680871313567795.post-47440999144585145462012-11-12T09:20:00.000-08:002012-11-12T11:21:24.880-08:00Royal Treatment at The Royce<style>
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</style><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">When you are an avid
foodie who eats out four times a month and your tastes run from the lowbrow taco
shop to the <span style="font-size: small;">three</span> star Michelin dinner, you pretty much know what to expect from
the bottom of the spectrum to the top of the spectrum and all the variations in
between. You know you are going to have a casual, jeans wearing, no nonsense,
serve yourself salsa in paper cups, plastic fork experience at the strip mall
Hispanic neighborhood carne asada joints but you don’t care because you are
there for the way they make the beef and the pork so authentically that you
could never duplicate it at home. And when you put on the heels and the
lipstick comes out of the cosmetics drawer so that you can look the part in a
pristine dining room where some famous chef resides sweating <span style="font-size: small;">over</span> his kitchen so
your exquisitely rare meat is dotted with the precise amount of gourmet garnish
on the plate you know you are going to pay a hearty price for the pleasures of
being catered to s<span style="font-size: small;">o lusciously</span>. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">But every once in a
while you have an experience that is so elevated and so individualized that you
wake up the next morning with the aftertaste of ultimate satisfaction on your
tongue and wonder if it were all just really a dream. That’s how I woke up this
past Saturday after a night out with the Cute Gardener at <a href="http://www.roycela.com/"><span style="font-size: small;">T</span>he Royce. </a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The Royce is located
in Pasadena’s prestigious and swank<a href="http://pasadena.langhamhotels.com/"> Langham Hotel</a> where even the hallways boast
crystal chandeliers and a sense of early California citrus ranch and oil baron
history. Recently remodeled, it <span style="font-size: small;">boasts</span> a classy white dining room with plush seats,
muted white and black exquisite abstract drawings and splashes of blue throughout. As we
sat, we were immediately offered an aperitif of Mendoza sparkling rose from
Argentina. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">This was followed by
a creative amuse bouche of smoked tofu in mini lettuce cup, a blistered and
bread-crumbed shishito pepper and a sweet little cup of belly warming butternut
squash soup. This was all before we even uttered an order. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Our waitress was so
attentive that she asked if we wanted to work with the sommelier for our meal
when she noticed us strategizing our orders together noting that we would
probably be sharing. The sommelier became a remarkable companion throughout the
evening starting with our appetizer course where he brought out and poured two
wines for me knowing that my dish could go either with a full and jammy white
or drier Chablis. I ended up enjoying a Zind Humbrect Gewrztraminer 2011 Alsace
with my diver scallop carpaccio sprinkled with bonito horseradish “rape” and
chopped Oregon state chestnuts. </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjX8uMA_oGOIGKZD_bAVV2xw1aCgeYc3cpnmpCtS6wEw91XEVCK-2Q1FmzTQ4M-3IJepdub1XmyBdXzKQsN44TsDBqv26nqn7r0jFptEEf9ty78WsUfHFOb97QfU4FgTMEVR_yzh-y6bcN/s1600/IMG_3842.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjX8uMA_oGOIGKZD_bAVV2xw1aCgeYc3cpnmpCtS6wEw91XEVCK-2Q1FmzTQ4M-3IJepdub1XmyBdXzKQsN44TsDBqv26nqn7r0jFptEEf9ty78WsUfHFOb97QfU4FgTMEVR_yzh-y6bcN/s320/IMG_3842.JPG" width="272" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The CG was given a
Caroline <span style="font-size: small;">P</span>arent red burgundy to match his roasted pheasant soup with parsnip
emulsion and Muscat grapes. Both of us were stunned with the smoky richness of
the pheasant mousse on top of the long, thin crostini that floated in the soup.
The soup was poured at the table – another touch of old school yet rarely seen
elegance. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">For the entrée, I
chose my go<span style="font-size: small;">-</span>to of lamb, which came <span style="font-size: small;">with</span> two generous round filets, perfectly
roasted in curried garlic honey sauce with charred and tiny onions, fat
Christmas lima beans and a sorrel emulsion. I enjoyed a Jake<span style="font-size: small;">-</span>Ryan Cellars
zinfandel alongside the juicy, medium rare meat. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The CG had the seared
squab which was delightfully served with roasted fig halves, swiss chard,
matsutake mushrooms and cocoa nibs. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">There were a lot of
diners around us in the house and not very many of them looked that happy. We
wondered if people who have a ton of money come to take even their ability to
have luxurious dining experiences for granted and become bored because it
certainly couldn’t be the food that was causing everyone to appear so blasé. To
spice up the atmosphere, at least for the staff, we did something a little
crazy next. For our first dessert, we ordered an appetizer plate of heirloom
shelling beans ragouette with celery and shaved white truffle for $60. We were
definitely going to enjoy and appreciate our one time experience in the land of
the rich. I had been itching to try the white truffle delicacies and this
seemed like the proper time and place to do so. It was worth it with flaked
slivers of buttery, rich truffle atop sublime foam and the pretty amazingly
cooked beans. The sommelier was so confused yet pleased by this order that he
comped us some red wine during this course. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Finally, for dessert,
we ordered the picandou du lot goat cheese with tomato jam, which was funky in
the best ways and paired interestingly with the jam. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">We were stuffed to
the gills and ready to go but were delivered yet another plate of small
chocolates ranging from milk to pepper white to espresso dark chocolate. And
then, to top off the night, as we were about to exit the grand glass doors back
into our normal lives, the host grabbed us and ushered us in to the stately wine room where he poured me a free glass of grappa and some brandy for
my mate and brought in the chef David Feau to meet us. We were so impressed
with everything<span style="font-size: small;"> and </span>we told him so and as he shook our hands and thank<span style="font-size: small;">ed</span> us in
French, I knew that this evening would remain up there in my top five dining
experiences for quite some time. </span></span></div>
Unorthodox Foodiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05758899285090940586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8302680871313567795.post-60368541882551727982012-11-10T10:48:00.001-08:002012-11-10T11:11:48.815-08:00Pine Nut Gnocchi and Leek Lust<style>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Even though the Cute Gardener<span style="font-size: small;">'s ancestors stem from places <span style="font-size: small;">know<span style="font-size: small;">n for chow mein and sushi </span></span></span>his cooking specialty is more rooted in that country shaped like a boot. When
we first met I was a little overwhelmed when I looked into his cupboards and
saw thirty boxes of pasta in every shape and form. Was he one of those weird
people who collected dried food goods in preparation for doomsday? No, he was
actually one of those people who eat like the Italians do, believing like
Sophia Loren that a bowl of pasta a day keeps the blues away. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I was in luck!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I am still knocking on wood a year later after
having been served a myriad of home cooked pasta dishes. His culinary <span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">style is denoted by</span> its purity </span>in which a type of pasta is married with oil, <span style="font-size: small;">an </span>herb, a vegetable, and some meat brought together in exquisite piles in
bowls and plates that I can't help but empty - short of licking the <span style="font-size: small;">dish</span>. Even though I tend to not eat everything on my plate with most
other meals, with his pasta dishes I tend to even go back for seconds. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The latest creation I was treated to was an
Italian twist on steak and potatoes inspired by our daytime trip to the<a href="http://www.italiabakeryanddeli.com/"> Italia Bakery and Deli</a> in Granada Hills where we found savory and authentic sausage
and pepper sandwiches, glorious home baked cannolis, perfectly dense white
chocolate covered biscotti for coffee dipping and packages of plump and beautiful
gnocchi. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">While the gnocchi were boiling he whipped up a
beautiful sauce of olive oil and pine nuts simmered down to a dense and smoky
reduction. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Chopped leeks were sautéed simply providing a
veggie side where every buttery bite burst with juice. I really enjoyed them in
this style, as they were elevated to let their true magic shine whereas they
are usually otherwise used to pump up other foods with flavor or to heft up
soups conspiring with potatoes. This application was the surprise of the dinner.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDDp32r9dCS5u6ps8sbDiPvsnh-c0YxxchtfKuYGFsMhwQrsMKrWcxY3xKvHu8xYScrXa5_4P5HuKz9h-4u3yPeIxRRLCpdcfoAgC4vrAJbaiWR6diSkDiBcrzUEJpEDspVYtIhH4Aqc_E/s1600/IMG_3834.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDDp32r9dCS5u6ps8sbDiPvsnh-c0YxxchtfKuYGFsMhwQrsMKrWcxY3xKvHu8xYScrXa5_4P5HuKz9h-4u3yPeIxRRLCpdcfoAgC4vrAJbaiWR6diSkDiBcrzUEJpEDspVYtIhH4Aqc_E/s320/IMG_3834.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">A highly marbled steak, seasoned simply with
salt and pepper, was fried rare to add some balance and protein to the <span style="font-size: small;">palate</span>.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The gnocchi was tossed with the pine nut
reduction, a hearty amount of minced basil from the garden and copious amounts
of Parmesan cheese. A hybrid form of a traditional meat and starch was turned
upside down into a belly warming Italian comfort food meal. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The Cute Gardener’s pine nut gnocchi has
replaced strozzapreti for my pasta of the moment – and believe me, those were
big shoes to fill. </span></span></div>
Unorthodox Foodiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05758899285090940586noreply@blogger.com0