Review: Burger Bar

Burger Bar is operating on a go-big-or-go-home philosophy for gourmands. If you like streetwise, trash talking burgers, go to Five Guys. If you want to wax poetic about organic sustainability, go to Epic Burger. This is where you go for a $13 grass fed burger that's topped with brie and onion jam. Most of the super-decadent "stacker" options on the menu seem absolutely cray-cray to me, but I ordered the aforementioned Les Urbain and didn't regret it one bit. Did I mention there are truffle fries and shakes bigger than your arm? If I were to swear an oath to keep it down to one burger every year, this is where I'd go.

TA-DAaaa!: Foodie Gift Roundup

Buyin' It

1. Wine Country Gift Baskets: I've been an annual devotee for a few years now. Their baskets are filled with high quality sweets and savories, they ship super-fast, and the wine selection is goes beyond the usual mass-market suspects. Some of their bestsellers even ship for free. I gave my aunt their Classic basket last Christmas. She called me 10 days later to say that it had become the highlight of her kids' and husband's day to decide what to fish out of it for a snack each evening. Perfect for foodies, wine lovers, and snackers.

2. Stonewall Kitchens: My gram sent me a set of amazing jams and infused olive oils from here last week, and the idea is so good, I'm stealing it for my food-centric tribe. They have a huge array of gifts at all price points, including TONS of delish sauces and relishes that your dear ones can pop open and apply to something, or use to zazz up an actual recipe. Great for peeps who love eating, but aren't necessarily trolling the Atlantic Food Channel every day.

3. Whole Foods Baskets: I eyed some really impressive ones at the Lincoln Park store last night. They've got stacks pre-made, but if you have special needs, you can visit the holiday order table up front and they'll assemble one for you. Perfect for food snobs or your vegan friends who wear hemp jumpers.

4. Just Grapes on Washington Ave.: Their wine selection is focused (they're picky about what they stock), special (boutique producers you won't find at Binny's) and moderately-priced. You can order online, and they deliver or ship anywhere. Perfect for wine lovers who know their schtuff.

Makin' It

1. Nigella's Rocky Road Crunch Bars: I'm making these to fill goodie boxes for the neighbors, mostly as an apology for the dog throwing his bouncy toy down our front stairs at 7:00 every Saturday morning. 'Gella's philosophy is to keep it easy, especially for the holidays. Word, girl.

2. Cherries Simmered in Red Wine: These babies are red, festive, sweet, easy, and versatile as all get out. Your recipient can use them on ice cream, pound cake, with creme fraiche, or in a trifle. Or they can just fork them out of the jar like I do. Did I mention they keep forever?

3. Duo of Sugars: If actually cooking or baking makes you want to lie down, how about tossing together some fancy sugar and putting a bow on it? Whole Foods has ideas on their web site, including these. If you can locate dried edible lavender and vanilla bean pods, you too can impress.

Two other morsels of advice: No one beats the Container Store for all manner of festive little receptacles for your food gifts. And avoid Martha's site this season, as it requires a PhD in Crafts...unless it's for decorating your mantel or tablescaping (she completely rocks the casbah at those).

The Purist's Peach Pie

We recently got back from relaxing at a cottage in Saugatuck, Michigan (Mayberry meets gay rivera) with my family for about a week, and it was blissful as always. Cape Cod cottage? Check. Bike rides to the beach? Check. A healthy squirrel population for the dog to chase? Definitely check.

Add to that our collective excitement to pick something growing off a real tree at one of the U-PICK farms nearby. My mom nixed the idea of Michigan's famous blueberries..."sounds hard, doesn't it?" Which was a damn good thing since the season had just passed. But peaches! Oh, the peaches were beginning to drag their tree branches down to the ground, they were so fully massive and lovely. So six of us accepted what we considered small-ish bags from a farmer and galloped into the early-bloomer Blazing Star rows of his orchard.

Ten minutes later my mother emerged with 30 lbs. of fruit overflowing from two heaving bags. The rest of us plopped our bags onto the scale with hers and snorted in laughter at the digital number that popped up: 69 lbs. Of peaches, people. It's not like you can go put any back. So back to the cottage we went, debating... Pie? Cobbler? Smoothies? My aunt, a former chef, has the most food cred in the family, not to mention actual leadership skills, so she made a sound decision:

We're making pie. And we're keeping it simple.

Back at the cottage, she and my mother (I was on vacation, remember?) assembled eight pies. The ingredients were:

4-5 gigantic peaches, sliced

1/4 cup brown sugar

sprinkle Fruit Fresh

2 pie crusts

egg whites

So, if I need to tell you...We tossed the sliced peaches with the sugar and Fruit Fresh. Then we plopped the mixture into a crust, topped it with the second crust, and brushed that with egg whites before baking or freezing each one.

The point isn't that this is complicated or innovative. The point is that sometimes you simply don't need to mess with the perfection of something like gorgeous freshly picked peaches. Especially when you're on a summer vacation and should really be taking a nap someplace nice, like under a tree.

We ate two of the pies while there - one for breakfast - and the rest are in my freezer, awaiting a chilly fall night or typically sub-artic Chicago winter weekend.

The rest of the peaches we ate fresh or bagged up as gifts for our neighbors, who are still sending me emails about their amazing cobblers.

NYC - Day 2

Balthazar (80 Spring St) - Large French bistro with a majorly scene-y brunch scene. My scrambled eggs in puff pastry were okay. Pretty, but otherwise nothing spectacular. I'd give the place another shot, but I'm not eager to go back. (A brunch at Bistro Zinc in Chicago is much better.)

Lower East Side Tenement Museum - Don't go on the hottest day of the year, but do go. It gives you new respect for the phrase "turn-of-century immigrant experience," by visiting actual tenement apartments reconstructed to look as they did 100 years ago. Book ahead!

Lolita (266 Broome St) - You know those simple, real, low-key hoodie bars you instantly love? This is one of those. It's right around the corner from the tenement and saved us from passing out in the heat. A nice little list of refreshing summer cocktails for $8.

WD-50 (50 Clinton St) - Just for the famous five-course dessert tasting - we sat at 6:00 pm because a) we're hardcore and b) why not? (As I texted Dar, who proposed the idea the day before, "Dinner later can just be sandwich.") All five courses were excellent. Two were transcendent. Solid dessert wine pairings that offered a few surprises, like a blend from Rhodes, Greece. The staff was surprisingly laid back and fun to chat with.

High Line - This is the new elevated rail line downtown that's been turned into a landscaped public space. I've never seen New Yorkers so chilled out and happy. Chicago will get it's own version sometime in the future on the Bloomingdale Trail, which I happen to live over.

Red Cat - Dinner? Not a sandwich. But we did go light by each ordering the special scallop appetizer instead of an entree, and each of us tried it paired with a different white wine. The wine list here is big and stellar. The place is cute as a button, but all glowy and elegant at the same time - it's style meets substance. The scallops were giant and divine - seared simply over a bed of farm-fresh sauteed veggies. It's at the top of my list to go back for dinner next time. Absolutely loved it.

Blackberry and Orange French Toast Bread Pudding

My 16- and 17-year old nieces flew in from New Mexico for their annual summer visit this week, and having them over is a great excuse to do things like sleep in until 9:00, watch chick flicks, and eat ice cream every day. This morning, they asked for french toast, which I love too, but never enjoy making. Since I've been cleaning up the kitchen several times a day while they're here, I decided to hunt down a baked variation that would be quick and easy to throw together.

I found this strata recipe on Epicurious that I adapted, using blackberries and orange instead of raspberries and lemon, and making the custard a little richer. They were impressed with how beautiful it looked and absoltuely loved it's delicious warming sweetness, and I was amazed how much better I like it than typical french toast.

1/2 cup maple syrup
3/4 loaf of whole grain bread with crust
1 1/2 pints fresh blackberries
6 large eggs
2 cups milk
1 cup half & half
1 teaspoon grated orange zest
1/4 teaspoon salt

Heat the oven to 350 degrees, with the rack positioned at the center. Lightly butter a 9 x 13 in. baking dish. Pour the maple syrup into the bottom of the dish - don't worry about evenly coating the surface. Cut the bread up into large cubes and scatter around the bottom with the blackberries.

In a large bowl, whisk together the eggs, milk, half & half, zest, and salt. Pour the custard over the cubes of bread and pop the baking dish into the oven. It'll need to bake 45 to 50 minutes. Look for a nice, puffy golden brown surface with no wet spots in the center. Let cool 5 minutes before dusting with powdered sugar and serving with more drizzled maple syrup on top.

Climbing on the All-Organic Bus

The confetti has been swept, thousands of Champagne bottles have been recycled (I hope), and the mayor and Rahm-bo have long since left the building. Everyone in my area of the museum has a jumbo-sized opening week excitement hangover, but the new wing and all its inspiring features are, in fact, launched and chugging along nicely. Hordes of visitors are pouring into it for free as I write. Art and handmade pasta for the people! Yes! We! Can!!

It's a given that my brain is fried. But on Sunday, once I consented to peeling myself off the sofa, I walked over to a mirror to confront what 10+ months of monster-truck-sized stress have done to my body. And people, I am fat. Not Biggest Loser fat. Just there's-no-way-in-hell-I'm-going-to-fit-into-last-summer's-pants fat. And last summer? Not exactly a moment to celebrate in my personal journey toward glowing health and fitness.

I've made three decisions about this. 1) It is not going to be my new norm. Noooo, nononono. NO. Change is coming to these hips, America. 2) It's time to put the kibosh on the stress. And 3) I will eat my kind of food to return to a healthy weight. No sense in pretending that I'm going to forgo real food pleasures for, well, anything ever. I'll just have to pace them somewhat more between fresh seasonal produce, whole grains, and...um, something else that my take-out habit has fogged up my brain cells too much to remember.

To brush up on these weighty matters - sorry, couldn't resist - I downloaded Jillian Michaels' new book Master Your Metabolism on my (amazing, awesome, stellar) Kindle. I never watch her show. But I do relish her refreshing talent for honest, sweaty, ass-kicking fitness, and the fact that the book focuses on endocrinology intrigued me greatly.

It has me REELING. Michaels relates how in past years she meticulously consumed 1,200 calories a day and spent over six hours in the gym a week to keep her bod in top form. No shock there. But if she "relaxed" and ramped it up to all of 1,800 calories with the same workouts, she gained 15 lbs. almost immediately. I know dozens of people who can relate to a similar scenario...just none who look like her or have her discipline. An endocrinologist treating one of Michaels' clients eventually tested her and found that literally every major metabolic hormone in her system was totally out of whack - thanks to years of dieting, stress, lack of sleep and consuming processed foods.

And it's that last item that has me reeling. I always knew that processed foods could trigger allergies or lead to long-term health issues like heart disease, and I've minimized them without getting too worked up over it. But I didn't imagine that they could so quickly bring on a vicious cycle of obesity, for one. Or ovarian cysts. Or premature puberty. Or depression. Or any of the other honestly serious immediate dangers triggered by hydrogenated oils, FDA approved preservatives, and additives. In short, if wellness nazis like Jillian Michaels aren't immune from the effects of this toxic junk that's completely taken over our culture, then America, my friends, we are all deeply, truly effed.

Big time.

So I have to believe that this is where Darwinism kicks in, and the smart ones will take the advice to thrive in spite of the overall environment of crap. Which means going all-out, full-stop organic. And breaking up with diet Dr. Pepper and protein bars for good. And learning the entire number system for plastics so I know which ones will alter my DNA if put in my dishwasher. None of which sounds so terribly daunting, but just try to go stand in line at Cosi and order lunch with all this spinning around in your head.

As usual, my friend Dar has a way of just knowing like Yoda. She sent me a package from Zingermans this week as a gift, and when I opened it, I was greeted by a box of Rabitos Royale ...Spanish figs filled with brandy liqueur, dipped in chocolate. No, not diet food. But here's the thing: it wouldn't even occur to the Spanish to fill this unreal little bonbon with toxic crap. In the US, we'd slap an "ALL NATURAL" banner on the front and sell them for 300% markup. But this little darling is exactly the one special treat of my day that won't make me miffed about doubling up on the salads.

My First Chicago-Style Dog

Ever since Phil Foss responded to Menupages' street food challenge with the lobster dog at Lockwood, I've been flirting with the idea of ordering it up. I usually make most non-life-altering decisions in about a nanosecond, but I vacillated on this. Maybe it's because I feel so left out of the Symphony in Pig movement, as Dennis Ray Wheaton coined it in Chicago mag this month, that's seduced dozens of chefs at places like Mado and The Publican. These are restaurants where pescatarians like me feel a little like Tracy Flick showing up at an orgy. The cults of Hot Doug's and charcuterie are having such a moment lately, even something as honestly marine as Foss' creation struck me as getting a little bit sucked into the pork vortex.

But, hell, I work a block from Lockwood and literally walk through the Palmer House lobby several times a week. And a girl's gotta eat something other than tuna wraps for lunch. So I parked myself at the bar today fully expecting to order the crab cake sandwich, as I did last time I was there. Except that there is no crab cake sandwich anymore. It's been replaced by the dog. So I ordered it... with truffled chips.

It really is quite good. Not life-changing. But surprisingly rich and delicate at the same time, if not a touch too oozy with more saffron-ginger buerre blanc than it needed. Foss did a great job of honoring all the textures and flavors of the hot dog (if I remember anyway...it's been 15 years or so) using lobster, scallop mousse, leeks, tomatoes, a potato bun and spices. But even if you were oblivious to the provenance in say, a blindfolded, 9 and 1/2 Weeks type situation, it stands on its own as inventive, decadent, comfort food. I don't know anybody who isn't going for that right now. At $18, it's not a recession darling, but I'm not going shame you from enjoying one. Quite the contrary. Despite what the media wants to tell us 24-7, some people have money right now and they're still spending it on things that make them feel good. As were the six other people eating at the bar with me today.

Our waiter mentioned that Potter's, the cocktail lounge at the Palmer House, is offering the dog for half price on Wednesdays. That's nine more bucks for your cocktail kitty.

Chicago Cocktails for Advanced Drinkers

Two items of innovative cocktail brilliance were just put on the menu last night at Tavern at the Park downtown:

- The 20-Sixtini honors Mayor Daley's ultimate obsession and the IOC's visit to our city this week for the city's 2016 Olympics bid. It's a blend of mandarin vodka, vanilla-infused simple syrup, Blue Moon and ginger beer. Fruity, tangy and surprisingly delicious. A little steep at $13, but it's a Chicago-sized serving and some proceeds support the city's bid funding (i.e. pothole-filling, police).

- Cloudgate, the drink, will run you $199. At that price, what's in it (Grey Goose vodka, champagne) is not the point. What's served with it, however, is an Elsa Peretti Bean pendant necklace from Tiffany in sterling silver. While Peretti's spitting-image design predates our gloriously jumbo-sized, iconic Anish Kapoor sculpture - Cloudgate - across the street in Millennium Park, it couldn't be a more fitting trinket to celebrate our city with your nice wife who enjoys bling. Nicely done, Tavern. Nicely done.

So Easy to Love

Monday night my husband and I sat on the couch wondering what to do. It was officially and actually his birthday, but somehow after the 10-course dinner that weekend, three gifts from me, and piles of well-wishing from friends, he still wasn't done being feted. (I attribute this to a childhood short on juicy presents and envelopes stuffed with cash on birthdays, but then that's just my spoiled Italian butt talking.) Then he lit up and shouted, "The port!"

Upstairs to the wine fridge. Downstairs to the glassware. Some rummaging through a gift bag... and out came a 40-year Taylor's Fladgate Port, two glasses, and a tub of Trader Joe's almond chocolate clusters.

I chose my spouse well, no?

We are not what you would call novice port drinkers. Our good friend Mr. Just Grapes gave us the bottle on my husband's 40th last year because it's one of the adult beverages we're known for loving. Rubies and tawnies are like dear, beloved friends we invite over year-around. The highlights: We served the 2003 Fonseca Vintage Port as one of the dessert wines at our wedding a couple of years ago... and it sort of took over the party after a certain point, in the best way possible. I still snicker at the tiny dots that stain my silk wedding dress. This fall we enjoyed a gorgeous 1986 tawny the night before Thanksgiving dinner, and then...this, the Full Monty of ports. It was incredibly rich, with loads of buttersotch, caramel, and hazelnut, with a silky smooth finish that lingered and lingered like only port can. Adding the chocolate with the almonds actually made me swoon. Since then we've also tried it chilled before dinner, and found it to be absolutely delish.

Excellent idea for a birthday, or really, any night you decide to take Alpana's advice and open something lovely...now-ish.

Cupcake Provocateur

A co-worker just breezed into my office to ask me whether I've been to the cupcake store up the street? Um. The WHAT?! Apparently a little sweet spot called Sugar Bliss opened on Wabash across from Macy's in January. She knew. Mike Doyle knew. I didn't know. This is what happens when you work 6 gazillion hours a week and walk around stressed out and sleep deprived. You miss out on cupcakes, that's what. No matter. I think fair play means that you have to let a new place get its legs before you go there once or twice and then blog all over them for not being good. Like some cupcake eaters might.

So obviously I need to ditch one of several dozen meetings and get myself there stat. While I'm at it, I'm going to pop around the corner to enjoy cup of Clover-brewed goodness at the Intelligentsia. Call me the un-Doyle.

Nigella 4-Eva

The first time I saw Nigella Lawson, she was deep-frying a Twinkie on Oprah. I was appalled and awe-stricken in the same way you might be in the waiting area of an ER or perhaps a Chicago police precinct on a Saturday morning (oh like you never did it). But then a few minutes into the segment, I felt myself succumbing to her loquacious charm, perfectly pink, pouty lips and old soul banter about needing to play to your strengths in life. And I nodded in unison with Oprah, 'So true, Nigella, so true.'

A few years later this January, I went on a Nigella spree while stuck home with a cold, watching hours of Express segments on YouTube and ordering up the cookbook on Amazon. Like any courtship, I need to live with a cookbook for a while before I decide if we're meant to be. I might fall hard in the beginning. But then it's trial by fire, baby, and you better bring your A-game. And let me just say that after two months, Nigella Express has passed the gauntlet with flying apron strings. She's my girl. Knock her at your own risk. I will cut you.

Some observations:

Linguine with Lemon, Garlic, Thyme and Mushrooms - Sweet Jesus, the brilliance of this sums up the genius of the entire book. Here's a combo of familiar ingredients that you can literally throw together while all cranked out and exhausted after work. And not only is it simply delish, it requires no more actual cooking than boiling water. Magic.

Ginger Passon Fruit Trifle - How is it that we don't have more cookbook authors advocating for the free-form, non-bake, high wow-factor dessert orgasm that is the trifle? How? 'Gella even encourages us to skip the work by acquiring our "sponge" at the store. Her version of dessert perfection calls for none of the patience, all of the pleasure. And it's gorgeous. Yes. Please.

Moonblush Tomatoes - I love three things about this: 1) It's an old idea dusted off, and a damned good one at that -- roasting tomatoes by shutting off a hot oven and leaving them to gradually reduce overnight. 2) She understands that for those of us who are brain dead after a typical workday, "easy" takes different forms. You can't get much lower effort than walking away from the kitchen and going to bed. 3) The results are bloody great. I mixed them into the mushroom pasta above, and a choir of Italian ancestors appeared in my living room to hum sweetly as my husband and I snarfed it down like starved wolves.

Cheddar Cheese Risotto - Imagine what would happen if creamy Arborio rice had sex with mac n' cheese. Now imagine it some more. Keep imagining....I'm not going to tell you it's wrong.

Caramel Croissant Pudding - Are we back to dessert already? Imagine that. Forget food porn, just reading the name of this thing put me in a tailspin. After all those years of turning my nose up at the notion of English puddings, I realized that I'm a big dumb dork. I now have a new outlook: I don't trust people who don't like dogs, or this pudding. Because who wouldn't adore being handed a bowl of this? No one I can hang out with long, I assure you.

And as for the fried Twinkie, I'm defending it as a genius publicity stunt. Got her on Oprah. Beat that.

Ash Wednesday Confession Box

I guess since it's Ash Wednesday, I'm feeling a little confessional. Either that, or too much Facebook.

1. I'm not watching Top Chef this season, even though I relish it and have developed a crush on Colicchio. (Bald men are my thing. Food is my thing. You do the math.) I guess I just needed a break from all the lust... not to mention Padma and Gail who are shifty, uncharming creatures.

2. I can't eat anything called a pastie. Forget it.

3. The worst thing I ever put in my mouth was a gritty Polish duck soup at my friend's mother's house on Easter. She invited me to break bread with her family on the high holiest of Catholic holidays, and all I can remember thinking is that that soup is what the waiters serve in hell.

4. I have consumed orange Swedish caviar from a tube and enjoyed it.

5. Usually when I see a beautiful gourmet cupcake, I wish I could just lick off all the frosting and be done with it.

6. I'm a terrible baker because I modify every recipe I get my hands on, and I'm impatient as hell.

7. The only reason I went out with my husband on our first date was because he invited me to Le Colonial. He sensed this immediately and will tell you the story in great detail.

8. I love anything invented or perfected by monks: cappuccino, Chimay, Champagne, brandy. I once ran smack into a woolly Trappist monk entering the Panera Bread on Diversey and took it as a definite sign that God was winking at me for this.

9. My mom drank a glass of wine a week when she was pregnant with me. Explains a lot.

10. I once spent a week in my 20s eating nothing but dessert and drinking wine and cocktails. It was seriously fantastic.

This is only fun if you share some now.

Review: Farmerie 58

Out of the crop of newer restaurants, Farmerie 58's rich seasonal menu looked like one of the more promising. For Restaurant Week, my husband and I tried their prix fixe lunch menu yesterday, in spite of their recent chef drama and our still lingering wedding-bash hangovers. I'm glad we did. It's a study in understated luxury, and our experience there was terrific.

For first impressions, Farmerie's bistro has one of the most beautiful rooms in the area... cozy Asian chic with a generous dose of retro Modernism. I instantly wanted to return at night to see it glowing. Even so, the crowd was mostly casual 30- and 40-somethings enjoying lazy Sunday lunches. We appreciated the relaxed vibe and settled sleepily into our seats.

I woke up when I tasted what I think is a mark of a good restaurant: the butter. A place that's taken care to give you excellent bread and butter is rising above and beyond, and this little dream...had...truffle oil whipped into it. After my giggly endorphin-high subsided, I grabbed the waiter and pointed, "Um. This butter. Has. Truffle oil in it. Who's idea was that?" Convinced he was probably dealing with some sort of addict, he grinned and said politely, "That would likely be our executive chef." Note: New chef Nathan Kosakowski is keeper. Waiter is adorable.

We started with the lobster bisque and butternut squash volute. I surprisingly preferred the squash for it's unusually fresh, genuine flavor with only a touch of sweetness. The seasonal menu was heavy on red meat and chicken - not a plus for a pescatarian, but the waiter agreed they could easily modify the Salmon BLT for me. I loved that it was served on obviously homemade sliced, light rye bread, about the size of a sandwich your grandmother would make. (Remember RDA portions? So quaint, I know.) It was packed with flavor, and sitting next to a mountain of truffled pomme frites that I wanted to stuff into my handbag. Finally, our desserts, mine a perfectly executed ginger creme brulee, his a new-school innovative bread pudding - light and soft in texture - topped with drizzly caramel popcorn. It was a playful flavor/texture combination, and I hope they'll encourage more risks like this on the menu.

Hangover Brunch

My good friend's wedding was last night, and WOW was it fun. The food at her reception....zut allores! She used Food for Thought, who happens to be my favorite caterer - they did an all custom French-Vietnamese menu for my wedding two years ago, and people still comment about how memorable and wonderful the food was...Or maybe I just like reminding them. Nonetheless, hubba hubba. Last night, they served a ginger sesame ceviche in particular that I'm going to try to get the recipe for because it stopped me dead in my peep-toe pumps. I think the bride and I actually spent 10 minutes talking about it.

So we celebrated with great food, terrific wines, a full bar...and I'm up this early why? The hangover. Alcohol is a stimulant after it metabolizes, after all. Which in my case is usually 5:00 a.m.-ish. Yawn. Blink.

For morning-after recovery, breakfast can be a great help once I'm done chugging electrolytes to rehydrate. Is it wrong to want Panettone French Toast with Rum when you're hungover? I'm no believer in hair-of-the-dog remedies. The alcohol burns off, does it not?...I'm going to give it the thumbs up, except that I don't have any panettone at the moment, so I'll just use raisin bread instead. As an extra precaution, I'll make smoothies too. All those antioxidants and fruit juices should undo plenty of damage.

Easiest Smoothie Recipe Ever

1 cup frozen fruit (peaches with either berries or mangoes are great)
1 1/2 cups soy milk
1 heaping tbsp almond or peanut butter
drizzle honey

Blitz until totally smooth and frothy. If you don't live in Chicago in the dead of winter and/or you have fresh fruit you prefer to use instead, you'll need to add some ice cubes to froth it up.


Panettone French Toast with Rum
(from Bon Appetit)

1 500-gram (approximately 17.5 ounces) panettone
1/2 cup sugar
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
8 large eggs
2 cups milk
2/3 cup dark rum
butter

Preheat oven to 200°F. Cut bread into 1-inch-thick slices. Cut slices into roughly 5x1-inch strips. Combine sugar and cinnamon in small bowl. In shallow bowl, whisk together eggs, milk and rum.

Dip 5 bread strips into egg mixture; let stand 2 minutes. Melt 2 tablespoons butter in large nonstick skillet over medium-low heat. Cook bread until golden brown and firm touch, about 4 minutes on each side. Sprinkle 2 tablespoons cinnamon sugar over French toast, turning to coat on all sides. Cook until sugar melts, turning once, about 2 minutes. Transfer French toast to baking sheet; keep warm in oven. Repeat with remaining bread, egg mixture, butter and cinnamon sugar in 3 more batches. Transfer French toast to plates.

Ok, now my husband really needs to get up...

Stalking the Bouchee: Part Deux

Inspired by her will to blog, Dar returned yesterday to stalking the bouche...which turns out to be a bouchee, a "mouthful" that's typically wrapped puff pastry. Put that in your French notebook. This version however skips pastry in lieu of pure coconut chocolate ecstasy.

Ok, so I just saw that I made your blog, my dear Emi, so I decided I had to brave the weather and venture out for the coconut bouchee (turns out it is spelled with a double “e”) at La Maison du Chocolat. Sometimes the very tip of Manhattan does a very good impersonation of Chicago (we have high winds and pelting sleet at the moment). But, chocolate calls.

So, luckily they had just got some of the coconut bouchees in. It rang up at $7.04 with tax. As I was fishing four pennies out of my wallet, the French shopkeeper asked me if I wanted a bag (which was his way of saying: “we both know you’re going to devour that the moment you get back to your desk, so let’s skip the formalities, shall we?”) I couldn’t agree more.

As I understand it, the bouchee is the French equivalent of a candy bar—this was a triangle about the size of my palm and a half inch thick (yes, my ruler made an appearance). It really is all about the fresh coconut—loads of it tightly packed and covered in bittersweet chocolate. I didn’t really see or taste the white chocolate and vanilla ganache—but I’m sure they were hiding there against the white coconut, tempering the bittersweet chocolate. And, oh, that chocolate—it’s the best part. Needless to say, I will be going back (I may even brave the Rockefeller location since it has a café. And, Em, it’s also conveniently located near the Japanese pastry
place…hint, hint.)

She is a natural, oui?

Return to the Elusive Violet Hour...or Not

Last night, an hour before our 9 p.m. reservations around the corner at Spring, we tried our luck again at getting into the Violet Hour. As our cab arrived, I felt sure we would finally breeze right in....until I saw the line. It was even longer than last time, and we were an hour and a half earlier.

The only thing breezing anyplace was the 20 degree chill right up my dress. Even so, we summoned our Chicago grit and joined the other hopefuls waiting to get in. (By the way, jeans and parkas, everyone? On Valentine's? Isn't winter dismal enough?) A conviction that lasted all of ten minutes when we realized the line was moving nowhere. Doesn't Spring have a bar? Sure it does.

Brilliant decision. The maitre d' at Spring welcomed us warmly. When we told him our cocktail hour issue, he grinned. "Well, you're in luck. Because the guy who does their drinks, did our cocktail list." I'm assuming "the guy" in question is Toby Malone, but I didn't really pause to confirm because my husband and I basically galloped full-throttle toward the bar.

And thus began our gorgeously impressive evening at Spring. The drinks? Amazing. We began boldly with their Sazerac, which seems to be the Aaron Eckhart of cocktails lately - all of a sudden everywhere. Theirs skips the cognac. Instead, it blends whiskey, bitters, and absinthe with a twist of orange. I tend to liken the food and drink I love with sex... so drinking this was about like making out with an exceptionally suave gentleman who has a fierce five-o'clock shadow and a formidable arsenal of moves. But you'll have to draw your own conclusions.

After that, we tried the Michel Arnould Brut Rose Champagne...which is like a big beautiful, toasty rose kiss, followed by a knife-edge clean finish.

Here's to Spring.

Stalking the Bouche in NYC

How great is it when you find a friend who lusts for food and wine as much, and sometimes even in the same ways, as you? It's a case of two of life's great joys combining together. So wonderful.

My fabulous friend Dar lives in Brooklyn. She once called to leave a message on my home voice mail simply because she was eating Japanese pastry. I get choked up just thinking about it. She's been emailing me about my blog posts lately, and this paragraph she wrote nearly made me weep with longing to be in NYC with her:

Anyway, I just went to a relatively newly opened branch near work of La Maison du Chocolat. I was trying to get my hot little hands on this thing called a bouche — they have different kinds — the one I wanted was made of bittersweet chocolate filled with fresh coconut, which is embedded in a white chocolate and vanilla ganache. They were out. But, I got a champagne/cognac truffle. It was good, but a bit too cognac-y. I’ll keep you posted on the bouche. I think this place may be my new destination for a chocolate fix.

What I love is that it sounds like she's casing the place....which is totally what I would be doing. Needless to say, I feel a need to get intimate with this coconut-white-chocolate bouche business. Dar and I will keep you posted.

Nigella Complex

I've been stuck at home with a cold for the past two days. Aside from cleaning out all the cabinets in my kitchen, home office, and bathroom, I've watched about three hours of Nigella Lawson's Express series on YouTube. I don't watch the Food Network or much else on TV, but I had seen her on Oprah and knew I liked her. But after seeing this, holy hell, I think she's fantastic. Ahhh...that we could all be a famous, triple-threat kitchen bombshell with a charm-your-pants-off accent.

The recipe I'm lusting to try as soon as my sinuses give me back my tastebuds: Caramel Croissant Pudding. As in a croissant bread pudding. With caramel. All warm, and gloppy, and sweetly delicious.

Did I mention I adore her?

Ecstasy at MOMA of the Non-Art Variety

When I think back over the past few months, the holidays included, there's one meal that keeps haunting my memory. I co-hosted a group of people in New York on an art tour in October, and we ate well. Very well. But it's always the surprise-and-delight factor when I'm traveling that ingrains a food experience in my memory. The one on this trip happened to occur in the Museum of Modern Art's Cafe 2, where our group of 25 was served a dozen or so small-plate items.

The one among them that I'm still swooning over was a simple cranberry, brie, and walnut panini. How could this be so good? The cranberry was in the form of a sweetened sauce. The walnuts were chopped coarsely and there weren't too many to overpower it. The brie, was melted. Gooey. Oh God. The bread was pressed and toasty, with the whole shebang sliced and served in long, elegant slices - each roughly the size of a large biscotti. How good were they? I skipped dessert to have more.

I. Skipped. Dessert.

That's serious.

I've been resisting urge to buy a panini press after coming to terms with the limited space in my cupboards. But like I said. You don't argue with the food gods.

My Birthday Tiramisu Trifle

My handsome, wizened husband celebrated his 40th birthday last spring, which we marked with a lavish private dinner with friends and family at the exceptional NoMi. It was a big, glittering, memorable night... And so was the check. So when my birthday rolled around a few weeks later, I decided to invite our peeps over for a mellow tapas take-out party at home. It wouldn't break the bank and I still wouldn't have to lift a finger. Except for one critical element: the cake. This, I figured, was the perfect chance to make the birthday confection of my dreams.

Funny thing. When I thought about my ultimate mid-thirties birthday cake fantasy, just one word kept calling: TIRAMISU. Trifle style. Flavored with orange. Ok, that's seven words, and it isn't even a cake. But inspiration takes artistic license sometimes. You don't argue with the food gods.

So here it is. My multi-layered birthday opus that requires no actual baking, and you make it a day ahead. It drew a few gasps on the first bite. And not all of them were even from me.


Tiramisu Trifle with Orange

1 1/2 cups coffee - divided
6 egg yolks at room temperature
1/4 cup sugar
1/2 cup Cointreau (you can use brandy or another liqueur) - divided
17 oz. mascarpone cheese
30 ladyfingers
semisweet chocolate square or chocolate leaves
confectioner's sugar

Whisk the yolks and sugar with an electric mixer, using the whisk attachment, on high for five minutes until they get thick and yellow. Lower to medium speed, and add a 1/4 cup of the Cointreau, 1/4 cup of coffee, and all the mascarpone. Mix until the texture is smooth and heavenly.

Combine the rest of the Cointreau and the 1 1/4 cup coffee in a shallow bowl. Dip 1 side of each ladyfinger in the liquid and line the bottom of a tall glass bowl with them. Pour a layer of the cream mix on top and spread evenly. Repeat, alternating cookies with the cream mixture until you have 4-6 layers, depending on the diameter of your bowl.

Cover tightly with plastic wrap and refrigerate for about 8 hours. Before serving, decorate with chocolate leaves or sprinkle with shaved chocolate (heavily) and confectioner's sugar (lightly) on top.

Birthday candles optional. Champagne or sparkling Moscato is pretty much mandatory though.