Pretty good. Pretty pretty good.

I grew up in a family of meaters, and most of them still eat meat. But I have to say, they really do accomodate my special needs!

Awww shucks, fam. You're the best. I've got it pretty preeeeeeeeeeetty good.

Mangia!

I like Mangia. It's good for drinks, it's good for a night out, it's good for HOT JAZZ, it's good for debauchery, it's good for red wine, it's good for good times, it's good for being hip and seen, it's good for being intimate and private, it's good for pasta, it's good for salad, it's good for dessert. Evidently, it's also good for 20-somethings to get smashed and yak all over the bathroom, but I don't take that as a reflection of the eats.

No indeed, I ate there for dinner a few days ago and it was fantastic.

For starters, I had a salad. The menu, I have to say, blew my mind: 9 salads to choose from. I mean, now that's options! There were salads with tomatoes, salads with figs, salads with bleu, and others, too. But the one that stood out to me was the Honey Artichoke Salad.

First off, it was a healthy bed of greens. I get tired of "salads" that are just a snippet of this and some of that and a few twigs of frisee. I mean, I want to get my greens in for the day. But brace yourselves, folks, because I ate some olives, too! There were a bunch of warm artichoke hearts on the top, and they must have been tossed in a honey vinaigrette, because they were really sweet and viniagry. And there were also a lot of sweet red peppers; they must have been honeyed too, because they were super sweet. But lurking underneath were slices of kalamata olives--whoa baby! And I ate them! Somehow, the salty was really nice with the sweet of the other veggies. Crazy, right. Yah. Nuts. You can count on Mangia for getting you to eat (hence, mangia, haha. sorry. that was terrible).

Then I had the porcini tagliatelle. It's mostly house-made mushroom noodles with a sundried tomato cream sauce on top. But I needed to get my other veggies for the day, so I asked the chef to toss in whatever they had in the back. Whoa.

Fresh spinach, sugar snap peas, and delicious little slices of mushrooms that almost competed with the ones I feel for at Stellina. I don't know what these pasta chefs do to their mushrooms, but it's fantastic!

Ok so I mostly ate out the veggies and left the creamy noodles, but yum anyway. Let's mangia!

Simple pleasures

So I was sitting in my office today, eating my apple and banana, when one of my students popped in and brought me a slice of pineapple Domino's Pizza... awwww! It almost makes working worthwhile! I spied a little piece of pepperoni on it, but don't worry, I picked it off.

It all depends on whether it's TIME for tea or not...

Ok so I don’t know everything.

I’m in Chicago, and I see this restaurant, one that I’ve passed by ONE MILLION times on the way to the Art Institute, and a little voice in my head whispers, “Russian tea room… Russian tea room… russiantearoom… RUSSIANTEAROOM!!!!! You've always wanted to go to the RUSSIAN TEA ROOM!!”

And I say, “huh. Let’s go to that Russian Tea Room restaurant."

And so we did.

It looked a little funny inside, but whatever, right? It’s the Russian Tea Room!!! So I check out the menu and wow, the food looks freaking amazing! It’s a vegetarian Russian bonanza!!! Vegetarian borscht (whoah!) and puff pockets stuffed with sweet and savory fillings and they even have a vegetarian tasting menu--sweet potato, people, this place is amazing! I’m having a ball. The waitress, who is undoubtedly Russian-born, even if she hasn't got an accent, I swear is practically doing a folk dance in the corner. This place is a little slice of Eastern European heaven!

We start with the classic Russian Tea (it's tea time after all), which is a Ceylon infused with black currants... Ok so I don't drink caffeine, and they don't tell me how strong this stuff is. I down several glasses (I mean they even have these cute little tea mugs and brown sugar cubes! This place is made for me!!) and I am flying. Crazy. Everything starts moving faster and therefore it's even awesomer and Russianer. Seriously.

First, the brown bread comes out. It is so brown—seriously, it’s fantastic. It’s heavy and nutty and browny and goodness. It's like straight out of the Russian countryside or something.

Then we order the asparagus vareniky, which are dough pockets stuffed with asparagus, feta, and red pepper, and are drizzled with a lemon basil sauce. Wow. You can never go wrong with an asparagus/feta combo, but when you add in some Russian, it's even more fantastik. Look at me with my spelling!

I think about calling myself Megolekavitch, just for fun.

Then we get the pumpkin piroshki, which are pastry puffs filled with pumpkin and cinnamon and onions. Holy pumpkin, this place rocks. We're in a Russian Oasis. I mean, the people that work there don't really look Russian... and the music is kind of, well, KHits 96, and it seems like all the customers are from small town Missouri wearing their pedal pushers and socks with sandals? I dunno. Whatever. Because the borscht came next.


Red beets, cabbage, tomatoes, onions, carrots, potatoes, and not even any chicken stock slipped in (I asked!)... it was life altering. I vowed to go to Russia, even though I figured I had just experienced it first hand, pretty much.

I mean, wow.

It shifted my world-view.

That is, until I'm recounting this tale to a friend, and friend kindly points out that the Russian Tea Room is in NEW YORK CITY.

Uh..... wha? huh? I mean, I was there! I ate borscht! Hot, Ukranian Borscht! At Russian Tea... Time! Oh shit! I was at the wrong place! I was tricked! Had! Tom Fooled!

Needless to say, when I came down of my Russian tea high--if it was even Russian--I was sorely disappointed.

But I got a little surprise when I was in New York recently!

Staying with best friend and she wakes me up early and says we have to get up and get on the train! There's a surprise!!! Woot!

She won't tell me what it is or give me hints, she only let's on that we can't wear jeans and we can't be late for a reservation...

So we walk and walk and train and train and walk and walk and and train and train and walk and turn a corner...

and you know what was there?! The Russian Tea Room! In all its authentic glory!!! We've got an 11am date for brunch!

So we go in and wow. What a difference. First, this place is gold. and clean. and is that a Russian accent I detect coming from the hostess? and those are what? authentic, original Marc Chagall oils on the wall?

Well, we set to work checking out the menu. The menu is golden embellished, people. I've never seen such a nice menu.

Well as it turns out, brunch in the authentic Russia is kind of more like brunch in the authentic US... but if there's one thing I know about Russians, they ain't foolin'. OK so eggs Florentine are a little closer to Italy than the Ukraine, but nevertheless, they were touched by the hand of goodness. And the brown bread was a whole grain bread! It was so delicious! I heart it, even with butter. And though I couldn't eat the borscht, because it was a beef borscht, friend quite enjoyed it. And what I got, apparently the hottest thing in today's Russia, is a pumpkin granola dish. Oh my. It was enough to make you exclaim in joy! It was cooked pumpkin and squash, smashed and very buttery, warmed up to the perfect temperature, then topped with piles of homemade oats and granola and raisins. and cinnamon It was to die for.


Somehow it was both sweet and buttery and savory and crunchy and creamy all at once. It was a little confusing to the palate, I have to admit; but the kind of confusion that is like falling in love. The floating and the falling and the explosions all at once.

And the tea, at the Russian Tea ROOM, was mind-blowing. Not in the overly-caffeined way, like the black currant freak out I had in Chicago, but kind of earthy and Russian countryside (but for real this time) and fruity. As mixins, you get not only sugar, but also sugary cherries to pop! Sweet Tea this stuff was good!

Finally, after finishing brunch, ticking "go to the Russian Tea ROOM" off my life's list of to-dos, the Russian manager took us on a tour of the 4-storey restaurant. The basement boasts a stunning Fabergé egg collection. The first floor, the restaurant part, is styled in a lovely red and golden decor. But then the top floors are what really get your attention. Yes the are beautifully gilded and mosaiced and decorated, but also there's this guy: a 15-foot tall glass bear filled with live goldfish. Wow. Nuts.


So in the end, what's the difference? Well for one, RTR is the real deal. I mean, this place is faaancy, and the food is amazing, and the people are so friendly you can't believe it. RTT, on the other hand, has more vegetarian options, but the patrons are tourists on their way to Michigan Ave. They, like me, probably think they're at the Russian Tea Room, but they are not, folks. And do you know why? Because that's in New York City.

The truth of the matter

Someone just sent me this Ecard...

When in Spain....

Ok I wasn't in Spain. I wasn't even in an authentic Latin restaurant. No, I was just meeting lawyer friend in Clayton, at BARcelona, where other lawyer-types wear tight jeans and look rich. (They capitalize BAR to let you know that they serve booze, too.) But what else they do is partake of rich, fatty, delicious, greasy foods. That's just what you do in Barcelona.

It was happy hour at this young professional meat market, so sangria was on special. But it tasted like 7up with cheap box wine to me, so I skipped it and went straight for the Rioja. Dang, though, a good Spanish red is taaasty!

Now BARcelona offers some healthier options (translate, more veggie, less fat), like spinach with lemon and tomatoes or saffron cauliflower with pine nuts, and both are mighty fine, but I thought, "screw it. I'm about to enter into this profession, so I might as well let 'er rip tonight..." So I just went for it. I know, right? I won't eat fries, but I'll eat a churro... so sue me.

I did the "salad" to take a stab at healthy, but the truth was, it was a cheese/ranch dressing fest. But what can I say? It was kinda yummy! Manchego = yay!

For dinner, esquire and I split the grilled asparagus and the empanadas. Let me tell you a little story about empanadas: these babies are filled with mushrooms, spinach, cheese, and goodness. They are steaming hot, first off, and just out of the fryer. Not usually a draw for me, but it makes the pastry so perfectly crispy and chewy all at once, it's worth it. The sauce is a cumin-garlic aioli. I'm not sure what makes it orange (tomato?), but it's flipping amazing. It's creamy and spicy and sweet and tangy. Those alone make you want to weep. Ok so maybe I'm fry-deprived, never allowing myself to partake; and maybe if I joined my coworkers on fry day once in a while, these little pockets wouldn't have been able to have their way with me so easily. But they did! And I loved it!

But what made the whole meal a shining moment in my history of food consumption, however, was really back to my true nature: the asparagus. There is something beautiful that happens when you grill asparagus. I mean, you can never go wrong with asparagus anyway. But grilled, it gets slightly charred, soft on one side, crunchy on the other, slightly carcinogenic, very tasty, and it kicks it up a serious notch. To top it with a rich tomato sauce, both sweet and savory, and garnish with manchego though, my friends, is just divine.

Then the finale: churros. I haven't seen these since my college cafeteria days. Once a month was "churro day" and big buckets would be put out by the cash registers filled with all flavors of churros. Well dinner friend wanted them, so I obliged. I mean, I'm easy, right? (I really should check the website for the nutritional value of these suckers...)


Anyway, they were caramel and strawberry filled. Wow. The cinnamon alone is enough to make my heart swell (and the grease to make my arteries swell...) but the fruit flavor was incredible. I have abeen a die-hard chocolate/cinnamon pop-tart fan; you couldn't have forced a strawberry pop tart on me for any reason when I was a kid. But now I see the light! There is beauty in fruit-filled desserts! Ok and they were smothered in chocolate sauce, but the fruit + chocolate sauce was, just, wow.

So I neither got charmed nor severely repelled by the lawyer types at BARcelona. No one ever likes a meat-market, and I'm especially sensitive to them being a feminist and a vegetarian, but if I had to go out, and I had to be with those types, and I had to have tapas, and I had to be in Clayton, and I had to eat fried food, I guess there's no other place than this little corner of Spain... or maybe I'm just secretly in love with fatty foods. Dang.

A Vegetarian Assault

Someone slipped me a mickey at work….

Ok well it wasn't a drug, but it was still enough to stun. Plus I thought about vomiting. If only in protest.

This lady I work with is a little, well, hm… Anyway, that’s beside the point. What happened is that we were having our monthly pot luck. Everyone knows I am a vegetarian; it’s a novelty around here. They treat me like an albino or a bearded lady. They like to look and talk about me when I’m standing in front of them, as if I don’t hear it. Sometimes they like to touch.

So when pot lucks come around, there’s always talk of my food choices and what I will and won’t eat. And the truth is, I kind of use it to my advantage; I mean, I can eat fruit salad, of course, but when I know it’s bathed in jell-o or miracle whip or sugar or who knows what, I’d rather not. So I just say, “oh I’m sorry! I can’t eat that. I’ll just munch on this banana I brought from home.”

So it’s our Mardi Gras-themed lunch meeting pot luck and I wait until most of the crowd has gone through the line before joining them. This gives me a little more freedom to pick out what I can eat without someone getting their feelings hurt that I skipped their Schnucks trans-fats cake or their mini-Ritz-cracker pizzas.

But I digress. Here’s how the incident went:

Co-worker: “Hey Meghan, I made this awesome broccoli slaw! You’ll love it! I made it just for you!
Meg: “Oh YUM! It’s vegetarian, right?”
CW: “YUP! Just some, you know, broccoli and stuff.”
M: eating.
M: eating.
Pause.
CW: “You know what’s in there? CHICKEN! Ha ha! I used a pack of chicken-flavored Ramen noodles for the spices! I didn’t tell you because I know you wouldn’t eat it then! Ha ha!”
M: “OH MY! No, I’m sorry, I can’t eat this. I don’t eat meat. Any meat. Ever.”
CW: “But it’s just a powder! You didn’t even know it was in there!”
M: “No, I’m sorry. I can’t. It’s not you, it’s me.” Apology apology, etc. and so on.
CW: feelings hurt.

Wait, did you catch that? Feelings hurt.

COME ON!

…it wasn’t until hours later that I realized she’d planned the whole trickery! The NERVE!

I’m now just awaiting my moment to slip some saturated fatty bacon onto her burger… wait that won’t work. OK then some cholesterol-laden butter onto her bread. Grr… no… Um maybe some aspartame-filled Sweet n’ Low into her tea? Oh well. There is no retaliation possible. I’ll just have to become a vegetarian martyr, having taken one for the team! But another thing occurs to me... since when are Ramen Noodles a spice? Oh what is this world coming too? Screw it! Forget everything! I'm goin' to macdonald!

If it looks like a dog and smells like a dog…

Best friend from New York had a hot dog birthday party. I figured I’d eat before I went. I mean, what are the chances that a hot dog stand has tofu dawgs? And I had to be there—I’d traveled hundreds of miles to celebrate the big milestone that is, well, 31. And remember, I’m easy.

Well we get to the joint, Murray’s Dogs, and everyone is gathered. They’re ordering chili dogs and double dogs and baseball park dogs and dogs on a stick. I dunno. Whatever dog people do with their dogs, they were doing it—kraut, mustard, onions, etc. But this Murray, he’s something else! He not only offered a tofu dawg on the menu, but also a “marinated carrot.”

I said, “Sweet! They don’t even force fake meat products on us near-vegans when we’re at a hot dog stand!!! I love New York! Everything’s better in New York! New York New York New York New York!”

So I order the “Sophie” which is the marinated carrot on housebaked whole wheat challah roll with cheddar cheese and avocado. Wow. This is some hot dog stand! (see refrain above: I love New York, etc. and so on.)

I get my dawg, excited to be honored by this creative workaround, but also secretly relieved that I’m not adding one more reason for these carnivorous chic New Yorkers to look strangely at the corn-fed Midwestern “bestest friend” of the birthday girl. I mean, a girl can only take so much. I looked like I was eating a dog, so that took a load off.

And I take a bite. Wow. Huh? What is this thing again? It tastes…. hm. It tastes… It tastes…. hm. It tastes…. what is that flavor? I ask Murray. His wife came up with the marinade: hot dog spices.

So they took a carrot, left it full and intact in all its dog-shaped glory, and soaked it in whatever it is that makes stuffed intestines taste like they do.

Oh my.

I didn’t finish my dawg because it kind of creeped me out. I love the idea of using veggies rather than fake meat products to make a hot dog, but I don’t know; something about the words “casing” and “curing” just kind of make my skin crawl. The New Yorkers, as it turned out, found the giant carrot to be a novelty, and thought it was great fun to taste a hot-dog flavored carrot!!!

I high-five Murray for his creative genius, fo sho. But seriously, that shit is weird!!!

Blind Date with Organic Pasta House

I had a blind date with an organic pasta house yesterday. I had caught glimpses of it before, but it was elusive; a southside haunt that I just hadn't ventured into yet: Stellina. It's an odd place; it's hard to pin down. That's one reason I've never embraced it before. It looks and feels like a coffee shop, but the food is faaaan-cy! [note--these photos are swiped from their website...]









Unsure of what I was in for, I didn't actually order their pasta. I played it safe with a salad; it was lunch, after all, and I had a long afternoon of work ahead of me. And the gym. And a night out. I just wasn't in a place in my life where I could handle a big lump of heavy food in my belly.

First things first, though: Oh holy hummus. This stuff was pretty darn good. I haven't decided how committed I am to it yet, but I'd put it in my top 5, up there with the former Blackberry and the Hummus Place in NYC. It was creamy, first off. I can't figure out how they make hummus creamy; I've blended, added oil, added water, gone light on the tahini, but I dunno. This stuff was good. But what makes or breaks a hummus, I've realized, is the accompanying bread. This place offered the standard pita, but it was toasted on a panini grill, so those nice little ridges were there. Plus it was salty. And then on the side was a pile of olives. My fellow lunchers teased me about not partaking, but I snagged a few roasted red peppers and that was taaaaaaasty!!!The house salad didn't have a hard time winning me over; it had me at "beets." Here's what's in it:

Mixed greens, beets, garbanzo beans, feta cheese, red onion, kalamata olives, sunflower seeds, balsamic vinaigrette.

Ok so it doesn't sound mind-blowing, but again, it's lunch, I've never been here before, you know, I'm chill, I'm playing it cool. But dang, it was good! Dressing was light, definitely balsamicy, but not too salty or tart. Not too over-
whelming. It's been a long time sincce I put seeds or beans in my salad, so that was a fun addition. But the best part, the best part, the part that intrigued me from first glance at the menu, were those little roasted beets. They were dark red and the perfect texture and surprisingly, they tasted like vanilla. I don't know if that was on purpose or just the stars aligning, but wow. But I'm getting off on a tangent.

The real story is the pasta. Again, like I said, I didn't order it. I don't even remember everything that was in it, and I can't look it up because it was a daily special. I don't even think I took a picture of it! But I did steal glances; I did surreptitiously ogle it from afar. I did feel a fluttering. And I did, yes I did get to try my neighbor's and sweet jesus, this stuff was good. It was a whole wheat house-made pasta with hidden gems of fresh mozzarella, just barely melty, and asparagus that was probably roasted or maybe sauteed, and the kicker: shitakes. These were magical mushrooms. They were most certainly the aphrodisiac of the dish, as their wooing was relentless after just one taste. They lingered on for a long while.

So needless to say, I'm intrigued; I'll have to go back. I'd like to try another date with Stellina in a more intimate setting. Perhaps in the evening. Perhaps with a nice glass of wine... this time with the freedom to really explore its personality and charm. I mean, I already know we share beets, mushrooms, and hummus in common; now we just have to see what the future holds for us!!! Cheers to my matchmaker!

bar food

I love a bar that loves a good tomato. The Royale has a delicious Italian Caprice salad on the menu--fresh little grape tomatoes, fresh mozzarella, basil, and an amazing balsamic. It's mighty fine. I especially love that my local bar isn't big on bar food. In fact, the owner is polling customers for food requests. I had a few thoughts, in passing. Here they are:

Dear The Royale,

Thank you, as always, for considering the desires of your patrons. I love your food as it is, and I’m not trying to change it. But since you asked, here goes:

Generally, I love to see several veggie sides on menus so that as a vegetarian, I can avoid the cheese pizza/salad dinner. Some of my favorites are beets, sweet potatoes, Brussels sprouts (although I realize these are fall veggies). For the summer months, asparagus, tomatoes, corn, salads, and cucumbers are really nice. But if you wanted to branch out, I always high-five a restaurant that offers a delicious vegetarian entrée option as well!

More specifically, in light of your outdoor grill, here are some thoughts off the top of my head:

1. For a side, what about grilled asparagus (yum!) but instead of merely buttering, you could toss it in a sesame seed / sesame oil sauce? or you could pair it with dried cherries and goat cheese? Wow!

2. Or even the really simple standard grilled portabella mushroom burger? You could serve it on grilled focaccia with fresh tomatoes and lettuce, maybe, and sweet potato fries on the side. Or you could Asian it up by marinating it in some soy sauce, topping it with an Asian slaw made from sprouts, julienned carrots, snap peas, and peanuts, and accompanying it with green beans. Yum!

3. Still taking advantage of the grill, how about grilled pears in a chocolate ganache for dessert? This dish would be seriously hindered by bacon flavor, however, so that’s something to consider when grilling.

4. More grilled stuff: grilled fennel sounds divine, but I have no idea what you’d do with it. Ask your chef!

Other entrée ideas:

5. You can’t go wrong with black beans in the summer. Some sort of black bean and mushroom dish? Like a layered tort or tart or something with beans, mushrooms, sweet potatoes... corn? I dunno! But delish!

And finally, my dear The Royale, as long as you and I are sharing, I have to say that you can never have too many salads.

6. I love the goat cheese salad you offer, and the new caprice is amazing… keep those for sure. But maybe for the summer do you know what would be yummy? A salad with awesome in-season tomatoes and cucumbers and some walnuts and fresh dill and a really light vinaigrette. This may sound dullsville, but if you had a garden out back and grew your own tomatoes and cucumbers and dill, it would be delightful! I promise! Or you could do a salad with figs and buy them at the local Tower Grove Park Farmer’s Market from the Bulgarian fig guy. Holy fig!

7. A different kind of salad could be a green bean salad, tossed with roasted tomatoes, feta, and balsamic vinaigrette. You just can’t go wrong with tomatoes in the summer. Or green beans. Or balsamic. Zoinks!

8. One last thought: What if you took those those lovely raviolis that you make and stuff them with a new flavor for the summer... like chard and apples? or like maybe leeks and pears? I don't know, but I trust in you!

But whatever. You know. It's just food... bwa-hahaha-hahaha-hahaha!

Thanks, The Royale! Call me when dinner's on! :)

I fell in love with my dinner last night.

That’s a bold statement, indeed. But in my lifetime, I have known lots of food. I have loved lots of food. Thankfully, due to the fact that my stomach is made of steel, I have not loved and then lost lots of food. Or if I have, I’ve gotten over it. Eventually. And in all those experiences of loving and knowing and not losing food, I’ve of course tallied many delightful encounters. But this one last night was something special.
I’ve been to this restaurant before: Jimmy’s on the Park. In fact, I frequently lunch there, when I’m not lunching at Schlafly. And last night was just a night; no special occasion, no cause for celebration, no reason to reward good behavior with fancy food, no reason to wear an extra dab of perfume or get a pedicure. Just Sunday dinner with Mom and Dad. Mom didn’t feel like cooking vegetables without butter for me and so we went out. But were we in for it…

First, let’s set the stage for this romance: the weather was absolutely gorgeous—70 degrees and sunny. It had been raining and raining for weeks, and then before that was winter, of course, so this was our first beautiful day. We considered eating outside, but the umbrellas weren’t on the patio tables yet and parents didn’t want to squint. Dad wanted to go home and fetch his table umbrella for their patio table, but the maître d' made a funny face when he said that, so I suggested we eat inside. We were the only people inside, but actually, it was quite nice. Since there was a big crowd on the patio, we still felt like we were in a bustling environment, but instead of it being loud and crowded, it was quite intimate. And the sun was shining right on the table for the duration, so we still got to take advantage of the spring day.

The menu boasted a very impressive looking vegetarian menu item; of course I was intrigued, and of course of course, I was pleased that this restaurant didn’t try to offer me eggplant parmesan. But I didn't order it. Why didn’t I order the impressive and unusual vegetarian menu option you ask? I don’t know. I guess I had not yet been wooed. Plus I felt like a salad and I couldn’t justify an entrée and two sides. Maybe it was the siren song of spinach… But also, I like being a person that subsists solely on sides. I think that says something about me. Hm…. I’m going to have to put philosophizing on my list of to dos for later so I can figure that one out.

Anyway, I ordered one to share and two for me. The one to share was flash-fried spinach. Jimmy’s calls this their specialty, and boy they really do it right! I’ve had it before where it’s kind of dried and crumbly and you don’t know if you’re eating an overfried leaf or potato or just some gunk from the side of the fry bin. But not this one: these were huge, glorious, fresh spinach leaves still intact and bright green and slightly crispy. They tossed them with olive oil, lemon, and parmesan cheese before serving, which made them really tasty. We tore into this plate like you’ve never seen three grown, respectable people do before, and I was grateful that we were alone in the restaurant, because boy, we were on fire!

Then I ordered a salad and gnocchi. Most of the salads they offered were pretty blah, but on the café menu there was a true gem: pear salad. It was arugula and some red and green leaf lettuce, poached pears, candied walnuts, and gorgonzola. Well, I don’t eat blue, so they subbed feta. Perfect. When it arrived, it looked tasty, but whatever, right? Greens, feta, nuts. The same old salad story.
But this was so not bad! So not bad! Not bad at all! In fact, this was a little magic! The lettuce was really nice and fresh and not too cold like it can be sometimes. The nuts were so fresh too, nicely toasted and just barely coated in a little brown sugar/cinnamon/spice glaze; their texture was so light and crispy and not crunchy or chewy at all. But those pears—OHMYGOD. They were dark red like beets and had obviously spent some time in cahoots with a really nice red wine. They were tangy and sweet and peary and tart and, well, winey and delicious. Unlike the lettuce, they were ice cold, which was a really interesting contrast. And it was all tossed in a raspberry vinaigrette, but no too sweet or too strong, just a very subtle red sweetness. I mean, this salad was really looking for love!!

Needless to say, after the spinach and the salad, and after the fresh
bread dipped in house-made herb-infused olive oil, and after the fettuccini sticks coated with cajun spices, and after 2 glasses of a fabulous red zin, I wasn’t really hungry. But gnocchi came a knockin’ and so I answered.

Now, having loved and been heartbroken over some seriously good gnocchi in Chicago, I was wary: I asked the waiter if the gnocchi was vegetarian, if it had any chicken stock in it, if it harbored any secrets at all. I just didn’t think I could take another chicken stock led down. He “was pretty sure it was vegetarian,” but I said, “listen dude; I need you to be fully committed to this.” And he agreed to ask the chef. The chef concurred, so that’s what I picked.

This gnocchi was hand-made with fresh herbs and was topped with a wild mushroom ragout in a cream sauce. Delicious. These mushrooms were so flipping good—they were nice and meaty (but not like olives) (or meat) and wild and forresty and amazing. The surprise twists were these: the gnocchi must have been baked topped with breadcrumbs, because the sides of some of them were nice and breadcrumby and crunchy. Odd surprise, but oh so yummy! And then the plate was garnished with a smoky tomato sauce. It was unlike any tomato sauce I’ve ever had—nice and fresh and tomatoey but the smoky was really interesting; it was maybe chipotle or something? Dunno. Something tall, dark, and handsome anyway…. yum!

So I’m blabbering. Obviously I’m infatuated. My heart is pounding and I feel a fluttering inside. Let me just tell you about the vegetarian menu option that looked so intriguing (Mom actually ordered it!). This thing was some sort of crazy veggie bonanza. Called a veggie stack, it was just that. But the mix of veggies and flavors was so strange and delicious!

First layer was ginger-flavored spaghetti squash. Wow. Then it was topped with an artichoke-heart-potato-rosemary cake that was nice and creamy inside, but seared to a crisp outside. Uh huh! Then the next level was a nice big chunky grilled portabella mushroom that appeared to have been marinated in red wine. For real? Then steamed spinach. Oh my! On the side, grilled asparagus spears—nice and firm but deliciously charred. Come on, now! And all of this was garnished with that same smoky tomato sauce. Yeah Baby!!!!! This was some feat, putting this insanity on one little white plate. It was shockingly good. It almost made me wish I hadn’t gotten just sides…

But parents shared and we all tasted everything. Well, I
didn’t eat the 10oz pork steak or the bacon potatoes that
Dad ordered, but I did taste his yummy side of apple
cider-braised red cabbage. Anyway. Oh my. I think this
is the one. I can feel the stars aligning. It’s most certainly love.

Olive Juice?

No, I do not love olives.

I had a brief affair with them in the mid-nineties, but since then it’s been mostly animosity.

What happened was boyfriend’s Mexican sister-in-law had us over for dinner. She was serving spaghetti, and she called it “puttanesca”; I assumed this was Spanish for “red sauce over noodles.” Yes, there were little green and black floaters, but who am I to judge?

A couple years later, I was shopping for spaghetti at Schnucks and one of the jars was labeled “puttanesca.” I thought: “Hm! There’s that Mexican spaghetti sauce again!” and took it home. I was horrified to discover that the black and green floaters were this time in the shape of olives. And in fact, they were olives. And in fact in fact, it tasted like a$$.

So that was the end of our relationship, and I thought, no need to look back with nostalgia.Until I became a vegetarian foodie.I encountered olives again after years of living olive-free at my first Gourmet Dinner Club. The host had called for “tapenade,” which I thought meant, “bread spread,” and paired it with dry martinis. The olives in the martinis sufficed to distract me from the olive chunks in the spread for a few bites. And actually, the saltiness was pretty darn good. Yes, that flava was sharp, but it was significantly dulled after a few sips of straight gin.

Excited by my foray into the world of gourmet, I elected to serve “tapenade” at my parents’ dinner party. I was horrified to discover that the recipe—the very same recipe—called for not only olives but also anchovies! EEEeeeegads!! Nevertheless, I persevered and made it, convinced that it had tasted amazing and that it would the guests’ and my own socks off. Well, without the 2oz of gin to back it up, this bread spread sucked.

I renewed my commitment to live olive-free.Until my interests in gourmet cooking, ethnic food, and vegetarianism blossomed, and I realized I’m going to have to learn to love those little suckers.
Here’s why:
1. all foodies and gourmets and gourmands eat them
2. they are a vegetable, and therefore, they should be part of my diet
3. I will go to Greece someday
4. one of my favorite cookbooks is called The Olive and the Caper

So, needless to say, with all of this pressure to learn to love olives, I’ve been making an effort to reconcile. About a year ago, one of my favorite Greek salads started coming with black olives. My friend told me that black olives are the gateway olive, so I started there. Rather than scraping them off to the side, I scraped only most of them off to the side, and accidentally ate a few when they got stuck on the fork, and then pretended not to notice. This went on for a good long while.Then I got very bold and began including them on my pizzas. Here’s how it goes:
-crust
-pesto
-bellas sautéed in balsamic
-artichoke hearts
-tomatoes
-sundried tomatoes
-feta cheese
-and…. duh duh duh….. black olives! The little sliced kind that come in a can.

Not bad! The truth is, if you choose to eat them, they are somewhat less offensive. I guess it’s the idea that they are being forced on you or slipped into your meal that makes them feel so sneaky.

With this in mind, I voluntarily attempted a real, solid, whole, green olive in NYC when enjoying a lovely cheese plate. My pals were digging into them with great gusto, so I asked them to point me towards the least offensive, and so began my journey of recovery from being olive-phobic.

I have to say, it was really gross. That little slimy ball was so salty it made my nose hurt; and also, what’s with the texture? It’s practically meaty, and I DON’T EAT MEAT!!!!

So I’m no better than I was before: I hate olives, I hate people who love them, and I hate the country of Greece. But I’m working on it, and someday, maybe not soon, but someday, I’ll feel the little fluttering in my stomach when an olive walks by and the rest will be history.

Eating lunch at work…

I’ve had the pleasure of being off site at a work conference all week, but today I’m back. Sweet! What’s on the menu? Well for me, it’s organic oatmeal, a banana, and an apple.

For my coworkers, it’s French fry day. Mmmmm…. I remember French fries! Once they became Patriot Fries, I quit them altogether; I just don’t do that whole “go-USA-my-patriotism-shows-in-what-I-name-my-food” business. But dang, they smell good. I considered surreptitiously reaching over into their styrofoam boxes to sneak one or two, but I could envision the look of horror on their faces (we’re not that close). So I didn’t. Plus my one co-worker is a serious double-dipper phobic, and I’m sure that foreign hands in her food box is dangerous and threatening.

But OH to be young and free and a French-fry eater! I can’t justify the hardening of my arteries for a few minutes of pleasure. And besides that, hospital food, no matter how cooked, fried, processed, or salted, is wrong. Hmm... maybe that's why. But regardless, it just isn’t natural. When I eat it, it makes my stomach cry out in rebellion, so even if I wanted to cheat my own system of food values, I couldn’t.

Anyway, what ensued, of course, when I showed up with what they no doubt consider to be a ridiculous and offensive lunch, was talk of diets (apples inspire these kinds of conversations) and the ever-looming bikini season. Apparently, Lean Cuisine phylly cheese steak flat bread shandwiches are awesome, and oh-so-low in fat. Eh, whatever.

In retaliation to their little ketchup-filled boxes, though, I ate 3 Hershey’s kisses and drank a Pepsi from the vendy. Wha?! I did!

fav restaurant quits smoking

Thanks, the Royale!

Work conference

The ups and downs of eating at a work conference:

This morning I was pleasantly surprised by the soymilk available at the breakfast buffet. The rest was bins of eggs, bacon, sausage, canadian bacon, bacon potatoes, cheese potatoes, bacon eggs, pigs in a blanket, etc. But on the cereal table, I spied, unmarked, in the corner of the tub of ice holding glass pitchers, a "milk" with a tan hue... hmmm! Soy milk! What are the odds? Now granted, there were no Amy's-whole-grain-and-flaxseed-packed-with-
omegas-and-anti-oxidant cereals, but I can eat sugary raisin bran once in a while! No fresh fruit, but dried banana chips were offered, so that was pretty good too! I was surprised. I don't even eat breakfast, but I partook, if only to indicate to the hotel that the soy milk was a good move.

Lunch, on the other hand: it was dog day at the conference (i.e. hotdogs, bratwurst, knoxville, whatever else comes in tubes of intestinal flesh). (And no vegan dogs!) Piles upon piles of dog-shaped meat food. Oh, and some hamburgers for good measure. There were 3 "salads," an egg, a pasta, and some sort of slaw. The egg was terrifying: it looked like reconstituted powdered eggs. And the pasta salad and cole slaw were clearly bathed in miracle whip. I took some so my plate wouldn't be filled with only what I knew I'd eat: tomato and lettuce. There was no salad dressing or oil and vinegar because it wasn't a salad (or a "salad"); rather, these were slices for the burger buns. But whatever, a lettuce is a lettuce, so I stacked them up and ate them dry! Surprisingly, the lady next to me leaned over and said, "are you vegetarian, too?" But she was from Colorado, so that makes more sense. The rest of the conference goers are from Texas, and they like their dogs!!!

Today, I'll eat a banana before I go just so I can have something to protect me from the mayonnaises of this world; I do appreciate the gesture of soy milk though! Go Hyatt!