peachy keen: dinner at má pêche

paris postcard: popelini

popelini is a necessary stop for anyone with...with...with...

oh, it's just necessary.

this tiny little shop in the marais sells only one treat, a cream puff, but there are several pastry cream flavors to choose from (on the day i stopped in: chocolate, bailey's irish cream, rose, praline, vanilla, pistachio, and citron).

they are petite, but bombed up with fresh, silky cream -- it fills the mouth--and each has a little fondant "beret."

because the pastry and cream are so fresh, enjoy them on the spot (or in the park...or bring a few back to your hotel room, i promise they'll hold hold up well even after a couple of days in the fridge). but sadly they wouldn't survive a trip overseas.

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all photos @ anita aguilar

wimbledon specials

it is monster/magic/mad monday at wimbledon, probably the most intense day of the fortnight. we'll have the highest potential for greatness and upsets: both williams sisters in action, and the blonde bombshells (azarenka, sharapova, wozniacki, lisicki, kvitova), plus the wild ms marion, the top 4 men, and a "deliciano"...

i want to watch them all of course--it's a good day for playing hooky.

but the only match i really care about is nadal/del potro--i'll have to set the dvr and listen live to radio wimbledon while i'm at the office. i'd like to think i'll watch the recording of all the day's matches later tonight, but then there will be more tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. there will not be enough evening hours to catch up.

but i don't mind relying on the radio commentary (alternately serious and clever, but always smart and fun. gigi salmon is my girl crush!) and of course, on steve. he's running a new feature called "keeping tabs"--a daily look at all the crazy, cheeky headlines (and some interesting tennis news bytes) from the UK. i love to make that my first read of the day with the first coffee of the day, though it's just as fun in the afternoon and evening...

oh, and then he writes more and more...even on his day off.

here at home, i have been trying to celebrate the slam by taking advantage of some of the restaurant partnerships, sponsored by HSBC, at places like tea and sympathy.

when i dined there last week, the "andy murray chicken curry" was sold out. everyone on the bandwagon even here, i guess.

our waitress tried to hard sell the "sampras sussex chicken," but it sounded like a feast that could put me to sleep sitting upright (not unlike sampras' game). i opted for the traditional (that's the wimby spirit, isn't it?) : stilton/apple/walnut salad, bangers and mash, and the celebrated eaton mess: meringue, cream and mixed berries.

the eton mess is not on the regular menu as the meringue is a little challenging to make, especially in the humidity of the ny summer. indeed they didn't quite make or store this dish properly--parts of the meringue were chewy (one could mistake it for stale, even).

but i was in too good a mood to quibble about that. it was the thought--wimbledon specials--that counted.

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tea and sympathy is at 108-110 greenwich avenue (intersected by jane street! in ny's west village)

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all photos © anita aguilar

paris postcard: maracon wars (it's on)

2 chocolat + 1 vanille from patisserie thevenin

in the 14th arrondissement

photo © anita aguilar

food porn

the dallas burger @ bobby's burger palace

photo © anita aguilar

homestyle: easter 2011

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balaboosta: "go and see 'em some time..."

the translation is "the perfect housewife," but say the yiddish term "balaboosta" to me (or better yet, "let's go to balaboosta") and the first thing i imagine is that most undomestic of goddesses, mae west, hip-leaning against a door frame, diamonds all down her décolletage, declaring in her best hollywood-by-way-of-brooklyn delivery, "i got ya ba-la-boos-ta right here..."

is my imagination a little wild?

it's nothing compared to the dishes coming out of einat admony's kitchen.

imagine a marriage of the falafel and the meatball. in the wrong hands, it's "feel awful" to the nth power. but at balaboosta, it's a savory bonbon. it's light and a well-proportioned ratio--equal parts grass-fed beef and ground chickpeas. (though perhaps they are smart to offer only three to a plate?) the trio comes to you with a tahini dipping sauce in a deceptively deep bowl. there will be some sauce left over, and you'll be aching for some sort of pita bread to swipe every last lick.

and then imagine grilled pizza, with carrot puree. you might fear the sweetness? in reality, it's not unlike the the sweetness of a tomato sauce, but without the acidity. it's suave, but earthy (like the grilled pizza dough it sits on) with creamy goat cheese to add a spike of salt and the merest tang. caramelized onions are more forwardly sweet, but the right touch.

crispy cauliflower is one of the best good/bad appetizers i've had. it's a deftly deep-fried affair, rendering the thick stalk more like tender meat--or even clean, freshly fried calamari? currants, pine nuts and the zing of citrus dressing give this dish the air of a high-toned salad rather than something possibly, deeply taboo. (it's a small plate, anyway. share it, and enjoy every bite.)

the patatas bravas here are catalan style--served with a garlic aioli. and these potatoes are fierce. don't skip them.

i will order them next time, for sure, along with the crispy cauliflower (take 2), fried olives, "mortar and pestle" hummus, grilled lamb chops (or chicken under a brick), and date-banana bread pudding...

***

here are photos from the first visit:

libby: champagne, fresh pineapple, sage

cassava chips

crispy cauliflower with currants & pine nuts

falafel wrapped meatballs with tahini sauce

patatas bravas with za'atar and roasted garlic aïoli

grilled pizza with carrot purée, caramelized onions, goat cheese & cilantro

***

special thank you to ms. mollie, for the recommendation. and ms. rachel for the company.

extra virgin: the first time

i was still living in the west village when extra virgin opened, but never made it there before packing up and away to the LES and murray hill, and it simply fell off my radar until this weekend when my friend zovig suggested it for brunch. i welcomed her idea in part because i was just so happy that it still lived there. the notion of a basque scramble (pepperonata, creamy polenta, salsa verde, avocado puree, and...chorizo), a smoked salmon and potato tart, or roasted artichoke provençal, cinched the deal.

we were lucky, at 12:30 to snag a window table for two, a high counter, right about the heater (set to HIGH) to warm our toes. the whole scene, overlooking west 4th street and its parade of strollers (with strollers?) was a nice comfort, a way to soothe the readjustment back to WINTER, after a sunny, tease of spring the day before.

(it was also a good opportunity to quick test the 100mm...lots of natural light...)

i opted for the roasted artichoke...

this is maybe a bit too close to appreciate the dish, but i love that you can see the grain of the cheese and the delicacy of the poached egg white...

i love the graceful neck of the artichoke. and the contralto to this heavenly chorus: nice smoky bites of pancetta.

there was one thing missing for me: a few slices of hearty peasant bread to soak up the medley of yolk and cheese bits and dressing (presumably made of extra virgin olive oil). shouldn’t good bread be compuslory at an establishment that purports to offer choice olive oils?

maybe the olive oil was so dipping delicious the night before that there was none left over?

(maybe i get lucky next time.)

christmas in connecticut: the sweetness, part 1

cookies (plenty more where these came from. PLENTY)

flan (peerless)

nutella cups with white chocolate mousse

tiramisu

red velvet cupcakes

carrot cake

coconut cream pie (best ever)

dbgb kitchen and bar: shanghai surprise

imagine a friday night in late fall.
it's about 7:30. you swoop in through the etched glass doors at 299 bowery, happy and hopeful, even though you've not been able to make a reservation for 4.
you take a gander around the anteroom: it's full, but no one's waiting for a table. you're starting to feel lucky.

there are two people behind the dais, dressed in grey or something muted and monochromatic and modern, and they smile calmly as you discuss the no-reservation situation. and, gesturing toward the anteroom, they say, that's absolutely no problem, it'll probably be about thirty to forty minutes, whenever a table is free you can just take it.

and you're relieved, so relieved, because 30-40 minutes is nothing really-- a drink and a half at the fancy bar? you remember previous visits: when the place was newly opened, with hotshot you were dating then. how positively adorable it was to share those leather bar stools-for-two, and burgers and wine and ice cream sundaes. you smile and turn to your sister and your cousins, with your mind mostly on the one visiting from out of town, and as you lead them toward the bar, you regurgitate the news: great, it will be about 30-40 minutes...

and then you start really hearing the rest of what was said...you can just take it.

you're only half-smiling now and your temples are beginning to throb as you process those words. but you kind of don't believe they expect you to snag the table yourself.

by the time you're at the bar-where there is only room for 2 to sit-- you're so flummoxed you can't focus on the cocktail menu. you're assessing the situation: half the diners are mid-meal, the rest have clean, white plates and menus still in hand.

it hits you. damn. this is going to suck.

but you've got to make this work.

you're paying attention to everything and everyone now, except the folks you're with. you notice the bartender is surly and slow. the surly part is contagious. you're observing a party of two families with two strollers--only on their first course and one of the kids is climbing amok. (is that right to say? anyway...) no chance they're out before the hour.

you kick yourself because realize that right in front of you was a circular table for 6 which had, up to that moment, 4 seats available. (you think: did you really want to sit and share that table anyway? the answer is no, but ...what if that was the best chance to eat before 9?) your head is in full turmoil.

thankfully your family has not wasted any time--they've made surly bartender take a food order. tuna crudo, with a harissa-sesame sauce, gets solid nods from all four. they've ordered something else, also good (rillette provencal, maybe? you don't give it much thought--your attention is focused on not just the tables, but the couples and groups that are squeezing up to the bar. the competition.)

finally, close to an hour later, you spy an opportunity. spy being the operative word. you sidle up to a table for 4 occupied by a couple who looked on their way out--and possibly on the outs? you don't listen and you try not to look--you feel bad for hovering over their ennui. this is when you really start to resent the seating policy. you catch the eye of a handsome, neatly dressed young fellow. he's looking to snag the same table for himself and his lady friend. you share an empathetic smile and exchange a few words. he kindly defers, allows you to take the table. you're overly apologetic for an inconvenience that's a function of the cockamamie, lazy set-up. you offer to buy him a drink, because it all feels wrong somehow. but he knows you're not at fault. he seems to appreciate the gesture.

you signal strenuously and impatiently for your 3 dining partners to join you (quickly!) to save you from having to stake any more awkward claims to the table.

the service gets better--once you finally sit (yourself) down, they start acting like they want you to stay. every bite is as good as you remember. it's almost redemptive. the four of you manage to rave about the crisp, salty fries and the clever little burgers and go hog-wild for the desserts.

but as you walk out of the place, and notice now three people behind the dais to wave you on your way out. you wonder what exactly is the point of three being there, if not one will help seat the people without the reservations? the reservations room isn't big at all. and it all comes back to you, the tension and discomfort, and you think to yourself, never again, dbgb kitchen bar.

at least not without a reservation.

***

the piggie: beef patty topped with daisy mays bbq pulled pork, jalapeno mayonnaise, on a cheddar bun with mustard-vinegar slaw, and fries.

the caramel pear napoleon-- this one fades quickly from the memory. the hazelnut biscuit is crunchy, but unremarkable, and the caramel doesn't have the strength to stand out. but if you're in the mood to finish your meal with poached pear and lots of whipped cream, you'll probably enjoy it.

profiteroles with the chocolate cream, coffee ice cream and warm mocha sauce...it's a real showpiece

formerly: the profiteroles, the napoleon, a green apple and honey sundae and (my favorite) the chocolate-peanut sundae. rice krispies, chocolate brownies, caramelized peanuts, chocolate fudge & whipped cream...

happy holiday

it's national cookie day...

thomas keller's chocolate chip cookies

if you're curious how i made these (and if you want to make them, too) visit me here.

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photos © anita aguilar

home style: thanksgiving, 2010

i have always had a tendency to downplay our family thanksgiving celebration.

when i was growing up, the holiday was positively traumatic for one reason: no turkey at our table. we had ham. i used to mope about how un-american it was. (the fact that my family was not american, not by birth anyway, except for me, didn't make a difference. we lived here.)

as our family grew, and my american-born cousins were old enough to collect their loud voices over "the turkey situation," our table started to take on the appearance of something more traditional. turkey is now a standby, next to the prime rib and the pork lechon and the barbeque skewers (yes, my people enjoy bbq skewers all year long). we made room for more dishes with potatoes (even the sweet ones) and green beans and brussels sprouts. we now have pies filled with apples and they sit next to pear tarts and flans and fried bananas (and other weird filipino treats).

but i'm still sometimes guilty of judging this holiday, more than any other, on ideas of what it should be, based on lore, rather celebrating what it is.

for us, thanksgiving is, more often than not, a very full house, a game of musical chairs (the music being the meal). we attack the table in waves, and shift from chair to couch to standing spot, while stories and jokes are told at a loud and fever pitch in two languages (so amid all the laughing, some of us get a little bit lost. we laugh more, anyway). and then eat more.

not sure a thanksgiving gets much better or happier than that.

here are a few photos from this year's good time.

mom's roasted brussels sprouts, with bacon.

or is it mom's bacon with roasted brussels sprouts?

homemade lumpia

lechon

filipino-style bbq

with jason (and a skewer)

does this count as a vegetable?

pancit - my aunt makes this better than any restaurant could

see, we had a turkey (not for long)

grace before the meal

cornbread stuffing--this one might be my new favorite, love the sweetness of the bread

my contribution this year: blum's coffee crunch cake

apple tart

pear tart

yes, this is a purple and orange and white dessert, made of glutinous rice.

you can understand why a kid would think this is the height of weirdness, yes?

turon! fried bananas, drizzled with caramelized sugar

6 cousins and a baby.