Sarcasm bites

Waiting on You-Episode Six

2010-01-27T12:02:00.000-08:00

I left work early with a "headache" on the day I was to meet Mrs. X in person. I hadn't driven all the way to her neck of the woods yet and I sure didn't want to be late for our first meeting. According to online directions it would take me an hour to get there. I arrived in 40 minutes. That put me at about an hour and twenty minutes ahead of schedule. Maybe she would like to meet earlier?

"Good Afternoon. Jardin."

"Hi, this is Marie and I have a meeting with Mrs. X at 4. I arrived much earlier than I anticipated and was wondering if she would like to meet sooner."

"Hello, Marie. Hold on, please." After a minute of elevator music played the woman returned to the line. "We would prefer to keep to the specified time slot. She will see you at 4pm." The woman hung up.

Great. What would I do with myself for roughly an hour on foreign turf? I drove reluctantly and nervously down windy, wooded paths until I came to a more populated area. Civilization! Mini malls! I could waste time here for sure.

One fro-yo and a pair of shoes later I drove back up the windy, wooded paths to Amy's Cafe.

So, when Amy said she had a Cafe she meant rinky-dink Diner. Now I understand the "casual is an understatement" comment, albeit unnecessary.

I walked in and peered past the host stand to look for Annette. No signs of her. I sat down on a bench and waited. Twenty minutes later Annette arrived with a portly old lady. Mrs. X wore a long, tan trench coat, black slacks and orthopedic shoes, large black sunglasses and a silk scarf tied around her snow white hair. Annette introduced us and we walked to a booth. I slowed up to allow them to choose seats first. They sat together. Awkward situation #1 avoided.

We began to talk about my schooling, my current job, and why I wanted a career change. Annette and I requested coffee while Mrs. X asked for Bigelow black tea with jasmine. She was forced to settle for Lipton's.

An hour of quizzing went by and we still only had one cup of caffeine each. Our waitress seemed very annoyed. Mrs. X was oblivious. When I felt I had nothing left to say about myself, or anything in general, I decided to excuse myself. Before I could do so Mrs. X turned to Annette and said, "Should we?" to which Annette replied, "I think so."

Just a Taste-10 Arts

2009-10-04T08:46:00.000-07:00

My 26^th birthday was sort of depressing. A very stressful day of working in the world of corporate catering was topped off by the friendly phone calls of “Happy Birthday, you’re old.” I know it could be worse. I could be turning 27, and I could have parents who didn’t love good food as much as I did. All it took was a mention of the Eric Ripert’s new restaurant, 10 Arts, at the Ritz Carlton in Philadelphia and my father booked "Felix party of 8."

We spent time at the lobby bar in the Rotunda, where the modern light fixtures met old-world marble grandeur. At first sight, it is a bit overwhelming. Sort of like my family. Despite our raucous behavoir, the bartenders handled us like pros handing us one tasty drink after another. The champagne cocktails fizzed on my tongue and set the precedent for what was to come. We were seated precisely at 9 along a banquette in the center section of the restaurant, which is located only a few steps from the bar. I thought the lively bar scene would interfere with dinner conversation, but the large glass partition proved to be enough of a blockade.

Grilled shrimp, heads still intact, laid on zesty quinoa salad. The shrimp was plump and one bite filled my mouth with buttery juices. Next, I savored every drop and kernel of my smoky corn chowder. The silky broth contrasted texturally with the sweet corn kernels. One note, although not a terrible criticism, was that the soup was salty. I think it comes with the chowder territory. Plus, I tend to like my food with more salt.

Now, I usually don’t like to order the same dish as anyone at the table. If someone chooses the dish that interests me, I order another. So I try theirs and I get to enjoy more of the menu. But in the case of the Rabbit Paillard, I discarded this theory. As each of the three orders came to the table my eyes grew wider and wider. I cut in to the thin but still tender piece of rabbit that was lightly breaded and fried. I gathered the arugula and pea salad on the same bite and quickly gobbled it up. Ah, warm breading and crisp greens. Then came the pop of a sweet pea and the tang of the vinaigrette. Luckily, for the rest of the table, my sister and her boyfriend offered up some of their rabbit because mine was quick to disappear.

I guess, to parents, their kids will always be kids who need cake and candles on their birthday. At the opposite end of the table, my mother had conspired with our server. I was borderline mortified when the Chef-de-Cuisine, Jennifer Carroll, strolled into the dining room with a Chocolate Peanut dessert and wished me, “Happy Birthday.” I swallowed down s bite of dessert along with my embarrassment and talked to Chef Carroll for a few minutes. I welcomed her back to her hometown and thanked her for a flawless meal. I didn’t know she left, but I’m glad she’s back and giving us a refined taste of Philly at 10 Arts in the Ritz Carlton.

Waiting On You-Episode Five

2009-09-06T19:35:00.000-07:00

Let's go back in time, shall we? You may be wondering, how did I get this job? Why did I go for the position? How did I hear about the opportunity? Here it goes.

I saw the job posted on my culinary school's job website. At the time I really wanted to get out of my current situation. My boss was sexist and immature and it seemed like a dead end. I had been planning to get into the business of personal chef-dom anyway. I figured with a few years experience cooking at an "estate" how could any layman turn down my services?

I called the number attached to the posting and spoke to Annette. She informed me that she took care of special projects for the X's and that finding them a chef was the last project she had lined up. After a few personal and prodding questions I realized this was the interview process, Phase One.

Phase Two was scheduled at a small coffee shop in Pennsylvania. I was running a few minutes late due to the inconspicuous location and pouring rain. I called Annette's cell phone to let her know. Somehow I still arrived before her. I sat down in a plush, comfy chair in the corner facing the door.

Annette came in dripping wet and dragging a briefcase and two bags. She glanced around and then approached me. "Are you Marie?" she asked as she threw her luggage on the table.

She cracked open the briefcase and whipped out stacks of paper. We talked about me, my culinary education and cooking preferences. She quizzed me about juniper berries, beurre blanc and cherries jubilee. As we talked she made checks and slashes on the pages. This made me very nervous but she said she was very pleased and she thought the X's would be, too.

Our third encounter was to be at "Amy's Cafe" a week later. Mrs. X would be joining us for this one.

When I Googled directions I found out that Amy's Cafe was not a cafe but a diner attached to a Holiday Inn. Annette said Mrs. X wanted me to know, in terms of this place, "casual is an understatement." The unnecessary information came with an eerie condescending attitude that seemed not her own.

Why didn't I take heed of the flaming red flag?

Think Outside the Clock

2009-08-24T14:52:00.000-07:00

Where: Whole Foods

When: 9 a.m.

What: Yuen pulls her first pizza from the firey oven and tosses it into the display window. A customer walks by and I overhear him say, "Who wants cheese pizza at 9 in the morning?" Initially, I had two thoughts. One would lead to the termination of my employment and the other was to simply say, "I do."

Why: does he ask such a question?

Some people are so stuck on meals corresponding to the time of day. Think of it this way: pizza is just bread and cheese and a little sauce. A bagel with cream cheese and jelly is fundamentally the same thing (bread product, cheese product, and a spread made from fruit or vegetable). Has Father Time posted house rules about when certain foods are acceptable for consumption? Guess I missed that memo.

Think of how delicious life could be if meals and menus were not constrained by the position of the sun. You could eat your favorite foods as you pleased. Lots of cooking shows on television create entire episodes about "what a treat" and how "outside-the-box" it is to make breakfast for dinner. They make it seem so abnormal. It's discrimination.

Perhaps it was the creation of the words, "breakfast," "lunch" and "dinner" that time-cast foods. Maybe it is the thought that lighter fare should be eaten earlier in the day to keep you from feeling weighed down and lethargic. Keep in mind, though, this is primarily an American train of thought. True, other residents of Earth use words to describe meal times, but Europeans and Latin Americans usually eat lighter as the day goes on. Also, they enjoy pastries at breakfast and sometimes even a platter of sliced, cured meats and robust cheeses.

And what about all-nighters? Picture this: We are partying. We watch the hands swing to 4 a.m. and decide it's been enough. We also decide that it is time to eat. The typical spread at this time of night (morning) is chicken fingers, cheese fries, pizza, burgers and hoagies. Technically, shouldn't we be eating off the breakfast menu at this hour? Food TV could make another episode out of that.

You see, it's all in our heads. The time has come when we stop placing foods in time slots. If I have a craving for a burger and a beer at 8 a.m. I want to eat it and not be judged. Anything goes on my watch.

Just a Taste-Iron Hill Brewery: Maple Shade, NJ

2009-08-16T17:51:00.000-07:00

At noon I was at a bridal shower where I made great use of the elastic that stretched around the waist of my dress. Shortly after I headed to dinner where I would test its breaking point.

Iron Hill Brewery of West Chester fame has situated its tanks in Maple Shade on a fairly dead stretch of Kings Highway. Hopefully tumbleweeds aren't the only things to blow towards this place. I'd like for it to stick around.

We walked in and I was tempted to sit at the bar, but it was date night, so I figured a booth would be less distracting. However, when I got the menu, I didn't pick my head up for 10 minutes. It was about 6 pages long. Sensory overload.

When in doubt, or when indecisive, I order appetizers. The wings were huge and meaty but not very crispy. The quesadillas had lots of crabmeat but not lots of taste. Voodoo shrimp was very smokey and not many other flavors were discernible. And then there were the sweet potato fries. There is not much else I can say except that these fries made me forget about everything else I ordered. I played through the pain of the cumbersome elastic because I could not stop eating nor dipping. Oh, the dips! Smoked paprika mayonnaise and sweet vanilla burgundy sauces are the best substitutes for ketchup to date.

Although it wasn't as overwhelming as the food menu, the beer menu had too many choices for my inexperienced, and mostly unwilling, beer palate. I opted for the house sampler. Delicious, except for the porter. Too dark for me. The raspberry wheat and the belgian whitbier were my favorites.

This place could be great on a Friday or Saturday night. I'd go a little early, take a tour of the brewery, have a something to eat in the dining room then move to the bar and try the rest of the brews. You can also take beer to go; they bottle it right in front of you. Put it in the trunk so you don't get ahead of yourself on the ride home.

A Spoonful of Burnt Sugar

2009-08-13T13:31:00.001-07:00

Clearly, I'm getting lazy. I should be writing a few blogs a week. I should be experimenting in my home test kitchen everyday. I don't even know what to blame it on. It's not MY fault.

It's not that I can't think of things to write about. It's not that I don't like to write. Right now I should be cooking for a dinner guest. What is it about me? Why do I epitomize "inconvenient" and "procrastination?"

I am always doing things the hard way. I never learn my lesson. If I weren't me and I were someone else, I would know exactly what I would say to me. I would say, "Suck it up. Work harder. Write more often. Get up earlier and go to bed later." But, being me, I wouldn't listen. It's hard to swallow your own medicine.

Perhaps this post will be the lipstick on my mirror reminding me that I should be here everyday, or at least every other day, writing for my people. However few of you there are.

Thanks and stick with me.

Fishes and Loaves

2009-08-06T05:40:00.000-07:00

After writing the last post, "Beggars Can be Choosers," I felt compelled to illustrate exactly how I shop and what I do with what I've purchased.

Times are tough. I'm not only referring to the current economic state of the nation but to my station in life. I am on my own. I no longer have a house full of food furnished by Mom and Dad. There is no magical force stocking my shelves, only the harsh reality of slim pockets. Sometimes I can't buy much. I know anyone in their 20s or 30s who is struggling through this transitional phase can sympathize.

I am not comparing myself to Jesus, but what I am about to show you will mimic the time he fed hundreds with a loaf of bread and a single fish. If this were a tangible exercise you would come to my house, look in my closet and then my refrigerator and think, "There is no way she can make a meal out of this." Don't be so sure. I love making fools out of people, oops, uh, feeding the masses.

Grocery receipt:
1 small red onion
1 bag spinach
1 bag arugula
1 lb. frozen scallops
2 porkchops
1 1/2 lb. ground meat
1 bunch asparagus
1 lb. button mushrooms
2 pieces tilapia
1 can white beans
Kalamata olives

Pantry leftovers:
roasted red peppers, Thai lime dressing, soy sauce, Archer Farms Chipolte Raspberry Honey Mustard, Planter's Deluxe mixed nuts, half-dozen eggs, 2 oranges, Whole Food's 3 cheese blend-shredded, dried cranberries, pistachios

Other necessities:
*These are items I feel everyone should have. You most certainly won't be buying these on each shopping trip. They last a while and are a vital part of your cooking arsenal...

salt, pepper, garlic powder, butter, flour, sugar, garlic cloves, olive oil, canola oil, balsamic vinegar

Here is an overview of what I concocted:
Monday: Berry pistachio porkchops with Balsamic roasted mushrooms
Tuesday: Mediterranean burgers with Sauteed spinach
Wednesday: Scallops in a tangy Raspberry sauce with Orange hazelnut asparagus
Thursday: Thai tilapia with Vegetable saute
Friday: White bean pasta with Arugula salad

Seems impossible? Untrue? I have witnesses. I have well-fed witnesses. For my next trick, I mean post, I will divulge my secrets/recipes. There's a lot of smoke, but no mirrors.

Beggars Can be Choosers

2009-07-29T04:59:00.001-07:00

I work in a high-end grocery store as a prepared foods chef. Working here grants me access to back hallways and other departments store-wide. I know store practices and food safety checks are done regularly, so there is very little time to let things get out-of-control messy and unsanitary. I cannot say this for most other grocery chains that boast cheaper prices. Once you spend so much time in a place you know what to expect and what things should look like when things are done correctly in a similar setting. To most people certain practices seem routine, however once you've been behind the scenes you can see what's off, even if it's by a hair. So maybe their lack of effort is justified by their "great deals." From my personal experiences, dating back to last August when I began shopping for myself, the "great deals" aren't that great if you take the time to investigate pricing and package sizes.

I, too, fell victim to this school of thought. I thought, "I have to go to Shoprite or Acme because Whole Foods is WAY too expensive." With a stigma like "Whole Paycheck" attached to it, it is hard for most people to think otherwise. I do receive a 20% discount as an employee, but I will not consider this in my investigation to be fair. I will lay out the facts pre-discount.

After my shift I usually want to run home, screaming with frustration (see "Walk a Mile in My Crusty Shoes" post), however I have found comparison shopping to be calming, educational, and fullfilling. I clock out, grab a cart and survey the areas. As I walk I am heckled by co-workers, "Yo, moneybags, what are you buying?" I name some feminine product and they blush and run the other way. Mission accomplished and now I can carry on.

I read price per pound, sales signs, and item sizes. Anyone can tell you how bad my memory is, but when it comes to price checking, I'm Rainman. When I find that I can buy organic or at least conventional products from a cleaner more reputable place I feel like I've solved the Rubics cube. And I've proved everyone wrong! Here is some hard evidence: I spend at least $60 every time I walk into Shoprite It never fails. Truthfully all I am buying are things Whole Foods won't sell because they contain unnatural ingredients and preservatives. Things like SmartOnes, Crystal Light, etc. But when I leave Whole Foods I have FOOD; veggies, proteins, bread, diary products, all-natural lunchmeat and I spend the same, if not less, than a typical trip to Shoprite costs me.

It's easy to lose track of what you are shopping for and buy too much or buy things that you don't really need. Here are a few pieces of advice for your future shopping trips:

1-Have patience. It takes time and a few trips to become familiar with item size, prices, and quality. You need to compare all of these things. Save your receipts if you must (apologize to roommates/bfs/gfs in advance. It tends to annoy them). Keep in mind that although something may seem less costly companies do package less in larger containers. Tricksters.

2-Beggars can be choosers. You probably live beyond your means when it comes to clothes, cars, and nights on the town. Why can you be ballin' then but not when it comes to nourishing your body? Choose wisely.

3-Execute a game plan. They always say, "Don't go grocery shopping when you're hungry." I want to add, "Don't go grocery shopping without a list." Make sure you know what you need and what you are going to do with it. This prevents you from adding nonsensical items to your cart.

4-Be flexible. If you see a sale and you like the item and you can think of at least 2 ways to use that item, buy it. Make sure you can find a way to incorporate it into this week's game plan or next week's.

5-Don't feel bad about sloppy seconds. Buy things that you know you like, that you know you can use in more ways than one or that you love so much you will use the same way twice.

I really want to hear your comments on this one. Let me know how it goes and if you need any additional advice.

Happy Shopping and Saving!

Waiting on You-Episode Four

2009-07-24T06:07:00.000-07:00

After my first week and major meltdown it seemed to be a bit smoother sailing. Dare I say as smooth as the Captain sails? No. I should have taken a page from his book and just kept my mouth shut. The rule I always fail to acknowledge was the next to bite me in the ass.

I have heard of the saying, "see no evil, hear no evil." So, does that mean if evil can't see you it can't hear you? Apparently not.

Tuesday, as I was brainstorming about Wednesday's crabcake lunch, Chef #2 stopped by. He was Chef #1 by all means, I was just full-time compared to his part-time schedule. He had been working with the X's for over 4 years, the third longest term anyone has spent with them. They really wanted him on their full-time staff but he ran his own restaurant and he wasn't going to give that up to be tortured day and night for less money. As to not lose them as references, he covered the interim between chefs quitting and also when chefs were granted vacation time.

Mrs. X was at the lunch club in the city this particular day so we walked and talked around the estate. We talked about what the X's liked and didn't like. We covered everything from thyme to tattoos. We stopped at each room, patio, atrium, and conservatory that held parties, lunches, dinners, teas, and cocktail hours. He showed me how she liked everything set up and carried out.

We walked to the basement and passed through the chef's linen closet which housed uniforms and table cloths then back to dry storage for utensils and servingware then we hit the freezer chest. He casually threw open the lid and then gasped. "Does Mrs. X know you have all of this fish frozen in here?" he asked.

"I'm not sure," I said. "Office Manager said it would be best if I purchased a bunch and kept it on hand for any curve ball dinner parties thrown my way."

"Marie, she will have your head if she knows you are serving her frozen fish. You should never freeze fish."

I dropped my head because I knew he was right. I only listened to Office Manager against my better judgment because, at the estate, she was a hall-of-famer compared to me. I could only say, "Mrs. X has no idea. She LOVED the lemon sole I served last night. I had to make a second portion for her."

Even still, Chef #2 advised I get the fish out of there before she conducted one of her routine walk-throughs and found it. I said I would.

FLASH FORWARD-Wednesday's crabcake lunch.

Two minutes later she rang.

I gulped down the bite of my sandwich. I gulped it down hard. Everyone at the table turned their eyes to me. I smiled nervously, pushed my chair from the table, stood up and headed towards certain doom. I knocked on her door and was startled (can we say, 'jumpy?') by her voice coming from the library. "In here, MAHRIE." I entered the library. She was concealed behind the Inquirer. I smiled and asked, "Is there something else I can bring for you Mrs. X?" I glanced at her dish and noticed the crabcake smashed around on the plate with the avocado creme fraiche tossed aside like an unwanted thing. "What is for dessert?" she asked, still buried in her paper.

I began to stutter because I could not concentrate with all the thoughts flopping around in my head. I thought, "Did she hate it?" "Is she serious?" "What dessert do I have?" "It's only 1230pm and she wants dessert?" "What the hell am I going to do?" I blurted out, "Coffee ice cream, chocolate pudding, truffles." Before I embarrassed myself and added, "oreos," she cut me off. "I will have three scoops of coffee ice cream with two truffles. And please remove this from my sight. I would rather not eat thawed, time-capsuled food. We prefer freshness over convenience in this house. Thank you!"

Somehow, while she was 30 miles away in the city the previous day, she heard me. I am terrified at the possible scope of her omnipotence. I didn't speak the rest of the day.

Saved by the Bar

2009-07-13T09:40:00.000-07:00

I was so excited to go to Chifa. I think I browsed the website for 20 minutes just so I could read the menu and hear its theme music. Because it was only a few hours before I desired a reservation, I didn't think we could get in but I scored one online at Opentable.com. I wanted to book for 930pm but as we sat and debated that slot was scooped up right in front of my eyes. OK, 645pm it is.

We were running a little late (we were having too much fun at Dave and Buster's), but they said they would hold the table for 20 minutes. We arrived and I noticed a virtually empty but still noisy dining room. We walked through the blindingly bright upstairs, past the partially enclosed, partially private dining area (for parties, I assume) down narrow and winding steps. I thought maybe we were being led to a sacred, sacrificial ritual chamber, but that would have been paradise compared to where we were actually headed.

It was dark like a dungeon. It was only because of my website stalking that I recognized my surroundings: the bar, the lounge, the interlaced, dark brown, wooden "walls." Initially, I was pleased with our final destination. Much less boisterous and less bright than upstairs, it made me feel like I had discovered this little treasure myself. It also helped me to forget that it was only 7pm. However, I suddenly longed for the loudness and bright lights.

Please refer to my blog entry "Pass the Crack, Please" to fully grasp the next portion of this post. I squeezed myself through an opening so small that I think I ended up with some BBQ sauce on my ass. Oh, well, I guess they will just have to eat around that section of the ribs. My remorse faded after a moment. The lady to my right was SO annoying that I wanted to sit on the rest of her food then force feed it to her. She had an ear-piercing voice and since we were lucky enough to be sitting so close I went partially deaf. Our server returned and I begged that we be seated elsewhere.

We relocated to the lounge. Otherwise a great place to hang out for a few drinks and small plates, it was no place for the meal I planned to devour. Distress must have visibly stretched across my face; our server mentioned that the bar had just cleared out. Finally, I could concentrate on the menu.

Another Jose Garces small plates restaurant, Chifa focuses on the Peruvian food influenced by a small population of Chinese immigrants. To start, we drank Pisco Sour and Watermelon Lemonade. Pisco Sour is a traditional cocktail topped with egg white foam. Interesting, but I think I'll switch to the Pineapple Ginger Caipirinha. 'Desayuno' was the Peruvian steak and eggs; braised oxtail and sunny-side up egg that poured over the tender meat and clung to my taste buds. 'Chaufa' was fried rice topped with soft, pillowy scallops. It was a little bit over-salted, maybe it was the soy, but I still enjoyed the dish. One of my favorites was the 'Lobster' with its luxurious ribbons draped in a creamy sauce of lobster, bacon, and peas. I wished we ordered two because I did not want to share. In desserts there are three things I love: chocolate, bananas, and pumpkin. Two out of three ain't bad. My second favorite, 'Banana Picarones,' is Garces' version of funnel cake; fried, swirled, pumpkin spiced dough coupled with banana sorbet. Bringing street food up to gourmet ranking was a smear of peanut sauce and a sugar crisp made with honey and anise.

Overall, there wasn't anything I didn't love, except maybe the egg white foam and the obnoxious lady in the corner.

Have Your Cake and Eat Everything Else, Too.

2009-07-11T15:45:00.001-07:00

In my family, about a month before you complete another year of life, the question is posed, "What do you want for your birthday?" I rarely have an answer, primarily because I think it's rude to ask for things. However, now, I'm thinking about it. I'm thinking about it because a friend suggested I outline my ideal birthday. Not that anyone has to follow these suggestions on or around this July 17th.

Usually, I am dieting. My birthday is like my get-out-of-dieting hell-free card. I have to eat all of my favorite foods. Even if I am stuffed. Even if it doesn't make sense to eat an hour before dinner reservations. I must consume as much as possible. I do realize how ridiculous this is but, um, "Shut up. It's my birthday."

So where does this marathon of eating start? Here is the route I have mapped out:

Starting Line- Breakfast at the diner. Where I am will determine what I eat. If I am in Philadelphia I'd like to go to Melrose Diner. For Old Time's sake, I have to get the creamed chipped beef and sit at the counter. If I am at a Jersey diner I will most likely order a bacon and american cheese omelet with rye toast. I will be very tempted by the Smoked Salmon platter, but I won't give in. To drink I will have oj, chocolate milk and coffee.

Marker One- Shopping. After eating every last bite of breakfast I will absolutely need a few hours to decompress before shopping. I will go home after breakfast, or to my parent's house if I am in Philly, to relax and complain how bloated I feel. Once I feel like I can try on clothes without inducing feelings of rage or tears, off we go either walking around Center City, King of Prussia Mall or a few different shopping centers in NJ.

Marker Two-Starbucks. Starbucks' are strategically placed in all three possible destinations so I have that covered. I will stop here for a mid-morning Frappuccino snack. Something with mocha, chocolate chips, or brownies. Large. I mean Venti.

Marker Three-Lunch. Contingency plans are necessary since I may be shopping in any of three different locations. If we are moseying around Center City I would probably try to find somewhere new. The city has so much food to offer I hate eating at the same place twice. A quirky place with outdoor seating and a good margarita or draught beer and sandwiches are my criteria. Shopping at King of Prussia mall always leads me to a meal at California Cafe. You really can't go wrong here. Modern decor and fantastic fare that is ever-changing and eclectic make it hard to walk by this place. Supposing I never made it out of Jersey, I'd probably eat lunch at Redstone Grill in Marlton, The Cheesecake Factory or Seasons 52 in Cherry Hill. All offer elevated lunch cuisine and classy-casual atmospheres. My decision would be based on my coordinates at the point of hunger and my food mood. All offer outdoor dining, which I love, so I'd have to further consider the menus. Would I prefer something wood-fired at Redstone or Avocado spring rolls, tamale corn cakes and cheesecake at the Factory or a lower calorie meal at Seasons 52?

Marker Three point Five: Snack. I can assure you there will be a snack involved because dinner reservations will probably be LATE. Also, I will begin to sense time is running out. I know that after dinner the gorging will be over and it will be back to dieting hell. Most likely I will rummage through cabinets or stop at Wawa for that candy bar or bag of chips I have been craving. Are we close to a pizza joint?

Marker Four: Dinner. I like to get dressed up and go out for dinner. It is my favorite hobby. Wherever my family goes will be somewhere I have researched for weeks. It will be somewhere new and unique to the dining scene. We will all get dressed up. We will have cocktails and wine. We will all eat more than seems possible in record time. We will all still want dessert.

Marker Five/The Home Stretch: Dessert. If something intrigues me on the dessert menu I will order it. I have to try everything, it is part of my job. (How do you like that excuse?) Honestly, what I want more than anything a restaurant can offer is coffee and pound cake at my parent's house. We get back, get loud, take off the painful shoes, and drink my Mom's French-pressed, cinnamon spiked coffee with Potitio's pound cake. I have been eating this cake forever. I MUST eat this on my birthday. The cake is buttery yellow and crumbles then melts once it hits your tongue. The sweet, slightly stiff and crunchy icing is spread in a thin layer. Too much icing would overcome the cake, all good bakers know that.

Marker Six: Bed. I may have to sit up for a little while because the food that cannot fit into my stomach is still lingering in my throat. Once it settles in, I'll pass out. There is a good possibility I will wake up for a mid-night snack.

If you know me, you know the affection I hold for clothes, shoes, bags, etc. All these are welcome as gifts. But if you really want to make me happy, run with me.

Waiting on You-Episode Three

2009-07-06T07:34:00.000-07:00

As a private chef for Captain and Mrs. X, I worked from 12pm until whenever dinner was done (usually 8, but later if guests were tardy, dogs escaped, medicine was lost, but this is all for another episode). Each day I arrived at noon and we had staff lunch. Part of my job description was to food shop not only for the estate but for staff lunch which consisted of chips, cookies, and deli meats and cheeses for sandwiches. If we ever had more than that, for instance, if someone brought a home-cooked treat to share, and Mrs. X walked by she said nothing but her face screamed with disapproval. My interpretation of that was that she didn't think we should eat as well as she. Later, to remind us of our peasantry, she would add, "The Captain and I would never eat leftovers."

As we sat and munched on simple food we talked about the day and the days to come. Where was Mrs. X going, who was visiting, what plans had changed four and five times by noon were all topics of discussion. In the middle of staff lunch, Mrs. X liked to be served hers. I would rarely sit and eat as I rushed to prep her lunch tray and attempt to guess what she would like on that particular day. I started planning menus and getting things ready the day before. One afternoon I planned to serve broiled crabcakes with avocado creme fraiche and a light mixed green salad with Mrs. X's house vinaigrette (I failed to mention that in an effort to "teach" her chefs a thing or two, Mrs. X attended culinary school centuries ago. Lucky us.). Mrs. X buzzed for me and I sped down the corridor to her office. I stood in the doorway waiting for her to look up from her computer. The last time I interrupted her seemingly blank stare at the computer she alleged that I ruined her train of thought and she was incapable of finishing her uber-important email. I think she was reading spam.

She finally looked up and asked for her lunch. "My pleasure," I replied and sped back down to the kitchen. I set the tray with a pretty red and pink napkin scheme, yellow flowered plate, silver utensils, and crystal chalice. I placed the lightly breaded, oil-kissed, golden brown mini cakes on the plate and plopped the dollop of light green creaminess on top. Beside the cakes I gingerly mounded the mixed greens that I already tossed with X-house dressing. Finally, a sprinkling of chives for garnish. The most aesthetically appealing lunch-to-date made me smile as I confidently carried the tray back down to the office.

Mrs. X was not at her computer. I heard noises from the adjoined bathroom suite so I quickly set-up her lunch on the tray table next to her desk (another lesson learned: Never place lunch directly on the desk. Drinks could and almost always will spill over extremely crucial and sensitive documents). I felt I still had a bit of time so I ran to the library, grabbed a small vase and picked a tiny flower from a plant that decorated the hallway. I left her office with an even wider smile than before. Satisfied with the job I had done I sat down with the rest of the staff to finish lunch. I had earned it, or so I thought, as did everyone else at the table. They gushed with compliments and joked, "Is there any left for us?!" I say "joked" because eating the same meal, even the leftovers, as Captain and Mrs. X would lead to termination in the very near future. Keyword: Peasantry. I appreciated their support, though. "Thanks," I said, "I hope she likes it."

Two minutes later she rang.

Size Doesn't Matter

2009-07-04T08:38:00.001-07:00

More and more restaurant concepts are developed around one, tiny thing. These places have laid their small offerings on the table to show that size really doesn't matter. I couldn't agree more.

Appetizers aside, the first notable small plates or "tapas" on the bill in Philadelphia were served at Amada. Jose Garces' flagship locale in Old City is still packing in people years later. What impresses me most is that he hasn't changed his menu much since Day One. If it you ain't goin broke, don't fix it. Since Amada's inception and immediate popularity, Garces has sprinkled tapas-based places all over the city. First, Tinto then Distrito and now Chifa (see Facebook album, "Chifa"). Here, on tiny plates, you will savor the big, modern taste creations of Latin America and Spain.

Other tapas places to pop up are Bocca, Valanni, Tria, and Philly Mag's #1 rated Zahav (stay tuned...pics to come on Facebook!). Out of these few only Zahav and Tria remain faithful to the tapas creed. Most restaurants boasting small plates seem to be size-conscious so they offer a separate "regular" menu. They can't commit to the cause 'cause they are afraid of losing business. Paranoia sets in and owners wonder, "Who would be satisfied after only a few small bites?" Admittedly, I have left tapas dinners un-stuffed, but is that a bad thing? Perhaps this is the way we should be eating. It is probably wise to leave a little room to breathe after a meal. Easier said than done but these places are serving up such delectableness that it's not as hard as it used to be.

My recommendation is to order 3-4 plates and a dessert per person. When I think about it I'm getting more for my money eating tapas. The cost of 5 tapas plates averages out to the same as 3 courses at a large plate restaurant. However ordering tapas gives diners a larger sense of what the chef has to offer and more of an eating experience.

Five is better than three. Numbers don't lie and size definitely doesn't matter.

Almost Isn't Good Enough?

2009-06-28T17:12:00.000-07:00

Whoever said, "Almost isn't good enough," is full of shit. I call your invalid statement and raise you this: Almost is more than good enough.

The best things arose in response to situations that revolved around 'almost.' When it is almost lunch and just past breakfast there is this wonderful meal called Brunch. And when it is almost time to go out partying, but not quite, we can indulge a little earlier at Happy Hour. Brunch and Happy Hour are the miracle children spawned by 'almost.' Necessity is the Mother of invention.

Why am I so fond of these two almost-meals? Partially for the food, partially for the drink, and partially because I am impatient. Honestly, I could retire the breakfast and lunch hours altogether. Who needs them? I think 9am is a perfectly civilized time to rise and by 1030am (much more immediate in my case, like 9:05am. Remember: Hungriest girl alive) a slight growl is creeping up from the stomach. Brunch accepts that you are hungry and doesn't expect you to wait. Brunch doesn't limit you either. Maybe you are weird and you are upset that you overslept and missed breakfast. That's OK, brunch offers all that and more. And by "more" I mean an omelet station. Any fixings you want, eggs done any which way, and an assortment of toast and spreads. Anyone who attended college knows the need for brunch runs much deeper than this. Brunch also has a cleansing, atoning, and enlightening effect. Too much can be said here so I must, regrettably, move on. Now, maybe you are upset that your cat was running the Penn Relays across your face and woke you up too early. So, it's 1030am and you're starving but don't fret. Brunch menus list magnificent sandwiches and you can have fries, too (reference Facebook page, photo album: Parc). Let's not forget the beverages. It is kosher if you order chocolate milk, coffee, or champagne. There will be no judgements passed, only a basket of warm croissants and danish.

After eating brunch you are too full for lunch and all sorts of anxious to get your Saturday night started. However, it is only 5pm. Happy Hour has you covered. Small plates and discounted drinks can get you through until it's officially party time. I'd rather munch on delicious pub wings and sliders and sip cold, draught beer than go through the strenuous motions of getting ready to go out at a later hour. There is definitely no dress code at Happy Hour (ahem, No Shower Happy Hour at the Ocean Drive). What is better than snacking and getting buzzed while the sun is still out? It's actually genius because you get a hangover sooner and the sooner you get it the sooner it's gone. Just in time for brunch the next morning. Now this could backfire and you could run the drinking marathon until the next morning, but that is at your own discretion. While, on the weekends, it helps bridge the gap between lazy afternoons and crazy nights, Happy Hour is most necessary during the work week. It gets us through. That half-priced extra dirty vodka martini with 4 olives helps us remember that every little thing is gonna be alright and helps us forget that we have to start all over again tomorrow.

"Almost" is looking better and better, wouldn't you agree?

Thanks to a Longshot and a Bear on the Mountain

2009-06-24T05:04:00.000-07:00

In a belated tribute to father's day I would like to recognize a few father figures in my life and thank them for feeding my addiction. I'll start with the biggest of them all...

Daddy Porkchops, aka Johnny Bear:
You surrounded me with great, gourmet food at a young age. I will never forget the giant, roasted pig sprawled front and center across the carving table at my First Holy Communion party. I was too scared and rambunctious (my cousins, sisters and I did lots of cartwheels and splits that day) to try it, but I watched in awe as you and your friends fearlessly dug in.
I appreciate all of the upscale, award-winning restaurants to which you exposed me. I had no business being in Le Cirque at age ten, but you made the reservations, I'm sure, without flinching ("Felix party of 6." DiFeliciantonio party of 6 causes too much frustration). You also encouraged us to try everything. I think that once I was old enough to form sentences and order for myself my choices were not from the Kid's Menu. I want to say that without tasting great food I would have never developed such a yearning to be close to it and to attempt to create it myself.
Moreover, thank you for one of the greatest food memories I have: rolling homemade gnocchi in our kitchen one Christmas Day. As usual, I ate tons of chocolate that morning and I don't remember what the final product tasted like (probably cacao), but I do remember making a mess with you and loving it.

Pop-pop Porkchops, aka Longshot Lou:
Thank you for never saying, "no." You made indulgences possible. My first cup of coffee was with you, in your Philadelphia row home, at 5am. I loved sleeping over. You and Mom-mom woke up before the sun and although you tried to creep past the pull-out couch into the kitchen I was secretly waiting for you to come down. I'd jump a few feet from my make-shift bedroom into the kitchen where you filled that blue-flowered mug with black steaminess then added half the sugar from the brown sugar bowl and lots of milk. Ice cream for breakfast? Sure. Chinese wings from JC's? Every time we were there. You flagged down the guy with Federal Street soft pretzels in a shopping cart with no problem. We had lots of great sandwiches from Primo's on visits to your house but the best sandwiches were packed on ice and eaten track side. Mother's Day at Delaware Park, eating peppers and eggs on a Sarcone's roll, and betting on the ponies were things I looked forward to all year long. It felt like hitting the trifecta. While I'm sure Mom-mom did most of the cooking, I think you were the master-mind menu planner.

Grandpop Porkchops, aka Boss:
Saturday night was date night. Mom and Dad would go out and we couldn't wait to get to Mountain Street. You were ready for us. Two pitchers of iced tea, Jiffy Pop, and cheesesteaks with onions soon to be fried were prepped and waiting. I later discovered that iced tea was a powdered mix but I could never re-create it as you served it. Your Jiffy Pop was unlike any other due to the velvety, melted butter you poured on top of each bowl you served. And although you only used chip steak and sliced American to make our main course you made it with such love and care for each ingredient that it tasted like sliced ribeye with aged cheese. I always had seconds, even though I knew it was only a few short hours until the next meal. Sitting up on the edge of the bed next to my two sisters, I carefully hopped off the pull-out avoiding the iron sides, shimmied through the skinny opening between the end of the bed and the TV stand then raced down the steps. Overcoming obstacles is always worth it in the end, especially if at the end they are serving bacon and eggs.

I know I have said "thank you" a million times but I don't think you have ever understood the impact you had and what it all really meant to me. Hopefully, somehow, now you do.

Walk a Mile in My Crusty Shoes

2009-06-16T14:33:00.000-07:00

I am convinced that everyone should spend a week or two working in the food industry. I would like to conduct a study that goes something like this:
During the first week the hard labor is done. Participants can see how hot and strenuous working in a commercial kitchen is. The second week they will be on the customer service end. They can field all the insane questions and requests and take all the berating on the front line.

After this experience I believe that people will never be rude to a food service employee for as long as they live and breathe.

During that first week, legs will cramp. Participants will get burned, cut, and bruised. They will learn to work fast and efficient. There is little room for error when things need to be done yesterday. They will think on their toes and try not to freak out. They will do three times the work because a dishwasher called out and someone else just quit. Participants will be amazed at the things we cooks can do with food. The parsley stems that home cooks trash, we put into soup. The peaches that are to soft to sell, we make into a sauce. There will be more profanity, slurs, and sexually harassing statements thrown around than any outsider can stomach.

But week two is worse.

Throughout week two they will remember all the hard work they put in because they will probably still be in some pain. Then, they will watch as some bratty kid tosses their Sicilian Orzo to the floor and shouts, "That's gross, Mom." They will stand there and try not to fly over the counter as a lady who is missing half of her teeth complains, "Your turkey was tough. I could barely chew it." And just when they thought they have met the worst, the corporate lunch crowd rolls in. These people sit at their desks all day, stare into a computer, make senseless conversation via phone, and then probably catch a load of shit from their boss. As the CLC walks in they look important talking on their Blue-tooth and they certainly act important, but the percentage of them that actually is important is smaller than the cubicles in which they reside. But here, they feel above someone, and that 'someone' is you. So they proceed give instruction on how to correctly make polenta or fried chicken. These people, who watched a few episodes of Rachel Ray's '30 Minute Meals,' want to stand there and give direction. By the way, that's like taking fashion advice from RuPaul. Just another loud, crazy lady whose presence is vaster than her knowledge.

For some reason, people feel entitled to demand things at their whim. And when these requests are not fulfilled, or fulfilled quickly enough, they proceed to flip out. "You're a fucking idiot, that's why you work here," customers will say. Appropriate, don't you think? No, what is appropriate is to respect the profession until you walk a mile wearing its crusty, clunky, slip-resistant shoes. At the very least you will think twice before complaining that the coleslaw wasn't made correctly and in the fashion of your Southern-born grandmother.

Waiting On You- Episode Two

2009-06-15T08:41:00.000-07:00

Once the hyperventilating ceased, Housekeeper #1 said she had a plan. She alerted the Estate Manager that we were going to the market. While we were in the market she explained how things worked at "Jardin" (this is the name of the estate). Here is a breakdown of the rules:

1-Do not speak, unless you are spoken to but always attempt eye contact. Do not ever avoid acknowledging the X's.

2-Mr. X comes second to Mrs. X. She rules the roost.

3-Mrs. X hears and sees everything.

4-Do not say, "You're welcome." Say, "It is my pleasure."

5-Do not speak to guests, even if you know them or have met/seen them before. You are there to quietly serve.

6-Everything must be triple stocked. You NEVER want to run out of something.

7-Be ready for everything. Things change at the speed of light.

An hour later we were back at Jardin and I was preparing dinner. I devised a menu of Mint crusted Lamb chops served with Pearl onions and Garden peas in a Champagne Butter sauce. For dessert I planned to serve Creme Brulee. I was still unsure of the exact time the guests would be arriving. I couldn't ask since I wasn't previously addressed and the Estate Manager left after another emergency had arisen. Housekeeper #1 didn't know either. She was busy herself re-washing 3 sets of linens for company.

My plan was to have everything prepped and ready to serve within 20 minutes time. I made the sauce, blanched the vegetables and par-cooked the lamb chops. The creme brulee was done and just needed to chill. I pulled the individual servings out of the oven to bring them to the "morgue" (walk-in freezer/refrigerator located across the service entrance way). Mid-turn I heard, "Hello, Mayhrie." I stumbled, hit the edge of the table with my foot, tripped and lost the tray. Tears rushed to the corners of my eyes and I quickly bent down to pick up the broken porcelain ramekins and wipe up what remained of the last course. As I scanned my brain for the appropriate response Mrs. X said, "What on Earth are those for? Captain (her pet name for Mr. X) and I are going to the theatre tonight. We are leaving in 15 minutes."

At this point I had to fight the urge to collapse and play dead. With a quivering lip I said, "Oh, I didn't realize. Will you be eating dinner at home tonight?" She snapped back, "A quarter of an hour is not sufficient time for a proper dinner. Even if we intended to have dinner at Jardin, on what would we dine? You seemed to have flipped our dessert." She turned and walked out.

Fifteen minutes later I heard the car start and pull out of the long, pebbled driveway. I sat there and cried.

Another Kind of Hero

2009-06-12T13:25:00.001-07:00

It was very insensitive of me to exclude vegetarian sandwiches. Not everyone enjoys meat and there is nothing wrong with substituting grilled veggies as your third component. I forgot that one of my biggest heroes is hard provolone, fried eggplant, roasted red peppers, and broccoli rabe. Thanks for the reminder, Michelle 50.

Who is the Clark Kent to your Superman? Vegetarians, I'd love to hear your alter-ego sandwich ideas.

*I failed to explain exactly why sandwiches are my heroes. Here you go...

"A hero can save your life."- Eating a sandwich was the only was I stayed awake and survived steering the graveyard shift during a 19 hour drive to Daytona Beach.

"A hero can head your life towards positive progression."- Sandwich snacks at 3am pushed two shy kids towards the realization that they loved more than just salami, mayo, and Italian rolls.

"A hero can redirect your life for the better."- My life has been pretty good so far. I'll let you know when this prophecy is fulfilled. Maybe once I open up that sandwich shop I've always dreamed of....

You're My Hero

2009-06-07T08:11:00.001-07:00

Ladies and gentlemen...this is my first post post-recommendation. Ask and ye shall receive.

Let's talk about sandwiches, shall we?

This could all be so simple. But I once heard a wise man say, "Sometimes the hardest thing and the right thing are the same." That is true on so many levels, in this case hard bread vs. soft bread. Please note that I am not talking about wraps; a wrap is not a sandwich nor is it bread. It is an entity of its own. Challah may be the only soft bread that I would consider worthy of sandwich status. Otherwise, the softies would collapse. Sort of like a Superman/kryptonite-esque fiasco. Now, hard doesn't mean stale, teeth-cracking bread. It means crusty, chewy, preferably warm slices protecting and nurturing the inner layers. A good bread will coax the best qualities out of each inner layer.
*Note: toasting or grilling soft bread will make it acceptable.

Speaking of the inner layer, there are combinations to infinity and beyond. However, there are only three essentials. The first is your spread. For arguments sake, no light versions allowed. We are constructing a superhero, here. Pesto, mayo, hummus, mustard, oil, vinegar, peanut butter. Something must stretch over the entire surface area of your bread. MUST. And lay it on thick. Second, you need cheese. I like to consider a few things when picking a cheese: type of bread, type of spread, and ingredient genre. Mozzarella would taste best with pesto or sun dried tomato spread. Pair cheddar and sourdough. Go for blue cheese when you're smushing bacon, tomato and a burger together. See what I'm doing here? I'm putting thought into it. Lastly, the third component: the goods. Without this you have a cheese sandwich. Salami, prosciutto, and ham, oh my. Don't be scared. The task can be daunting, but the challenge is worth it in the end. Like you did with the cheese, think about it.

Some sandwiches that will carry you above clouds:
1) pesto, mozzarella, prosciutto
2) mayo, cooper sharp, turkey
3) honey mustard, swiss, ham
2) mayo, american, salami

Some protest superheros are born, not created. Ahem...Batman. Think of the heroes in your life. Some may have saved your life. Some may have helped you towards positive progression. Some may have redirected your life for the better. To this I say, "Sandwich, you're my hero" (hero, submarine, grinder, hoagie-you're my heroes too).

Whatever you call them and however you eat them, these guys can turn a bad situation good, an awkward situation meaningful, and a drunk situation sober. Find your favorite combination and tell everyone (or at least everyone who follows this blog) how it changed your life.

Waiting On You- Episode One

2009-06-03T07:34:00.001-07:00

For a brief period of time I was a private chef. At first, it all seemed so simple. Making two meals a day for two old people would be cake. WRONG. Have you ever seen the movie 'The Devil Wears Prada'? If not, have you ever heard of the Devil? Okay, that should set the scene.

She was seemingly gentle and sweet. I could tell she was very wise but I didn't know much else about her except that she and her husband had a famous, obscenely rich last name. I'm talking 'dinner plates cost more than my car' rich.
I feel as though she liked that I wasn't aware of her yet; it was just another thing she could teach me.
I pride myself on being a good judge of character right off the bat. That I can recall, I have only made only one bad assessment. But this lady was going to be a hard nut to crack. And she was definitely nutty.

With a staff of fifteen it seemed like she was paying people to make her look important. What could fifteen people possibly have to do for her? I'll tell you: walk the dogs, service the cars, chauffeur her and guests, organize closets, do her laundry, garden and landscape the acres of land, polish sculptures/floors/wall hangings, clean the estate, set elaborate arrangements for dinner parties, shop for her clothes and underwear, change light bulbs, refill bar supplies, write her schedule, pack her suitcases, fluff pillows, buy gifts for family and friends, write out cards for anyone for any occasion, search for lost pets, find anything else she misplaced, update her ITUNES, and do all of this without asking how, which, when, where, or why. The "why" was implied: because she said so.

My first day was the worst day. My first mistake was thinking that all people were equal. Probably because I never received the memo marked: Servitude. It was like I had driven an hour from home and ended up on the other side of the mirror where there were queens, mad hatters, and flamingos on sticks.

I approached Mrs. X in "the butler's pantry" to ask a simple, direct, and necessary question: "What would you like for dinner, Mrs. X?" My first lesson had begun. She rotated her neck around with great flexibility for an elderly person, rolled her eyes down to my shoes and up to my face, squinted, then pushed a piece of paper towards me and walked away. That piece of paper might as well have been a bullet to the spine, because I stood paralyzed.
Housekeeper #1 ran in not a second after Mrs. X had left, grabbed my arm, and pulled me into the kitchen. "Don't ask Mrs. X any questions," she whispered. "In fact, only smile at her until she speaks to you. Oh, my God, did she see you wearing this jacket?" I replied, "Yes, why?" Housekeeper #1's eyes grew wide. She grabbed my arm again and took me to the cellar.
She threw a clean, pressed chef's coat at me. She grabbed black shoe polish from a basket and bent down to my feet. "From now on," she said, "I will do your laundry. Just leave your jackets down here at night." I nodded my head and walked up the stairs. I still had no idea what to do for dinner. Was Mrs. X a vegetarian? Did she have allergies? Did she hate all food with a green shade? At this point I gathered the ridiculous was possible. Halfway up the steps I turned back to Housekeeper #1. "What should I make Mr. and Mrs. X for dinner?" She quickly replied, "Mrs. X is having a dinner party for 10 guests tonight. No one told you?"

TO BE CONTINUED...

Silver Anniversary

2009-05-26T05:21:00.000-07:00

Twenty-five years feels like lifetime. It almost is when you are 27-years-old. Times have brought us closer and pushed us further apart. I think about us all day, every day.

The early years are blurry but joy-filled. As they say, "Ignorance is bliss." The furthest back I can remember leads me to a blistering hot summer day in South Philadelphia. I burst through the screen door and down the street to meet them. Once they were in my arms I gave a full, pearly white grin and hopped up and down. I skipped two blocks home and plopped down on my front step. I placed them carefully in my lap, gazed at them for a second, then tore into them like I hadn't seen them in years. I tossed aside their shrouds and brought them to my lips. What a fateful meeting. This was meant to be.

Now, the likelihood of a kid in South Philly not seeing a Tastykake or Cheesesteak in years is slim. Which is probably why I was not slim. To this day I am carrying around those childhood friends on my hips.

My mother said by age two I was eating whatever her and my father were eating. Anything before that, and "I love you," doesn't count. So, by my calculations, this is our (food and mine) 25th/Silver Anniversary.

As I said before, it hasn't always been easy. I still bare the scars of our relationship, particularly on my right leg. Three gashes below my knee cap mark an unsuccessful sprint towards chocolate cake a la Grandmom (It's worth bloodshed). We hit another serious rough patch and we were not in contact for a few months during the 8th grade. Although I was 30 pounds lighter, the weight on my heart made up the difference. Through college there were ups and downs, gains and loses of pounds, and altogether meltdowns. But I have always said the true test of any relationship is to drag it through Hell and see if it comes out intact. From Hell and back we are still united.

In the beginning it was happenstance. If it were not for my family dumping large portions of broccoli rabe, prosciutto, and crabs and macs onto my plate we may never have come to this point. At first I was angry. Eating all those things became second nature and eating those things in large quantities was just as easy. The verbal abuse I suffered in the 6th grade jolted me to reality: maybe I didn't need to eat as much. As time went on I understood that I was in control. I have accepted myself and now worry about being healthy, not skinny.

Which brings me to present-day situations. I love everything about food. I love to shop for it, cook it, serve it, eat it, play with it, write about it, dress it up, and talk it for walks. Okay, maybe not the last one. But, seriously, food is this girl's best friend.

Today, I am grateful for the force-feeding. It has led me to one of my great loves in life (apparently, you only get three). Not many people know what they want to do for a living. Even less people have something towards which they feel passionate. I have both.

Happy Anniversary, Baby.

Food Snobbery

2009-05-18T08:44:00.000-07:00

I felt like after the last entry I should defend my thoughts. Some say I am a food snob. I would like to say, "so not true." No, I do not think $30 for 3 courses during Restaurant Week is worth it. But, like I previously stated, as long as you aren't deluded about what you are getting, go hog wild.

Food snobs are people who believe that only the most expensive, trendiest, most popular and touted restaurants can offer anything worth consuming. Honestly, there have been times when our makeshift dinners at home have tasted better than when we have spent beaucoup bucks on a night out. Sometimes I just want a burger from McDonald's or pizza from the local hole in the wall. I appreciate all sorts of food, therefore, a food snob I am not. It's all about acknowledging and accepting your surroundings. A burger off the $1 menu doesn't compare in quality to the $41 Kobe beef burger at Old Homestead, but it could trigger a similar mouth-watering sensation.

I have a friend who would argue me to the death over this. She is a food snob. If anyone even mentions fast food she motions as if she were about to throw up. Granted, fast food practices and ingredients aren't the most clean or natural, but they haven't killed anyone. No one is promoting these quickie joints to be at the top of the City's Best lists.

Food Snobbery gets you nowhere. You are missing out on the large majority of eating establishments if you set your standards too high. Take things for what they are, don't expect more, and enjoy.

Real foodies try everything: no food snobs allowed.

You Get What You Pay For

2009-04-15T14:11:00.000-07:00

Should a four course meal really only cost $30. Where are we? Applebee's?
The worst thing that could ever happen to a person is accidentally making reservations during Restaurant Week. Imagine: you are slipping on your favorite dress, tying on your strappiests shoes, spritzing your sexiest perfume, and donning your newest hairstyle. Your date is looking good enough to eat. You arrive at your destination ready to experience deliciousness and ambiance. As you scan the room, you notice a few families. You quick scan again and see scatterings of forty-somethings in jeans and khakis. You start to think how atypical the crowd is and then it he hits you with it. Your server hands you a half page, freshly printed menu listing a watered down version of the regular menu.

I know people who live for this stuff. They make as many reservations at as many places as they can. Meanwhile, I'm stocking up on groceries. I'll even buy frozen meals. I must ask these zealots, "what is the point?" Would you go see a movie with no passion or action scenes? Would you go to a car wash that used water and no soap? If you can have standards at a car wash, why have you no standards when it comes to eating?

Let me assure you, you really aren't getting the full effect. You aren't even getting a good deal. Sure, $30 for 3 courses sounds like a bargain at a restaurant that normally charges $30 for the first course, but remember this: you get what you pay for. The restaurant business is volatile as it is. Owners are not naive enough to open their doors without money-making intentions. Even if the one-pagers resemble the standards, they are most likely not comparable in quality. Some will argue that Restaurant Week is a great way to experience meals at places they may not otherwise be able to afford. I am all about that, as long as you know what you are getting yourself into. Being delusional is almost as unappetizing as what is on the menu.

Luckily, if all else fails, at least your date is edible.

Holy Trinity

2009-04-10T06:05:00.000-07:00

Have you ever played the "deserted island" game? Of course you have. As devastating as it sounds to be stranded somewhere with only one choice of person, food, drink, and scenery I think I could make the best of it. Give me wine with bread and cheese and suddenly the gutters of a damp city alley can seem like paradise. Think of all of the wonders that have emerged from bread and cheese and wine...

Pizza with Chianti: mozzarella and provolone melted on crunchy, crusty dough (even if it is without the red sauce) with a glass of heavy Chianti could occupy my taste buds for hours.

Grilled cheese and Riesling: Gruyere my favorite in the swiss category. I'd stuff it between two pieces of sourdough and let the heat work its magic. The sweetness of the Riesling will make this creamy swiss cheese and bread combo come to life on your tongue. I would chose a fruity varietal to bring out undertones of fruit in the Gruyere.

Fondue: Melt any cheese (traditionally gruyere and emmental) and add white wine to the pot. Even on an island with limited utensils I could make this one work. I'll just find some twigs on the island and poke them into my crusty bread. Let the dipping begin.

A simple bread and cheese plate: I could go crazy here but I will just list my favorites. Parmiggiano Reggiano with Brunello. Prima Donna with a California Chardonnay. Triple creme brie with White Burgandy. Any chewy, crusty Italian loaf will do. Baguettes are also great. Maybe I'd spread the triple creme brie on a toast point.

Cream cheese on a bagel with a Mimosa: Mimosas are made with sparkling wine or pricier Champagnes for all of you who are reading this and alleging to yourselves that I don't know what I'm talking about. If there are no fresh oranges on the island to squeeze then I can just drink the wine. Oh, poor me. A toasted sesame seed bagel with whipped Philadelphia cream cheese will pair nicely.

Fried mozzarella: I'm not talking about some frozen, grocery store-bought atrocity. I'm talking about cutting fresh mozzarella, dipping in flour, egg, and golden brown, seasoned breadcrumbs and frying it myself. I think any wine is fine with this. I would probably opt for a light red.

I might just strand myself for the hell of it if it meant being alone with my Holy Trinity. Things don't seem so bleak when surrounded by wine, cheese, and bread. Do they?

Chain Gang

2009-04-08T12:05:00.001-07:00

Anyone who has traveled to New Jersey is familiar with its dumbfounding road layouts. Circles, jug handles and stretches of highway further than a tank of gas can take you. As you drive along these stretches your mind begins to wander. Once you regain consciousness you look around and think to yourself, "Am I driving in circles?" This treadmill-like highway phenomenon is one I like to refer to as "The Chain Gang."

No, you aren't driving in circles. But, yes, you are seeing almost the exact same scenario you drove by 25 minutes ago:

Taco Bell-Boston Market-WaWa-Applebee's-Outback.
Taco Bell attached to Long John Silver's-Boston Market-TGIFriday's-WaWa-Carrabba's (which is owned by the same company as Outback. Six of one, half a dozen chemically flavored bread sticks of another.)

One links to the other as you laboriously drag along the road. It feels like we have come so far but are getting nowhere. There have been loads of culinary movements and gastronomical developments but all I can taste is cold metal.

As the most densely populated (per square mile) state in the country, can we at least get a little variety out here? There are enough of us to sustain one's business. Perhaps restaurant developers, or should I say "concept" developers, think we are an uncivilized, barbaric, rustic cluster of the country that wouldn't appreciate good food. While that may be partly true, why must the rest of us suffer? Why should my only choices be "neighborhood bar adorned with knick-knacks," "steak house boasting mounted animals," or "italian trattoria in tuscany near the grape vines?"

I am a self-proclaimed foodie and dining expert and I can count on 5-10 fingers how many foodie-worthy restaurants are located in South Jersey. I'd need 5-10 dozen fingers to count how many times I have been to each of them. I need more options. Especially with my ADD and disdain for metallic flavors.

Assume the position

2009-04-07T05:23:00.000-07:00

I can find fault with anything and anyone. I don't like many people (I am working on lack of social grace) and it usually shows, unbeknown to me. I have been accused of shooting looks while I thought I was smiling. I have been told that I am mean while I am making my best effort to be sweet. Trust me, I don't think I'm perfect. I just think everyone else should realize that they aren't either.

Hopefully, that sets you up for the type of personality I carry.

Now, can you understand why I despise overly-friendly waitstaff? Why I really don't care what their favorite dish of the evening is? Why they shouldn't feel that is it okay to slide into the booth and sit next to me as they take my order? Why it is appalling when they squat down beside me so their chin rests on the table where my food will eventually be placed?

These people need to realize they are in customer SERVICE. I have worked in the industry for over 5 years. I am not suggesting we act subservient. I have been there, too. It's a disgusting exchange of vernacular, glances, and overall demeanor. However, we both have to realize we are not friends. I didn't come to the restaurant to talk to you, in particular. I realize we must talk in order for me to get what I want. But, lets keep it professional. Some service industry workers might read this and feel betrayed, maybe even spiteful. Being technologically challenged has worked to my advantage this time. No picture=no spitting in my food.

It is rare that I don't know what I'm doing when it comes to eating and drinking. I always have a game plan. When I am stumped as to what I want or what something is, however, I have no problems asking for a recommendation. Like I said, I am perfectly aware of my imperfection. I don't know everything or even close to half of everything. I respect the service industry and the relationship they have with the products they serve. It is part of their job to know more about the food on the menu than their guests.

Everyone must keep in mind what we are gathered here to do. I am here to eat, cooks are here to cook, service staff is here to bring the cooked food to the table. If anyone is asked of anything more, we can take it from there. Until then let's all keep to our assigned positions at the table.

Pass the crack, please

2009-04-06T14:52:00.000-07:00

Whenever my girlfriend and I have extra money, we go out for dinner. I am looking for great food and night out with my favorite person. But it seems every place I try has diners packed so tightly that I feel like I am on a date with everyone in my immediate area; aka personal space. I struggle to fight off my ADD. My girlfriend gets mad when I stop listening to her but when I am seated practically at the same table as anyone to my left or right I feel rude if I don't give them as much attention while they are talking. Of course I care about your new accounts at work, honey, but Peter over here is having trouble with his neighbor's pesky kids and their backyard hamster experiment. The smell is overwhelming.
I can relate.
With whom am I dining? How intimately do I want to know complete strangers? I can tell you that I draw the line at getting familiar with their intimate apparel. I could really go without a butt crack shot to the face as Petey squeezes through the "separation" of our tables on his way out. And I am absolutely NOT a fan of PDA. It is even worse when it happens within close proximity and I am eating. It is plausible that I will regurgitate my $50 dinner.
Restaurant owners should get rid of the illusion that we have our own space and opt for a communal dinner table. At least we will know beforehand that it will be an orgy-like dining experience. I don't know about you, but I don't like surprise orgies.

Why me?

2009-04-04T12:01:00.000-07:00

Why will you listen to what I have to say? You don't know me and I probably won't have a picture up for a minute because I lack certain technological skills. Figuring out how to create this blog took me a little longer than it most likely should have. Nonetheless, here I am. And apparently so are you.
Be back soon with lots to say.