January 2010

After a long day of work meetings and running around the city (and, yes, a mani/pedi with the Chanel "Black Satin" nail polish I have been hoarding for 2 years), I returned to the Ace and decided to have a late lunch/early dinner at The Breslin to see if I could experience what the fuss is all about. A you may recall, I tried their burger and excellent thrice-cooked fries from room service. And I also had some airy pumpkin pancakes with melted chile butter at brunch the next day that I really can't complain about. But much has been written about the alleged nose-to-tail eating at this joint, so I wanted to root around in the menu a bit more. As it turns out, I snarfled down quite a panoply of delights, so if you're thinking of making the trek to 29th and Broadway, press on, gentle reader.
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I was lucky enough to be featured on a really wonderful website/blog that I have mentioned before and of which I am truly enjoying being a part: food52. I'm so thrilled to be singled out by Amanda Hesser and Merrill Stubbs, two cooks and writers whose recipes and career trajectories I admire greatly. The spotlight has brought some new visitors to gluttonforlife, some of them bloggers as well, and I want to welcome one and all. So thanks again for your support and kind words. They mean the world to me.
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You can take the girl out of the city but you can’t take the city out of the girl…especially when she’s stuffing it back in with both hands! No better place than Momofuku Ssam Bar to remember what it’s like to eat somebody else’s cooking. We chowed down on David-Chang-deliciousness and it was yet another flawless dining experience, from cocktails to cookies. You know all about the place already, right? So I don't have to tell you that you'll eat hunched over at the bar on a hard stool, gazing at strange '70s art featuring John McEnroe and rocking out to loud music. It's all part of a funky, stripped-down dining experience that really wakes up your senses. So glad they’ve now got a full bar and mixed drinks on their extensive alcohol menu. I've written before about the truly wonderful “Penicillin;” even posted the recipe for you here. Smoky Scotch + ginger syrup + lemon juice = divinity. It outshined the Wild-Turkey-based “Gold Rush” I had last night, if you ask me. Here’s what we ate:
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You asked for soup, you got it. This rich and creamy combination of kabocha squash and fennel is a wonderful winter recipe from Suzanne Goin. She's an LA-based chef and I really recommend her cookbook, Sunday Suppers at Lucques. (I hope to eat at Lucques, or at AOC, her other place, when I'm in LA later this week.) The kabocha called for is a rich, sweet and dry-textured squash that used quite a bit in Japanese cooking. It's sometimes referred to as Japanese pumpkin. Like all squash, it's good for you—high in fiber and in vitamins C and A. It has a darkish green, striated outside, sometimes tinged with orange and yellow.This is a hearty vegetarian soup (although you can make it with chicken stock) and, along with some cheese and salad, I think it will leave you quite satisfied.

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By now you've probably all heard Michael Pollan's edict, "Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants." It's an approach to healthy eating that takes into account everything we now know about artery-clogging animal fats and the global ramifications of factory-farming; about the stress caused by over-eating and the benefits of calorie deprivation; about the value of antioxidants and flavanoids and fiber. But let's say you're too busy to read the books (Fast Food Nation, The Omnivore's Dilemma, In Defense of Food, Eating Animals), you haven't seen the movie (Food Inc.) and you just want to know a few things you can do every day, realistically, right now, to improve your diet. Again, my disclaimer: I am no health professional. I have simply read a lot about these issues and experimented with changing my own eating habits. I am not into deprivation. I am into consuming delicious foods that help me thrive.
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An earthquake in Haiti. A funeral in Boston. One event global, the other local, but both bringing home the realization, once again, that life on this earth is not something to be taken for granted. How then to optimize the time we have? In a sense, this is what my blog is all about. To be a glutton for life means to gobble up experience, to hunger for everything out there. It means to want more of this life and, perhaps paradoxically, this means finding some measure of restraint, some balance. Life is pain and suffering, and it is joy and wonderment. We must learn from both extremes in order to create harmony somewhere in the middle. Today, I listened to the eulogies for a great man who died of cancer. A philanthropist and successful businessmen, a supporter of the arts, a horseman (those are his horses, above), a family man, a beloved friend. His accomplishments in just 68 years were staggering. The Boston Symphony played under the direction of Sir Colin Davis. James Taylor sang. This was no ordinary man, and yet the qualities for which he was most lauded were things we can all strive for: moral integrity, loyalty, selflessness, humility, curiosity about the world, a thirst for knowledge.
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Fresh juice is a great way to start the day. You've probably already read my proselytizing about the many benefits of ingesting live, vital vegetable and fruit juices. (Quick primer: you get energy, antioxidants, digestive health, clear skin.) But on these frigid days, something warming does seem in order. I'm not a coffee drinker, never have been, though I do enjoy the occasional cup (especially as a vehicle for cream and sugar), but I am partial to chai. Actually, chai simply means tea. It derives from cha, the Chinese word for tea. What I'm really talking about here is masala chai—masala being an Indian word for spice blend. In India, masala chai is drunk like we drink coffee. It’s sold on the streets by chaiwallahs (and I think you all know what that is, having sat through Slumdog Millionaire.) Instant chai is available, but it tends to be loaded with sugar and fake flavorings. I’ve been known to order a soy chai latte from Starbuck’s (oh, the shame) and the best I can say about it is that it’s not very authentic. One prepared version I do like is from the venerable French tea company, Mariage Freres, called Chandernagor after the former French colony north of Kolkata (Calcutta). It’s a classic blend of black tea with cinnamon, cloves, ginger, green cardamom and black pepper. Sometimes chai will also include ajwain, a pungent relative of caraway; allspice; coriander; bittersweet chocolate; fennel, star anise or licorice root; nutmeg; and vanilla. My favorite tea to use in a chai blend is an Assam, whose assertive taste and slight smokiness can stand up to all the spices. Rooibos tea makes a pretty good caffeine-free alternative. Why not make your own masala chai blend in quantity and store it in a jar or tin? Then you can simply steep it in a combination of milk (cow, goat, soy) and water, adding whatever sweetener you like. I use honey, but sugar, agave nectar or even sweetened condensed milk work well. The spices really enhance the warming effect, and are a great way to get your blood moving on these cold winter mornings.
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On my way out to snowshoe this afternoon, I came across this poor mourning dove at the bottom of our drive. Her head was nowhere in sight. Yet another mystery of nature I cannot solve. As you can see, she had just dined on some of our delicious birdseed. I hope this isn't too gory for you. (If it is, you may not want to read on.) At 35 degrees, it seemed almost balmy outside today! Within minutes of commencing my 90-minute trek, I had to shed my hat and gloves and tie my jacket around my waist. Despite all my good intentions, this was my first exercise in a week. There were those 3 days in the city, and a few days where it was barely 13 degrees but, still, I'm a weak woman and one who needs to work off a large and indescribably delicious helping of soft-serve green tea ice cream from Mitsuwa. (Yes, we paid a visit to Edgewater, NJ, on our way back from the city and stocked up on all manner of wonderful Japanese ingredients, including fresh bamboo shoots, yam noodles, taro and chrysanthemum leaves.) So there I was, huffing and puffing along, thinking about how it had been months since I'd seen any evidence of the coyotes that used to "mark" the path when what should I come upon?
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I'm drinking alone. Though partial to a bourbon cocktail, preferably The Eldred, I've never been able to knock back much booze. I've got a 2-drink limit, because otherwise I head from pleasantly tipsy straight to clutching the bowl. But this bottle of Root has been winking at me from the liquor cabinet ever since it arrived in the mail, having caught G's fancy when he read about it somewhere. I took a teensy sip some time ago and realized it was not something I was going to be drinking straight. This is some seriously intense juice that needs to be coaxed into a sippable cocktail. So I've been mixing up a few different blends, trying to take the medicinal edge off the stuff. I've got a rocks glass in one hand, and my new Kindle in the other. I'm reading Mary Karr's memoir, Lit, about her slurring downward spiral into the quicksand of alcoholism—and her hardscrabble ascent out of it. The irony is not lost on me. I also read and enjoyed her other book, The Liar's Club, about her deeply unfortunate childhood. She writes with raw feeling and has that hysterical, bawdy wit that is often the veneer over lacerating pain. But back to Root.
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You may have seen Mark Bittman's piece about eating legumes in the Times last week. He provided some excellent and simple recipes, like spiced red lentil dal, and mung bean dal with apples and coconut. He talked about the typical Indian way of finishing these dishes by stirring in an extra flavor booster—cream, butter, fried onions or nuts. (Apparently this is called a "tarka.") It reminded me of a dish I was obsessed with during our visit to India, a thick and spicy stew of black lentils enriched with cream. I first had it in Jaipur, that magical city of bazaars and bangles and precious stones and yellow marigolds. We were staying at the Oberoi Rajvilas, one of the world's most outstanding hotels. Peacocks roamed the grounds outside our luxurious "tent," and one night we collapsed into our enormous, pillowy bed to watch "Ghandi" and eat room service. What arrived was this incredible daal makhani, fragrant with ginger and chile, rich with ghee.
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