Sparkly Holiday

I love the holidays because with it comes the promise of sharing time with those closest to me. For a while, my mother would host a meal on Saturday night for her daughters and our husbands, but it's not something we do all that often. So, holidays are a great chance to get together again.

Plus there's the food...!

I know I am biased beyond belief but my mother is the best cook on this plant! Everything she makes never fails to be absolutely delicious. And not just pretty good, I mean, delicious!

For Passover, she cooked up the usual suspects -- chicken soup with matza balls, zharkoy (a meaty stew with garlic, potatoes and mushrooms), gefilte fish, and the thousand salads she usually makes for family gatherings.

I took part in helping out too, making the matza latkes.



They turned out OK, but not as good as my mom's. I think, and she thinks, it's because I didn't add enough water to the mix, making them harder than usual. Oh well...

My mom also made an UNBELIEVABLE cheesecake from Israeli 9% white cheese. She topped it with a light whipped cream. Divine!

On Monday, Rafa couldn't join us for the festivites since he was working, so we came over for Passover dinner #2 on Tuesday. And on Wednesday, our 4th wedding anniversary, we had the leftovers for lunch.

Golden and beautiful matza ball soup.

Eating his Jewish penicillin like any good Christian boy should!

The leftovers --- matza babka, potato latkes, soup, zharkoy

My fabulous Israeli friend, Francesca, was also so kind to send me some Passover gifts in the mail! I loved absolutely everything she included, but especially the card (pictured above) as it brings back a flood of memories for me. Israeli greeting cards, you see, are known for their glitter and beautiful and intricate decoration. These are the before-Papyrus and Kate's Paperie days so popular now in the States. As a kid, I would go into the town center around the Jewish New Year (Rosh Hashana) and Hanukah, and there would be vendors of these gorgeous cards. Years later, when living in New York, my grandmother, who still lived in Israel, would send us these cards. I always have had a soft stop for Baba Leeza. She, my mother's mom, took care of me when I was a little munchkin in Israel. Even though it has been many years now that she is gone, I can still remember her hands, her white, long hair, her perfume, her dresses. We used to watch the Lakers on TV, even in Israel, and I remember when I visited when I was 10, she bought me a pale yellow outfit (top and ruffled skirt) in one of the stores is Kiryat Nordau. On another day during that summer, I remember the exact spot where I was in one of my moods and she, thinking that she was the reason for my sullen face, asked if I was angry ('brogez') with her. I don't know what my answer was to her then, but thinking about it now, it pains me to think I ever took her for granted. She died a year later, but I never got to say goodbye.

I'm sure Francesca would never have known that by sending a simple card what a flood gate of emotion would follow. The best things in life, I find, are in the details. That is why, even if my parents drive me crazy, I still look forward to those times when we could all be together. That's what holidays are for, and really, should be part of the everyday.

Among The Living

I'm back! And you're wondering, 'she left??' Well yes, I did, physically from this blog, and quite emotionally too. Since Thursday I have had a bout of the nasties -- excruciatingly painful sore throat cum chest cold cum flu cum sinus cold. You name it, I had it, or rather still, have it. I didn't turn on my computer, I didn't open a cookbook for browsing. My life, as I knew it, was over. Of course I'm being melodramatic here, but that is the point.

In between taking medicine, coughing up my lung, dozing in and out, and yelling at Rosie O'Donnell on The View, I caught up on some reading. I'm sure many readers of this blog know that my food heroine, Nigella Lawson, lost her husband a few years back to throat cancer. Many of you also may know that among writing columns and doing a documentary of his disease, John Diamond also wrote a book. A few days ago, I got his book. I'm not going to lie and say reading this book at a time when I felt the worst I ever have in my life was somewhat reassuring. I wasn't dying; I don't have cancer. Quite oddly, however, I found some things I could relate to. The feeling of being detached from oneself, of feeing like one's fading away, and how other bodies, moving in and out and around you, don't understand what you feel because they are 100% healthy.

I have to say that this is one of the most moving books I have ever read. I think a lot of it has to do with the fact that Nigella is so much a part of my life, said in the least scary stalkerish way. I visit her website daily. I have all her books. I have read them all countless times and cooked from them even more than that. I know her story, and I can't imagine how she had felt, losing her mother, then her sister, and then her husband. Reading the book, however, gave me a new understanding of her. The side of her many do not see, Nigella as the wife, Nigella as the mother, are clearly revealed in this book. I felt odd reading this book at first; I felt like maybe it wasn't my business to know these personal things about someone I admire and their family. But, then again, this isn't a private diary. John Diamond decided to write and publish this, as painful and personal the whole ordeal was for him. I guess any reader, even the healthiest of us all, can take something from the book. There are some touching accounts in the book, and John is a really good writer. I hope others will get to read this book. It teaches me how you are not alone as long as you have someone that loves you to take care of you. In his introduction to the book, John writes how Nigella kept him alive as much as did the medicine.

I'm trying to make this post about how honest of an account John's book is, and not how my flu is anything close to as serious as cancer. I know that. However, laying around feeling sorry for oneself is what one person is bound to do when their immune defenses are down and they know the other side of the hill is a long way off. I didn't eat these last four or five days. On Friday I had the small sandwich I wrote about, on Saturday, one small bowl of clear chicken soup made from a bouillon cube, on Sunday a piece of toast and a quarter of a red pepper. Somehow, don't ask me how, I managed to bake a quiche and make Irish beef stew. I wasn't feeling particularly in the mood for cooking, but I had ingredients I had defrosted before I got sick, and throwing food away above everything else was just something I didn't want to deal with. Don't ask me how either tasted. They turned out nice; I'm getting better at rolling out pastry, and the meat in the stew was tender and practically falling off the fork. But, everytime I went into the kitchen to check on the stew (I think I cooked it for three or four hours), I wanted to heave each time I picked up the lid. I can't even think of stew now without wanting to gag. Watching Rafa eat it was even less appetizing. He ate the stew like he had never seen meat before in his life, swallowing each mouthful of beef cube whole. I was irritated as I sat there, feverish and seething. I wanted to throw him across the room along with the bowl of stew. I don't know what made me so irritated. The fact that he was eating so vocally when I found it to be the most vile act on Earth, myself not having an appetite or particular like of food anymore. Or maybe it was that he could eat; that that day was the same as the day before, his body hadn't changed. It wasn't rejecting or fighting anything.

The fact that I could write about it now means that I do have my appetite back, but not completely. I have made it to the other side of the hill, and I do realize how lucky I am that I could say that. Reading John's book taught me that even though things are not as great as they could be, or even as good, they are not that bad either, not really.

Mr. Crankypants Reviews a Restaurant

I love reading the $25 and under section in the New York Times. Sometimes, but not always, it features some obscure out-of-the-way place that offers up good food really cheap -- and sometimes you end up spending a lot less than $25 for a good meal. I am not sure how other people feel, but $25 for one person is still pretty expensive in my eyes. I think a good deal is if you spend a max of $15 on yourself, and even though New York is expensive, it is still entirely possible to achieve this.

Anyway, a few years ago, following a tip from the NY Times, Rafa and I went to a Spanish restaurant near Union Square for dinner. It promised to be old-school Spanish style, with great food to boot. It turned out we spent a lot of money on very very bad food. So, since then, I've been very dubious about Spanish cuisine in New York. I don't expect it to be as good as Spain, and my discerning critic of a husband almost expects it to totally suck. I find that like Indian food, Spanish food is very very good when very very expensive, like Casa Mono. I've never eaten at Casa Mono, but $8 for a plate of Patatas Bravas probably means it tastes pretty damn good, at least I hope so.

Today's review in the $25 and under was for another Spanish restaurant. And I think when the owners named their restaurant, they must have done it in some kind of self-fulfilling prophecy. The name of the place is 'Ostia', and in Seville, Spain, where hubs is from, and probably in other parts of Spain, ostia means 'Oh Fuck!'. But of course, since people from Andalusia don't pronounce about half of their consonants, it's said "Aw-tia". Well, the 'Oh Fuck' Restaurant did not get good reviews.. they weren't necessarily bad reviews either. Just weird reviews. It seems like the writer, Peter Meehan, is having a bad day, or just realized he has high cholesterol, or just has his pantalones in a twist. (I don't know how to say 'knickers' in Spanish). Here are some excerpts:

I found the patatas bravas at Ostia unlovable, like pimentón-spiked steak fries squirted with too much aioli. My advice: if the combination of hot potatoes and garlicky mayo sounds good to you, order away, regardless of what the dish is called. I’ll save the calories for some of the ham proudly displayed in its full-haunch glory on a small side table in the restaurant.

And then, he proceeds to criticque the ham, or rather the ham-cutter, as well:

(At) Ostia, the jamón is cut with infinitely less finesse, and it comes in thick, stubby bits. Both pig and diner would be better served by a meat slicer.

And then again about the fattiness of a dish:


But pig and diner should both be pleased by the helping of ham croquettes with molten, jamón-flecked creamy cores perfectly framed in a crisp crust. The dish is a must order for anyone not afraid of a portion of what is, more or less, a plate of deep-fried fat.

I can't say I'm very impressed with this restaurant from the review. I guess my search for an inexpensive fabulous Spanish restaurant continues...

** More thoughts **

I now realize why Peter Meehan is such a crankypants. He wishes he had Frank Bruni's job. Frank Bruni is probably THE top food critic for the NY Times, and of course, part of his job is to go to fancy schmancy restaurants. $25 would probably buy you garlic bread at these places. Plus, Bruni just did a piece, also in today's paper, about how great room service has gotten at hotels. But I have to say that is the stupidest article I have ever read. Bruni said that the menus have gotten so much better than the turkey clubs of yore. But, hello, Bruni! You went to 5 star hotels and you were catered by top chefs like Gordon Ramsay. Why are you comparing a Carlton to a Marriott, in which you will undoubtedly still get a ridiculouly marked-up turkey club.

And then another stupid article about Irish soda bread and how this writer said she has been making what she thought was soda bread for ages and how everyone likes it. Turns out, she was told, that the soda bread she made wasn't authentic Irish soda bread, and then she proceeded to stick her nosey beak and get a real recipe. She then learns that the soda bread is indeed very good, but it doesn't keep. So, then, she posts her own recipe. Um, WHAT WAS THE POINT of that? After reading that article, I seriously wanted those last 5 minutes of my life back.. And that's probably what you're thinking after reading this post. Ha!

Why Blogging Makes You fat, and other developments

Blogging makes you fat. It's a proven fact. It made me fat; but in all honesty, I would have found other ways to be fat anyway, but it's easy to blame blogging, ha! Blogging means you will cook more, and probably cook fattier things. The mindset of a blogger (i.e. a blogger talking to him/herself):

Ooh, I'll start a diet; I'll blog about that.

No one wants to read about your boring diet.

Why not?; aren't toasted almonds strewn upon a bed of steamed kale the most appetizing thing you've ever read?

Ah, no, and come to think of it, I wouldn't want to eat it either.

Ok, so I'll blog about the calorie and fat-laden cupcake I just made.

Yes, that sounds good. Blog about that.

Currently I'm sitting in the computer nook, arguably the warmest place in here, eating an entire tupperware full of ice cream with cookie dough -- it's homemade, and yes, I've blogged about it, but it's not exactly healthy. And so the time passes, and my hips get wider.. but, not important!!

***OTHER NEWS

Some of you have expressed concern over the situation with my spawn of the Devil bathroom. Things are all good -- we hope. Our shower hasn't really reached a temperature of above lukewarm since we moved here. I am happy to report, that as of yesterday afternoon, we now have the capability of being scalded by our shower water!! YES!!!! This is a big moment for us. The day has arrived when I could take normal showers in my bathroom!! Yaaaaay! Thank you to everyone that worried about us. Things are definitely looking up, and hot!

Maybe I should buy this book!

The Internet is a wonderful thing. I have found that you could literally cook something new 365 days a year, for the rest of your life, without ever having to purchase a book or magazine. People, people who bought books and magazines, type out the recipes for you. Celebrity chefs who want to promote their books authorize websites to post their recipes. And it never ends. Think of all the bloggers out there who, with book on lap, sit at the computer and selflessly type out the recipes for the world to see and share and love. I love those people. I am NOT those people. I, ladies and gents, am an opportunist -- a habitual hyperlinker. I will find the recipe, sure, and will post it on my blog, selflessly, but I hope you can take my selflessness with a grain of salt. It's called hyperlinking -- the best thing on the planet. But don't get me wrong. I don't smear my entire post with hyperlinks. I absolutely can't stand those people! I was reading a blog the other day where a woman described going to Laguardia Airport on her way to meet a friend in some city. She actually hyperlinked Laguardia Airport. Who on Earth cares about Laguardia Airport. It's madness. Bloggers are click-crazy. Not this blogger.

Well anyhoo, my point, before this rant, is that I love the Internet. And I love my Internet friends. My gal friend, Pistachio (duh, that's not her real name -- it's Cashew!) recently sent me a recipe for Baked Sweet Potatoes with Marinated Feta and Black Olives. It comes from Crazy Water Pickled Lemons by Diana Henry. I tried it tonight, and needless to say (see pic above), it came out amazing!!! I love me my sweet potatoes. They go great with a pungent topping such as this one -- a sophisticated jacket potato. Try it!! Pistachio, I mean, Cashew, many moons ago, also sent me a recipe for another Diana Henry recipe, from the same book; Moroccan Chicken with Tomatoes and Saffron-Honey Jam. It (see below) was also unbelievably fantastic. I like this book; the recipes aren't obvious. They are new tastes for me, and interesting combinations of flavors as well. See, I have obvious books, which I love dearly. Like last night, I wanted a bowl of comfort, so I made mashed potatoes -- and I used Tessa Kiros' recipe for that. On another night, I would want bread and milk -- Nigella has a recipe for that! Obvious is more of what I am, but I also want different at times too.

I think I need this book. It will be my summer book. I think I should buy a new book for every season. And until spring begins, I shall be surfing.

The Karma Initiative

Sorry my posting has been sparse these last couple of weeks. Things went from bad to worse in my new apartment, mainly in the bathroom. I won't go into the gory details, but part of me thinks that the TV in the bathroom is really serving as a camera into some kind of control station, where scientists are observing our every behavior. Crap just keeps on happening and they are checking to see how we could cope under the worst circumstances... If you're a fan of Lost, then you know what I'm getting at. I just need my own button to push, or perhaps the karma gods are pushing my buttons. I must have pissed off someone somewhere royally to get the shit we have been dealing with... but as they say, life goes on, and we get through it, day by day.

I'll be back soon with foodie talk. Now that we were motivated enough to get more groceries, I have tried to cook some more and rediscover 'what it's all about'.

I swear, they're stalking me!!

So, first we have mamaliga, and then we had golubtsy, and now the NY Times is talking falafel and shawarma.

I'm sure you all know my humor enough now to understand I'm not being serious, after all. The NY Times is NOT stalking me, but I find it funny how they keep talking about my homies' food. And I like how they are expanding their borders and cuisines.

So, this week, it's all about the Chickpea. I had already known about this restaurant/cafe -- it being already part of my Hummus File. I would love to say that I have done my hummus tour of NYC but the summer ran away with me, and then it got too friggin' cold to do anything.

Some readers may remember my Magical Culinary Tours. I do plan on resurrecting those, perhaps on this blog, or do it on my Tom N-D one.. not sure. But there are still so many places I want to visit and eat at... what else is a Metrocard good for. Ohhh, to go to work, you say. Pah!

I have to admit that falafel is not my favorite Israeli thang. There is only one place where I ate it and didn't get heartburn. Not sure why that is, but I think my late 20's stomach is ready for it again. I like that Chickpea makes its own pita -- it is not easy to find edible pita in the world outside of Israel. Luckily, some Brooklyn haunts bake perfect and fluffy pita, just like the ones back home.

Speaking of Israeli food eating, I recently bought some Sabra products -- hummus and matbucha. Matbucha is a kind of spicy tomato pepper salad. It's more of a spread, actually, or a salsa, and though I am not a fan of peppers, I absolutely love it. It is seriously addictive. I made a sandwich for lunch today of matbucha and havarti on a wholewheat bread. Don't knock it till you try it!

I have to revisit my Israeli grocery stores to stock up again. I'm lucky that I have places like Chickpea and these stores to visit whenever I'm feeling homesick for some Netanya sun. Soon, soon...

P.S. A note to Mr./Ms. Anonymous:

You may notice that I have removed the ability to post anonymous posts. I actually don't mind it if non-registered users read or want to comment, but lately I have been getting remarks from people, that are kind of opinionated, to the point of being smart-assy, with no signature at the end. If you want to be a smart-ass with me, go right ahead -- god knows I've been plenty smart-ass too. But at least have the cojones to sign yer name. After all, I do. And P.P.S., this is MY blog, so of course I'm right about everything! LOL.

I'm Sensing a Pattern Here, and other foodie news

It seems the NY Times Dining section continues to pay respek to my people and their cuisine. This time, this week's $25 and under restaurant is a kosher one in the Diamond District in Manhattan. Although the array of food is Bukhara in origin, the author does mention one of his favorites, and mine, golubtsy. I love golubtsy, and in my mind, no one makes better golubtsy than my mom, but I'll happily experiment and see if I'm mistaken. Basically, its cabbage that is stuffed with rice and meat, and cooked in a rich tomato sauce. Not to be missed. At my sister's previous job, she used to bring my mom's golubtsy (cooked by mom, of course) to the annual international luncheons they used to have. Fab fab fab!!!

And in other news:

Check out this article on eating warm breakfasts any time of day! And look at the picture on the top... Oh I am so making that soon! I'll use the cornmeal that I usually use for the mamaliga I mentioned last week.

Another great article is about Korean fried chicken. I've never salivated as much as when I read this article. One of my closest friends, Rosemary, is Korean, and she is an unbelievable cook. She's the type that could put together an entire Korean meal with her eyes closed, and then she sounds modest, saying, 'oh, I can't really cook.' Shut up, Rosemary! I hate her, of course. :D

When we were housemates in college, I would wake up in the middle of the night and see a light underneath my bedroom door. I would walk out into the long hallway into the kitchen, and see Rosemary there in her pajamas and glasses (she wears contacts usually, you see) eating out of a gigantic pot of chop-chey. Her reply to my question of what on earth she was thinking cooking and eating chop-chey at 4am was, 'I couldn't sleep.' Most people would grab a bowl of cereal and milk if they got 4am cravings. She cooked an entire meal! Living with her meant I was always well-fed. These were before my foodie days, you understand. The rice cooker was always full and there was always lots of homemade food in the fridge. Not the typical college fridgfe - oh, and we had two - but they were always packed.

But, I digress. Rosemary was visiting from Boston last weekend and stopped by for some dessert after dinner at my sister's. She had marinated some meat and cut up some veggies for a stir fry that never happened, so the next day, my family and I decided to break in my sister's wok. The stir fry was AMAZING. I think Ro marinated the cut up beef (she said the butcher cut it up for her, and all she told him was that it was for a stir fry and then simulated a chopping action, LOL) in soy sauce, sesame oil, sesame seeds, spring onions and regular onions. I'm sure there was more but the b.i.t.c.h didn't leave me a recipe. I will grab one from her next time I see her. The veggies were mushrooms, peppers and carrots. Some egg noodles would then be added to both in the wok. I added some soy and hoisin sauces too, at the very end. Mmmmmm. Next time, Rosemary is back in town, she promised we'll go for some Korean fried chicken. I've never looked forward to something more!

Ok, well that's enough rambling from me. Hope you get a chance to read these articles.

Sometimes the NY Times knows its stuff..

My cheeks are flushed, I have a little tear in the corner of my eye, my favorite Russian breakfast of all time was mentioned in the NY Times -- Dining and Wine section. Mamaliga!!!

For two and a half years or so, or as long as I have been on Nigella.com, I'd tell anybody that would listen about mamaliga. A cornmeal 'cake' eaten for breakfast, cut into slices with a string, served with smetana (sour cream) and eggs. Perfect. Comforting. Home. And now the NY Times has done a '$25 and under' review of a Romanian restaurant in Queens, and guess what one of the favorite dishes of the reviewer's is... mamaliga!

Here's how to prepare it, taken from one of my posts on Nigella.com.

I love using coarse cornmeal for a Russian dish I grew up with called mamaliga.Basically you just cook the cornmeal over a stove with water. It shouldn't takelong for it to bubble (they are quite volcanic though) and thicken. Remember to salt it pretty well. My mom sometimes leaves it in the pot, and then flips it over so it is a kind of cake. (edit: cast-iron is best for this - my mom's is probably about 30 years old.) Cut into slices to eat with sour cream, scrambled egg, or brinzha, which is a salty sort of crumbly cheese - feta works. It was our standard Saturday morning breakfast growing up, and a great use for coarse polenta!

It's curious, because I didn't know mamaliga was Romanian. See, my mom always made it, but she's Moldovian. My dad, however, is Romanian.. and come to think of it, I think my mom's family is too, as they both speak Romanian. Hmmn. Ever feel like you think you know everything about your parents, but there are so many gaps and missing parts that you never notice until you have to? I think I need to remedy this.

At any rate, here is the article. For people coming to Queens, for people that love Romanian food, for just because.

January 31, 2007
Sharing Romanian Under a Sphinx
By PETER MEEHAN

MARIGOLD walls, goldenrod tablecloths, egg yolks spilling into moist corn-colored mamaliga: yellow, yellow, yellow at Acasa in Sunnyside, Queens.
Acasa is a new Romanian place on a stretch of Skillman Avenue that’s not poor in the Romanian department. The dining room is dominated by a massive photo mural that struck me as being sci-fi: a solar eclipse in a red sky on one end; a rocky, Martian outcropping on the other. That’s what too much goulash will get you into, I thought.
Wrong, I was. Marian Golea, the restaurant’s effusive owner, explained that it was a photograph of the Romanian Sphinx, a rocky outcropping on the Bucegi Platform, taken during a total solar eclipse. As soon as Mr. Golea suggested it, the rock looked exactly like the profile of its more recently constructed and more internationally famous Egyptian brother.
Who knew you could argue that the Great Sphinx of Giza was a knockoff? You learn something new every night in this town.
One evening I learned that desserts at Acasa are very, very good, particularly papanasi cu smantana ($4), which the menu translates as “Fried Cheese Donuts with sweet vanilla creamy sauce.” I offer this nugget of discovery up front because anyone who does not budget his appetite will not have room for this.
For something a little less filling, go for the clatite cu gem ($4), crepes stuffed with jam. A friend of mine with a Romanian grandmother did, and devoured them, evoking her good name and good cooking.
He did the same with an order of red peppers stuffed with meat and rice. Mr. Golea linked the goulash and the mushroom stew with white sauce to Transylvania, the region of Romanian from which he hails. After moving to the United States, he spent 15 years working at different jobs — much of the time as a mechanical engineer at Kennedy Airport — before opening Acasa, his first restaurant.
While there may be the occasional Transylvanian accent on the menu, it’s not as strong as, say, Bela Lugosi’s. Mr. Golea said the Romanians who visit his restaurant come from all over Romania, so there are dishes to suit everyone.
A supremely creamy caviar spread, much like taramosalata, and other mezes with a Mediterranean accent, like a garlicky, light bean spread and a too-smoky eggplant dip, evince the Greek and Turkish influences on Romania’s cooking. Order a few ($4 each), and the kitchen will assemble a platter for the table.
A smoked pork knuckle — meager and sinewy but studded with enough meaty nuggets to merit inclusion on the list of house specialties — is served over melted cabbage ($11.99). It reflects the century Romania spent as a part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire.
My favorite dishes at Acasa feature mamaliga, Romania’s answer to polenta. It’s a perfect foil to grilled lamb (erroneously billed as lamb pastrami) or braised pork. I liked it best with a fried egg, a huge dollop of sour cream and a side order of sour-and-sweet pickled red peppers.
There’s beer and wine, and the Romanian choices are affordable and acceptable. Ursus is a pilsner that goes back easy. I tried two white wines: the riesling is drier than the muscat.
One night, after ordering a bottle of the riesling ($12), my waitress asked me if I’d like seltzer, too. She was upselling me, I thought, but I opted for it anyway. Wrong again. The seltzer was for the wine, to make what from here on I will refer to as Transylvanian champagne.
It might have been too much of that Transylvanian champagne, or maybe it was a calorie-overloaded hallucination, but I swear the sphinx whispered to me one night. It told me that eating crispy carnaciori oltenesti ($4) — hot dog-like sausages paired with Windy City-style yellow mustard — in the shadow of an eclipse would trigger a slaughtering of favored colts by savage bears this coming Sunday. Who am I to argue with the Romanian Sphinx?
Acasa
48-06 Skillman Avenue (48th Street), Sunnyside, Queens; (718) 651-1364.
BEST DISHES Caviar spread; meatball appetizer; grilled lamb with mamaliga; mamaliga with egg and sour cream; pickled red peppers.
PRICE RANGE Small dishes, $4 to $6; main courses, $7.99 to $14.99; desserts, $4.
CREDIT CARDS Cash only.
HOURS Noon to 10 p.m. Monday to Thursday; to midnight Friday, Saturday and Sunday.
WHEELCHAIR ACCESS Accessible.

Ba-bye!

Ok goodbye for real now. LOL. In moving updates (since you asked!), the bed is being moved tomorrow so our first night at the new place should be tomorrow night!! I'm slowly unpacking the kitchen items, and to my utter delight, find that I actually still have room for more! Yay!

Since our owner's son (who lives in the basement apartment) is spastic, it will be a long time before we will have Internet at home, so goodbye for a short while. As engaging as my prose is, I doubt it would be all too fun to read without my snazzy pics, so I will post again when we are all settled in.

Love and hugs from a ccccccold New York!

Have a fab weekend!

xoxo
Ilana

Until we meet again...

Well we're getting close to the last few days in our tiny apartment. I'm feeling quite sad about it. Although I have complained about the size of my kitchen and my weird neighbor upstairs, I am really going to miss this place. I am writing this sitting on the floor as our coffee table and couches are now gone. Yesterday, I did my best to pack up some of my Living Kitchen items. Rafa has complained to me that in the last couple of years or so, I have not thrown out one of my big blue boxes. I just couldn't bear to part with them -- well now I am packing with them. So above, among other things, is my utensil pot, 2 sets of measuring cups, salt pig, serving dishes, small storage jar, mortar and pestle, egg cup and plate...

Right now we are in the transition period where the previous tenants of our new place are still moving out. I wonder what they'll think when they see the kitchen counter full of these baby blue boxes. Eccentric, I am.

On the cooking front, we have been eating out a lot as the fridge contents are dwindling. I am defrosting some chicken for tonight's dinner -- hopefully that will come to fruition. In terms of posting pics and such, that may wait until after we move in and are settled and have an Internet connection, so I bid you all an adieu for now.

The Devil Wears Magnets

I've gone a bit organization-crazy as of late. So, I'm moving, and that means that I have all these excuses to get wonderful stuff I've always dreamed of having -- in my own pseduo Ikea-furnished paradise.
And of course since I'm a bit obsessive about not ruining our new apartment in any way I'm going magnetic. That's right -- no holes, no drilling, nothing that would endanger my extremely dear security deposit. I run into the dilemma time and time again of how do I make a space functional without being cluttered.. and now I know I should have been paying attention, instead of cutting my nails, while watching Design on a Dime.

So, for your considerati0n, I have already done an Ikea run -- magazine files for my huge collection of Delicious -- a cute, non-Barefoot Contessaish glass canister for flour -- a stainless steel cutlery caddy.

The magnet shopping spree will commence once I have established that our fridge actually holds magnets!! I'm most excited about my soon-to-be slim cart from the Container Store. For those that don't know it, the Container Store is the New Yorker's savior in taking advantage of every expensive square foot you have. Thankfully, storage for me hopefully won't be an issue, and I think I may even finally have a pantry. It's Ilana Meets Pantry Again-- haha! The slim cart will hopefully fit in this cubby hole we have inside one of the closets.

Well I'm really excited about my previous and soon-to-be purchases. Having a lot of free time lately at work has made me think about them quite a lot; I wish, like my sister, I had the ability to write lists for everything, because my memory ain't what it used to be. And while we're at it, I'd like her perfect handwriting too!!

I'm in love with cupboard again...

Life has been hectic lately. Late last year, we got our lease renewal form from our landlord, as we are nearing 4 years in this cute apartment, and we decided to take the plunge and upgrade our life a bit and get a 2 bedroom apartment. Buying is still not an option, and we quickly discovered, renting ain't cheap either. Apparently, Brooklyn is cool now. And places you would never expect to find condos or a hip crowd, are now just as or close to as expensive as the rentals in Manhattan. Wot's going on?!

So we found a place! It's a bit more residential than where we are living now, which means we will occupy the first floor of a private home. But, the perks of living in a house is of course more space, bigger kitchen, pool, etc. :) Exciting! Plus, I live only a few blocks away from Brooklyn's biggest chinatown, in Sunset Park. I am noticing a pattern in my life as now I live just off Brooklyn's smallest chinatown, LOL.

So we're in the process of moving, which means, cupboard cleanout....

The fridge is the main concern as that stuff doesn't stay fresh for long. I spent the weekend finding things to make to use the ingredients in the fridge.

So our freezer is full. That is not a usual thing, but since Rafa works most nights now, and he is usually the big meat-eater in the house, we still have lots of sausages, chicken, etc. stacked away. He worked this weekend too, but since I was home, I thought I'd make sausages and roast potatoes.

The sausages are spicy Italian ones, and the potatoes are Nigella's. Apart from being the roast chicken and frozen pea queen, I think Nigella is also known for her roast potatoes. She has many variations, and I decided to do a variation of a recipe she has in her At My Table column -- Italian Roast Potatoes. Basically, it's unpeeled cut up potatoes, tossed in lots of olive oil plus oregano, with the addition of a few garlic cloves. I had rosemary that I needed to use up, so I used that. I roasted the potatoes along with the sausages, and the result, oh yummy!

Sunday morning...

In case you're wondering what two young, suave New Yorkers do on weekend mornings, let me burst your utopian bubble now...

Him on the computer... Me on.. the computer. An image of the 21st century. Generation Laptop. We do more socializing than this, I promise you. But after we have had our first cup of coffee or bowl of cereal, respectively, and have quickly navigated through the usual webpages. And occassionally, yes, we do talk to each other too! ... On Google Chat. :)

Christmas 5 days later...

Rafa got his Christmas gift 5 days after Christmas... He was working Christmas and afterwards, and I got the package only a few days ago. So there he is, sitting 'comfortably' while playing his FIFA 2007 on Playstation 2. A big kid at 30 years old. :)

A funny article.... (and other Xmas musings.)

This article made me chuckle this morning. Ah, us Jews, try to resist Christmas and all its commercialism and kitchiness and then we do something like decorate a tree and make gingerbread muffins. This year, Santa, gave me an Ipod mini-shuffle, and though Hanukah has nothing to do with presents, really, I thought, why not, it's my Christmas gift. We tried, unsuccessfully, to buy Rafa a Playstation 2 last night at the bursting-at-the-seams mall. I feel odd, like I should give him something...

And these are my Christmas/Hanukah tales... I wish everyone a warm and restful holiday season. Please know that it's about the family and sometimes, more importantly, the eating. I'll see you on the other side. :)

And the article..

December 24, 2006

Jewish in a Winter Wonderland

By CINDY CHUPACK

I BLAME the Pottery Barn holiday catalog for the fact that my husband and I, both Jews, spent last weekend at Home Depot picking out a Christmas tree. I cannot blame our kids who begged us mercilessly for a tree, because we do not yet have kids. I cannot blame my parents, because although my dad initially supported George Bush, he never supported the Hanukkah bush.

In fact, I recall that he was extremely judgmental of one Jewish family in the place I grew up (Tulsa), who did have a Christmas tree every year. Even though it was decorated exclusively with blue ornaments and silver bows, my dad made it clear to my sister and me that he thought the whole Jews-with-trees movement was in very poor taste.

Then again, my dad was a man who, in his wood-paneled wet bar, had highball glasses featuring busty women whose clothes disappeared when the glass was full. So I learned early on that taste was subjective.

Fast forward to last month. My husband and I have been married a year and a half, and I am flipping through the Pottery Barn holiday catalog while he sorts the mail, and page after page is something beautiful and not for us, because we are Jews. In my humble opinion, Jews have yet to make Hanukkah decorations beautiful, unless you consider a blue-and-white paper dreidel beautiful, but what can you expect from a holiday whose spelling is constantly up for debate.

So as I browsed past velvet monogrammed stockings and quilted tree skirts and pine wreaths and silver-plated picture frames that doubled as stocking holders (genius!), I said to myself, as much as to my husband: “This is why I sometimes wish I celebrated Christmas. Everything looks so cozy and inviting.” And much to my surprise, he said, “We can celebrate Christmas if you want.” And like a 12-year-old, I said, “We can?” And he said, “Sure.”

It seemed so subversive. Christmas? Really? I thought about it for a moment. Or rather, I thought about what my parents would think. But my parents live 1,200 miles away. They weren’t visiting this season. They wouldn’t even need to know. (Unless, of course, they read about it in The Times. Merry Christmas, Mom and Dad!)

Still, even just considering the idea felt wrong and dirty and, well, totally exhilarating, like your first night away at college, when you realize you can stay out until dawn because nobody is waiting up for you. My husband and I were consenting adults. This was our house. Why couldn’t we celebrate whatever we wanted?

We decided we could, and proceeded to embrace the holiday in all of its materialistic glory. For example, I know it can be annoying to you Christmas veterans, but right now I love nothing more than hearing “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” while I’m shopping for stocking stuffers. I love stocking stuffers. I love having stockings to stuff. I love the fact that whole sections of many stores, from CVS to Neiman Marcus, have opened up to me. I love tinsel. It’s so simple, yet so elegant!

I love that as soon as I told a Catholic friend what I was up to, she invited me to a gingerbread-house decorating party. How fun is that? And why wasn’t I invited before? What does a gingerbread house have to do with Jesus?

So here we are: two newlywed Jews celebrating our No No Noel (or Ho Ho Hanukkah) not because we secretly want to convert to Christianity, but because the rampant commercialization of Christmas works! Like your kids who desperately want the toys they see advertised on TV, I wanted monogrammed velvet stockings and my husband wanted the model train that goes around the tree and puffs actual smoke.

That train (which took two hours to assemble) was the first sign that our Christmas may not be all peace on earth, good will toward men. The vision dancing in my head was clearly Pottery Barn, whereas his, I fear, was SkyMall.

He bought blinking colored lights when I was definitely thinking white, and he ordered old-timey glass ornaments — a slice of pizza, a mermaid, a hippo — instead of the jewel-colored balls I had in mind.

And he keeps talking about the fake snow ("Should we get the blanket or just use cotton balls?") when I wasn’t thinking fake snow at all. I definitely haven’t seen any fake snow in the Pottery Barn catalog. And then at Home Depot, I practically had to pry the mechanical lawn snowman out of his hands. He’s like a Christmas crackhead — had a taste and now he can’t stop.

But despite our differences, we both love our little winter wonderland. Some nights, I put on our Starbucks Christmas CD, light a fire, turn on the tree and play with the different settings, put liquid smoke in the train’s smokestack and turn on the choo-choo sound effects and then I sit back and enjoy my first Christmas, in all its kitschy splendor. I feel a little guilty when I look at our lone menorah on the mantel (the only evidence of my faith other than my guilt), but I ask you: how can this much pleasure be wrong?

Before you answer that in a snappy letter to the editor, fellow Jews (including you, Dad), let me just say that I’m pretty sure that if we’re fortunate enough to have children, we will raise them with the same arbitrary rules we were raised with, trying our best to sell that old chestnut (roasting on an open fire) that “eight nights is better than one,” and putting this tradition behind us until the kids go off to college, if not forever.

On the other hand, maybe it’s nice to teach children that holidays can be done à la carte. Every religion, every culture has so many beautiful rituals and traditions to choose from. Maybe celebrating is a step toward tolerating. I can hardly wait for Hanukkwanzaa.

Cindy Chupack, a writer and executive producer of “Sex and the City,” is the author of “The Between Boyfriends Book: A Collection of Cautiously Hopeful Essays.”

The Sevillano New Year!

I've figured out the tentative menu for my annual New Year's Eve bash. Since last year, we have decided to have it at 6pm -- New Year in Seville, Spain. Rafa, as a hard-core Spaniard, takes New Year's Eve very seriously. There are the four quarters of the bells and the twelve grapes that need to be eaten -- it's a whole affair. It's actually a lot of fun; and I've realized I'm the slowest eater of grapes imaginable. When my Dad joined us last year, he, a fruitaholic, downed his 12 grapes before any of us. He rang in the New Year at 5:59.50 pm.

My sister likes bringing in the New Year six hours earlier because it means she joins in the festivities with my brother-in-law and nephew. Liam's still a bit too young to bring in the New Year at midnight. This way, the threesome can join in the fun, and all in time for Liam's bedtime. I don't mind it either... I think I'm getting too old to stay up that late.

New Year's is usually a cocktail affair with Cava and boozy sangria. I lay out all the plates on the table and try to fulfill my New Year's resolution from earlier that year... RELAX! Well, we'll see how I do this year. I think I'll start drinking early!

Updated Menu

The Nibbles:

Red Kidney Bean Dip
Eggplant and Mint Yogurt Dip
Quartered pita
Gravlax
Serrano ham
Chorizo (both sliced and in cold-cuts form)
Marinated Olives (variation of an Emeril recipe)
Walnuts (in Union Square Cafe style)
Cheesy Feet and Snowflakes
Cucumber and Pomegranate Salad
La Pizza Rossa
Pizza Bianca

The Desserts:

Malteser Cake
Cranberry and Orange Pudding (sans almonds)
Bowl 'o' Fruit! (for the fruitaholics -- daddy dearest and B-I-L)

The Tipples:

Cava (2 bottles)
Wine (2 bottles)
The Un-Cola (un-boozy version)

He's Liamlicious!

If you can't beat 'em...

I find myself a bit jaded this time of year. It seems like Christmas is on everybody's minds.. especially in the foodie world. Christmas cake, mincemeat, suet, fondant icing, aggghhhhh. Perhaps it has to do with the fact that I don't celebrate Christmas... actually, it definitely has to do with that. But, any reason why people would be compelled to discuss the holiday ad nauseum for two straight months, sometimes even three, is beyond me. And it is like EVERYONE thinks that just because they celebrate Christmas that you must also.. No, we don't all celebrate Christmas. See, there are people called Jews and Muslims and they don't eat Christmas cake and wake up at 5am the day after Thanksgiving to get the best deals on presents. Ah, deep breath.

But I also have to come to the reality that Christmas is a big holiday, and more importantly, my husband is not Jewish. Although not a devout Catholic, he does acknowledge Jesus and all that jazz. :) So, I jumped on the Christmas reindeer-wagon and made gingerbread muffins!!! Rafa is working Christmas and Christmas Eve. We're not going to do anything festive-y, but we did put up our tiny tree (above) and I did make muffins, Nigella's recipe, because it is that time of year.

The muffins are fab, by the way. Soft and sticky. They are great a few minutes out of the oven but so awesome a day or two afterwards. So good!

Peace on Earth and love of ALL men (and women!).

Balagan

I have been away from the blogging world for a while now. I haven't really been cooking anything worth mentioning, grabbing stuff here and there. My mind was fully focused on the Chanukah festivites that were to come... and then I got sick.

These last few days I have felt like I have been walking around with a motorcycle helmet on my head. Tired and congested, the last thing I wanted to do was bake and cook for Chanukah, but I promised my friend, Elana, I would bring some things to her party this past Saturday, so I had to come through.

Luckily, I discovered the wonderful world of freezing!

First up were Nigella's Cheesy Feet dough (see above). I am always very apprehensive of making cracker or cookie dough in my mixer as every recipe lately calls for a food processor! In fact, that was probably the only reason I never attempted this recipe, despite its rave reviews. The dough was a doddle to make -- it did indeed eventually all come together, and I froze the dough days before I would need to use it. And then, a couple of days before the party, I defrosted the dough, rolled it out using a fabulous technique Elana told me about, and put my cutters to work. The feet I had were too big (how ironic considering how I always complain my feet are too small for proper looking shoes) for the cheesy crackers so I got some fab cutters at the Broadway Panhandler -- mini dinosaur, snowflake, bell. I got a good amount of crackers - something like 30 - and they puffed up beautifully in the oven. I froze the baked crackers again, to be ready for the party.

I did the same with Nigella's rugelach recipe -- that is, make the dough, freeze, defrost, roll, bake, freeze again. I've made this recipe countless times, and it always turns out unbelievable. I think this has to be my favorite cookie. A close second would be Tessa's chocolate/cranberry cookies.



But the real 'balagan' started after I had these two cookies prepared. In Hebrew, 'balagan' means a real terrible mess. And not the type of mess that is easily fixed. Something that just takes over and becomes a thing. You just have to sit back and let it be.

I have been feeling very nostalgic towards my childhood in Israel again - hence the Hebrew name for this post title. It's quite funny that the food I am homesick for is actually kiddie food - that makes a bit of sense since I was a kiddie when I left Israel. So while cosmpolitan Israelis are eating ful and hummus and stuffed blintzes, I am craving Bamba, Bissli, ice lollies, chocolate milk in a bag. One thing I remember vividly from Israel are the chocolate balls. Dense and cold chocolate balls covered in coconut or sprinkles. We ate these in kindergarten when there was a birthday. The birthday girl or boy would be sitted in the middle, with a wreath of leaves around their head, their mouths and hands covered in chocolate. A prince or princess for the day.

I thought this would be a fun dessert to bring to Elana's party too, so I sourced info from the only two Israeli foodies I know, Jules and Francesca. I found a recipe on Ganenet.com or something like that; 'ganenet' is the word for a female kindgarten teacher -- the experts in making chocolate balls.

The ingredients didn't have measurements, because let's face it, after making it each time a kid has a birthday, I'm sure the ganenet doesn't need precise measurements.

I wasn't sure about the recipe, so asked for one from either Jules and Francesca. Francesca came through with a recipe from her babysitter, Hilla.

I'll type it out here so you could see how casual Israelis are about certain recipes:

6 capot (yes, she also can't keep to a recipe too - for the rest of us that means 6 heaped tablespoons) chocolit
1/3 cup sugar
100 gr milk chocolate (Elite)
50 gr marg
1/3 cup milk
300 gr petit buerre biscuits

Crush the biscuits then mix with the chocolit and sugar. Melt the chocolate in the micro, then add melted marg (also in micro) and milk. Mix everything together with (clean) hands, shape into balls, yada yada. You can also add rhum or vanilla essence if you wish in the first stage.

And here's the method below:

I crushed the tea biscuits... and added Chocolit (which is sweetened cocoa) along with the sugar. I prepared the milk chocolate and got it ready to be 'micro'-ed.






That is where the balagan started!! Maybe my microwave is off or milk chocolate doesn't melt well, but I found most of the chocolate unmelted with burnt parts. Highly odd. I was feeling pretty crappy health-wise and couldn't deal with this at that point. I plocked it into a saucepan with the butter and decided to just melt it all together. Somehow, it cooperated. I added the chocolate to the dry ingredients and mixed it all up. It became a nice chocolatey dough and easy to form into balls.

I wanted to roll them in blue and white sprinkles (for Chanukah, natch!) and coconut. The coconut was acting weird. Truth be told I never actually bought shredded coconut before so I wouldn't be sure how it would act, but it was way too sticky to, ironically, stick to anything. It didn't look impressive so I popped the couple I attempted to roll in coconut (yum yum) and rolled the rest in the sprinkles. Turned out pretty fabulous.

Thinking about it now, I am not sure why I made it more of an ordeal than it really was. I guess under the best of circumstances, it would have been laughable, how easy it was for me to mess up such a fool-proof recipe. I failed to see the humor then, LOL.

The chocolate balls, cheese crackers and rugelach were a hit!! I also made Nigella's Red Kidney Bean Dip, also from Feast, and it was mega-flavorful and lovely.

Elana was extremely grateful for helping her out with the food. She is a big-time foodie, and a lot of my inspiration to be a hostess with the mostess comes from her, so it was a nice feeling when I got an email from her saying, "Thank you for all your help... Actually the things you made were my favorite at the party." Yay!