New York City to the ‘GuyLand
As I promised last week, I’m here to fill you in on some of the other meals I enjoyed on the cheap (relatively speaking) while I was in New York. For the sake of order, I’ll begin at the beginning.
I had a meeting at Columbia the day after I arrived in Manhattan. Mango Mama and I figured heading uptown would give us a good excuse to stop in at Dinosaur Bar B Que in Harlem, which was recommended to me by the same friend who suggested Otto. He had particularly extolled the glories of the fried green tomato BLT, calling it the greatest sandwich ever created.
Let’s just say I wouldn’t go that far about the sandwich or about anything else I saw or tried at Dinosaur, which turned out to be a chain. The fried green tomato sandwich was good— made with thick slices of green tomatoes, heavily battered and deep-fried and a few large swaths of crispy bacon. I never imagined that the tomatoes would be so breaded, but hot out of the oven, they tasted great. The major drawback of this sandwich was the bread, a run-of-the-mill hamburger bun that got too soggy from the special sauce. Crusty sourdough toast would have been a vast improvement. We also ordered a fairly tasty Cuban sandwich that was packed with sweetly sauced meat. Still, I can safely say I’ve had better.
The next day, after feasting at Otto, Daddy Salmon’s cousin Maple Syrup offered to lead the way to Hummus Place, a small Israeli-run restaurant in the West Village that specializes in just one thing— you guessed it— hummus. Daddy Salmon was skeptical, asking: “Hummus is hummus, isn’t it?” Actually not, as it turns out. This stuff is phenomenal and bears almost no relation to the plaster-like substance found in most grocery stores and health food restaurants. We ordered a takeout version of the hummus fava, which comes with a stew of whole fava beans, tahini, a hard-boiled egg, olive oil and spices. Every takeout order also comes with pita bread and pickles, which we mixed in with the rest of it. We ate it later that evening as an appetizer on Auntie Pasti and Corn-y Uncle’s rooftop patio.
Next came Daddy Salmon’s party. It was a blast and excellent food was had by all. My grandma, Rice Pudding, was one of the guests of honor. She stayed in Long Island (or the ‘Guyland as my cousin Ketchup likes to call it) at my aunt and uncle’s house, so we took the train back out the next day to see them. They live in Plainview, which is undoubtedly a nice place to live but leaves something to be desired in terms of entertainment. It’s nice to see my cousins, but the thing I most anticipate about the area where they live is eating bagels from Bagel Boss.
Legend among Bagel Boss fanatics like my cousins Black Cherry Soda and Bagel with Lox (who used to eat very little else) is that the bagels here are so good because of the mineral content in the Long Island water Somehow I have a hard time buying that, but these are among the best— if not the best— of any bagels I’ve ever tasted. They have just the right density and the perfect tooth-feel. Other wonderful things about Bagel Boss include: top-notch bialys, great spreads and fish salads, a 100 percent kosher kitchen and excellent black and white cookies. Best of all— it’s open 24 hours a day! Relatives or no relatives, this is reason enough to come to Plainview (or neighboring Hicksville, to be exact).
I love my Long Island relatives, and I love Bagel Boss, but two days in the ‘Guyland exhausts most of the great culinary and cultural opportunities. The next day it was back to New York for a trip to the MoMA before flying to Chicago. Before viewing the awesome Richard Serra sculpture show, Mango Mama, Flava Flav and I joined Uncle Second Breakfast and my cousin Momotaro for lunch at Cafe 2, the casual second floor restaurant with an Italian theme. Mango Mama and I shared this salumi platter with olives and flatbread along with a salad. Flav had a fig and Gorgonzola panini and Uncle SB had a delicious looking salad with a quartered cured tuna sandwich. Overall, I was highly impressed with the quality to price ratio, especially considering the price increase factors of dining at a New York museum.
New York is known for being one of the most expensive cities to live in and visit. I don’t doubt that it is. But I am more and more convinced that a New Yorker can at least eat well without paying an arm and a leg. After all, those limbs might come in handy when it comes to paying the rent.
Dinosaur Bar B Que
646 W. 131st St.
New York, NY 10027
212.694.1777
Hummus Place
109 St. Marks Place
New York, NY 10003
212.529.9198
Bagel Boss
432 S. Oyster Bay Rd.
Hicksville, NY 11801
516.681.1856
Café 2
MoMA
11 W. 53rd St.
(between Fifth and Sixth Aves.)
New York, NY 10019
212.708.9400
Empanada Boy and I returned from a trip to Portland yesterday at a new stage in our relationship. While we were out on a walk in Cannon Beach last week, he asked me to marry him. I was completely surprised and a bit scared by the notion, but the thought of sharing my future trials, achievements, travels and meals with anyone else just doesn’t seem right. In short, I accepted his proposal with the condition that we would wait a couple of years before actually going through the ceremony. 
Empanada Boy and I are in Portland visiting our respective family members and getting ready to celebrate Passover. After a delicious, but pricey, lunch on Friday at 
That place was the 
What better to pair with a beer than a burger? That’s exactly what Mango Mama was thinking was she ordered Ken’s Big Boy, a truly well-made burger, topped with grilled onions, mushrooms and Pepperjack cheese. This was a simple, yet decadent option, served on a plump Kaiser roll. It proved the already well-established point that mastery of the classics is a sign of greatness. The burger comes with a choice of chips or pea salad, and Mango Mama chose the later. The salad is a relatively light mixture of green peas, onions, bleu cheese and water chestnuts. It is a perfect side dish for a heavy meal, virtually guaranteeing that you can’t leave feeling as uncomfortably full as you would with a side of fries.
EB and I took burgers to a new level by ordering the oyster burger, made with a tender fried oyster from nearby Willapa Bay breaded in panko and grilled. It was delicious, flavorful and filling, despite being much smaller than the burger. EB and I were in heaven after taking our first bites because we could taste the ocean in those oysters, making them into symbols of that time and place.
I thought I had found sanctuary from the snow by coming to Arizona, but a trip to the top of nearby Mt. Lemmon in the Santa Catalina mountain range proved me wrong. About three days into our trip, Empanada Boy and I piled into the rental mini-van with Popover, Tofutti Cutie, and Sushi Sister and Croque Monsieur (EB’s sister and brother-in-law) who had joined us from Portland. 
After a long day of hiking, I could think of nothing more appetizing than a nice hearty bowl of chili. The Iron Door’s version is made with a variety of beans, carrots and onions and contains sizeable chunks of beef roast. It comes with cheddar cheese and white onions to sprinkle on top and a massive piece of cornbread. The cornbread was coarse in texture, but suprisingly light in density. It had a touch of sweetness, which often comes from adding sweet corn, but no kernels were detectable. Both cornbread and chili were exceptional.
After lunch, we returned to the take out window at the Mt. Lemmon Cafe where about 15 different homemade pies are being served on any given day. These range from cherry to Mississippi Mud. A slice is large and a bit pricey at $6.50 each. I tried the blackberry pie, which, like the cherry pie, was filled with a jellied version of the fruit. The bakers probably can the berries when they are fresh and then pour the pre-made filling into the crust. The result is a too-sweet concoction without much of the essence of the original fruit. The bottom crust was fairly flaky, although I wasn’t that impressed. Instead of a top crust, there were crumbly clusters of brown sugar and butter (or lard or shortening, depending on the restaurant’s fat of choice).
When I was a little girl, traveling with my parents on the East Coast, we stopped every time we passed a silver diner. Mango Mama is a huge fan of the original silver diner aesthetic and its mirror in Airstream trailers and the old fashioned metal toasters. Unfortunately, the only real examples of these are out East. In the West, 
Empanada Boy and I are traditionalists. When it comes to diner food, we are looking for the fried, the cheesy and the meaty. If we wanted shrimp, penne or chicken cordon bleu, we would have looked elsewhere. Following those general guidelines, I ordered the cod fish and chips, which is battered in beer from Madison’s own Capitol Brewery. The dish came with three pieces, which was plenty. These were serious pieces with some serious fried batter. I also got a nice tangy coleslaw and some cripsy waffle fries, which I promised to Empanada Boy after he expressed concern that his meal didn’t come with them. The final element of this dish was a somewhat boring roll, which I found entirely unnecessary considering the amount of food (and grams of carbohydrates) already on on the plate.
Empanada Boy ordered the Reuben, a large sandwich on dark rye piled high with corned beef, Swiss cheese, sauerkraut and Russian dressing. The combination of the meat, the bite of the cheese and sauerkraut and the creaminess of the dressing was delicious. It inspired plate envy in me, but luckily EB let me have a few bites. His dish came with coleslaw too. At the end of the meal, I had eaten all my coleslaw and almost no fries while he had eaten all the fries and almost no coleslaw. That is one difference between Empanada Boy and myself. At heart, he is still a meat and potatoes kind of guy.
I was so full after eating all that fried stuff that I relinquished the pie decision to Empanada Boy. That was my first mistake. EB and I often have different taste when it comes to dessert. He likes peppermint and coconut cream, for example, while I prefer fruit or chocolate flavors. I’m not saying he’s wrong, only that we tend to lean in different directions. In this case, he ordered a piece of lemon meringue pie, which came with a huge dollop of whipped cream on the side. A pie-maker myself, I am very critical of crusts, and I wasn’t particularly impressed with the flavor or texture of this one. The lemon part was very lemony, but I consider meringue to be one of life’s great disappointments: it always looks like it will taste so much better than it does. 
Along the way, we stopped in Rhinelander (although it may be closer to Sugar Camp) at one of EB’s family’s favorite stomping grounds, the White Stag Inn. The White Stag is an old-fashioned steakhouse and supper club with dark wood walls, decorated with antique plates, deer heads and other hunting trophies and replicas of paintings by the masters. It is the kind of place that hip, neo-hunting-lodge places like Portland’s 
The rolls were nothing special. Next time I won’t even waste my calories by sampling one. But the salad here is like nothing I’ve ever seen at a restaurant before. A bowl filled with large wedges of iceberg lettuce is delivered to the table with some tongs for serving. Each diner takes a wedge in his or her bowl and then begins to dress it, gradually dismantling its leaves. Under normal circumstances, I might have stopped at the iceberg lettuce, but I could sense that this was a cultural experience.
There are three different house-made dressings at the White Stag: a creamy Russian, a French with garlic and a vinaigrette. They come in a tripartite serving tray. Servers actually recommend that a blend of all three be drizzled on the lettuce. Why don’t they just blend them all together to begin with, you ask? Good question. Perhaps it’s because not every diner is partial to all of them. I, for example, was not a fan of the Russian, but the other two were suprisingly good, making even iceberg edible. Under EB’s direction, we also ordered bleu cheese crumbles to sprinkle on top. Once again, only in the Midwest.
My entrée was a half chicken, cooked “Dave’s way,” which means coated in lots of garlic and roasted. It was delicious in the way that roasted chickens from the grocery store tend to be, but this one obviously had less salt (a good thing) and a better balance of flavors. There was enough left over to make some nice chicken sandwiches for lunch the next day.
Ever true to himself, Empanada Boy could not refrain from ordering the filet mignon. At $20, it comes in a bit above the Mango Lassie’s price range, but considering that it comes with salad, it might cut it. Plus, a filet mignon for $20 is a deal good enough that even the cheapest of cheapskates might make an exception once in a while. This was as tasty a piece of meat as a filet mignon should be, coated in a rich, buttery sauce.
There is a belief among academics, chefs and generally cultured people that the Europeans are far more civilized than their American counterparts. I find this to be true in many ways— in the elegant dress of women, in the lack of beer bellies on men, in the central role played by wine at the table and in the general acceptance of policies like the Geneva Convention rules and the Kyoto protocols. But if there is one area where all semblance of civilization falls away it is in the football arena. And by football, I mean soccer. 
Honey Roasted Peanut and I were lucky enough to learn this firsthand when we attended the Lazio vs. Rome game. Lazio is the region where Rome resides, making this a rivalry amounting to civil war. We sat on the Lazio side (the northern curve) because H.R. Peanut’s English student is a season subscriber and secured us the tickets. The curves are where all the die-hard fans sit, which we found out as soon as we came in. No one was sitting throughout the entirety of the game. The small bucket seats were used as a platform for seeing over the crowd, for singing, shouting insults and waving one’s colored scarf. They also served as launch pads for smoke bombs and other objects thrown to protest a controversial call.
As a starter we had another Roman specialty, frito misto. This consisted of a platter filled with fried things, including my favorite, the deep fried zucchini flower, stuffed with an anchovy fillet. Other deep fried items included mozzarella, olives, potatoes and a tomato rice mixture. These were all good in that bad for you fried kind of way, but I couldn’t help thinking they tasted a little like jalapeño poppers.
I ordered the capricciosa pizza, which arrived looking positively beautiful with artichoke, mushrooms, sausage and a fried egg in the middle. Many people (including H.R. Peanut) look askance at the thought of egg on a pizza, but when you taste it, nothing seems more natural. The crust soaks up the slightly runny yolk, the flavor balances the tangy artichoke, the earthy mushrooms and the spicy sausage, and the entire combination looks stunning. 
I went to the neighborhood of Trastevere (“tras” or “across” the “Tevere” or “Tiber”) with H.R. Peanut the next day. The quaint, winding streets, hip stores and beautiful old buildings of Trastevere instantly won me over, and they also yielded some of the best pistachio gelato I’ve ever tasted. This delicious treat came from Checco er Carrettiere, a well-known bakery and gelateria in the neighborhood. My other flavor—there are always at least two— was boccio, a chocolate and nut mixture. The word means “kiss” in Italian, but it is also the name of a popular Italian candy bar, which is the inspiration for the flavor. I wasn’t as excited about this one because the chocolate flavor was dominated by a very concentrated nut flavor, probably hazelnut or walnut extract.
I left Rome early the next morning and took at train and a bus to the Tuscan town of Siena. After settling in at a nearby hotel, I sought out a promising place for a late lunch. I ended up at La Cantina dei Tolomei, a beautiful little gourmet shop, selling typical Tuscan wines and foods. It had a paninni counter with a wide selection of meats and cheeses that made my mouth water. The man behind the counter was very friendly and spoke English well. When I hesitated with my order, he helped me out by suggesting what he considered to be the supremely Tuscan combination.
This consisted of Tuscan prosciutto, which is drier and less sweet than the more common prosciutto di Parma, and fresh pecorino. I had never known that fresh pecorino existed, let alone tried it before. The cheese was full of flavor without the characteristic palate-coating, salty, dryness that characterizes the aged variety. The sandwich was a great success, as was the pleasant Chianti recommended to me by my friendly advisor behind the counter.
My first course was the Tuscan vegetable and bread soup called ribollita. I selected this dish of my own accord, and the waiter applauded my choice. The warm, thick stew was made with white beans, carrots, celery, garlic, escarole, tomatoes, Parmesan cheese and that same Tuscan bread. The waiter instructed me to pour a stream of olive oil on top. It was the perfect thing for my aching head and stuffy nose.
Next I bit the bullet and tried the tripe, prepared in the typical Sienese way. It is blanched and boiled and covered with a sauce made from onion, basil, carrot and celery. Parmesan cheese is traditional sprinkled on top. Empanada Boy is usually the one to order any dishes containing offal because he is very adventurous about such things. But he was not there to order it and give me a bite, so it was up to me. The only other times I had tried tripe were in Vietnamese pho and in Mexican preparations. In both cases it was rubbery to the point of being hard to swallow. In this case, however, it was tender and soft, with a texture coming down somewhere between meat and pasta. 
I wasn’t going to have dessert because I felt ready for some NyQuil and bed, but the waiter insisted he had something I needed to try. He brought me a glass of Vin Santo and some of the little almond biscotti called cantucci. The tradition is to dip the cantucci into the Vin Santo and let it soak up some of the sweet, fragrant wine before taking a bite. It was a refreshing and delicious way to end the meal.
My guidebook called 
I loved Nannini so much I decided to return for an aperitivo that evening. The bakery was just as packed as it had been earlier that morning, but this time the crowd included teenagers going out to a party and couples dressed for dinner. I ordered a glass of red wine and snacked on nuts, little egg sandwiches, tuna toasts and crudités. The aperitivo wasn’t the making dinner unnecessary. I met two guys from Austin, Texas there, and we chatted and compared notes about our travels. 
I had another delicious and humongous sandwich at Antica Pizzicheria a salumeria that has been in existence since 1889. It is now run by Miccoli Antonio and guidebooks continue to laud it for its excellent meats and cheeses. The place was beautiful to look at with a huge variety of products in the windows and glass cases, but I found the servers behind the counter to be a little surly and ungracious. There was also an annoying sign inside the shop that said “No photos please.”
A raging tourist town in the summertime, San Gimignano’s main drag has a number of little gourmet shops with wine, olive oil and Tuscan products. I stopped in at a salumeria called Mari dal 1920 for a pannini with Tuscan salami and more of that tasty pecorino fresco. It came on a beautiful, but somewhat cardboard-esque round of salt-free Tuscan bread. I sat on the edge of the city wall and looked out over the countryside as I ate.
Back in Rome the next day H.R. Peanut took me to lunch at 
We started our meal with a succulent wild boar pate. The edges of the pate loaf were tinged with a barely sweetened chocolate, giving the whole dish addition earthy depth. We ate the pate on little crusty toasts and soft pieces of the regular loaf, which was a beautiful thing after Tuscan bread.
We decided to continue in the antipasto vein for the rest of our lunch, feasting on a rich, brie-like olive-oil soaked cheese with paprika and a hard cheese with red rind from being cured in wine. Alongside the cheeses were two kinds of meat, one a spicy salami and the other a softer smooth sausage. This was one of the most satisfying meals I had in Rome. 
We also wound through the streets near Piazza Navona until we found 
First our large tour bus dropped us off at the vineyard, and one of the men in charge of growing and harvesting the grapes (mostly syrah) spoke to everyone about the process. I picked up on a good deal of what he was saying about the importance of pruning and soil, and H.R. Peanut filled me in on the rest.
Finally the bus took us to the winery’s tasting room and restaurant where we sampled three wines of varying quality and explored their current profiles and potential for aging. After the tasting, we were hungry and in need of something to soak up the alcohol. The winery treated us to a lunch of bread, pasta with wild boar sauce (a typical Umbrian ingredient), thin strips of roast beef and roasted vegetables. We were tired and happy as we made our way back to Rome. 
My final evening in Rome had to be spent it style, and the 
H.R. Peanut, Melanzane and I went there for aperitivi and met a few of their Italian friends. I started with a nice glass of prosecco, Italian sparkling wine. For the price of the glass, I got a wonderful plate of food, including polenta, curried chicken, phyllo spinach rolls and much more. After that we ordered a bottle of wine, which held out well until the chocolate delicacies were put out for dessert. 
Said makes a wide variety of its own chocolates and truffles. After stuffing ourselves so full of chocolate aperitivi that we were sure we would burst, one of the owners, something of a dirty old man, offered us free samples of ricotta-filled truffles. Under any other circumstances, I would gladly devour such a treat, but it was all I could do to force it down my throat. H.R. Peanut and I bought fizzy water to settle our chocolate and wine beleaguered stomachs. Still, chocolate and wine are on the short list of my favorite things about life, and it was a great way to finish the trip.
My plane from O’Hare landed in Portland at 10:40 am on Thanksgiving morning. I found the car (actually the big white truck we use to transport things to our family motel) that my mom and sister had left at the airport for me and drove straight to Cannon Beach. 
On the way home from the beach on Sunday, Daddy Salmon, Flava Flav and I stopped off at the vaunted Northwest fast food chain, 
The sweet potato fries come in a large cup and are enough to make a lunch all on their own. They are earthy and deep in flavor with only very light oil and the perfect amount of salt. The larger ones are rich and filling, and the smaller are delightfully crispy. There is no need for ketchup or anything else on these fries. If anything, I might try mustard or vinegar to offset their sweetness. Flava Flav and I shared one order. It was the perfect snack. 
When we did sit down, about 20 minutes later, we ordered a couple bottles of a nice Rioja ($36 a piece). The wine prices here are a little more expensive than the menu, with most prices falling in the $30-$38 a bottle range. All entrees are priced at or below $12. 
I tried some of Flava’s mac and cheese and some of Sushi Sister’s meatloaf, neither of which was very inspiring. Both the meatloaf and polenta cake on Sushi Sister’s plate were oddly tiny portions. I think my favorite of the other entrees was the flat-iron steak, which Mango Mama and Croque Monsieur ordered. Mango Mama’s was a nice, tender medium rare. She got a side of crispy fries and some tasty greens. It was fried chicken night, but all the fried chicken was at the other end of the table, so I never tried a bite. Mango Mama said it was just so-so.
Breakfast at the Harbor House was waffles with slightly sweetened, pitted Door County cherries (a theme for the weekend). I am not usually fond of cherries unless they are fresh off the tree, but these retained a pleasant tartness and had none of the cloying, syrupy, sweetness that I associate with preserved cherries. There were also blueberry muffins and mini cherry scones—more the size and consistency of cookies— which tasted like a stick of butter with some flour wrapped around it. In other words: delicious.
Dinner that night elucidates my real reasons for wanting to visit Door County: the fish boil. Fish boils are a culinary tradition unique to Northern Wisconsin. About 50 lbs. of whitefish and 150 new potatoes are cooked in a large pot of salted water over an open fire. Throughout the many hours of cooking time, the fish boil master occasionally douses the flames with a splash of kerosene, sending a shock of heat up into the pot. At the very end of the process, with all the diners gathered around, he gives the fire a larger dose. This time it’s enough to send the whole pot up in flames, causing all the water to boil out. 
After the boil-over we went inside and got in line. Servers gave each diner two fish steaks and three boiled new potatoes. Condiments for fish included a tartar sauce, lemon and melted butter. We carried our plates back to our assigned table where a tangy coleslaw and a variety of sweet, cake-like breads awaited us. An accordionist played in the background as we scarfed down the tender fish. It was incredibly flavorful for having only been cooked with salt. The potatoes took on some of the fish flavor, but they were also remarkably simple in their preparation. This is the kind of basic, hearty food that could only be served in the Midwest.
If the fish boil sounds heavy, it was nothing compared to the traditional Swedish food we ate the next night at 
The final food stop on this trip is barely worth mentioning. Empanada Boy and Rocky have a nostalgic affection for 
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