Most of my casual food and hotel reviews end up on Tripadvisor, so I don’t really repost them here. Such is the case with these food photos from Rural Society – a restaurant whose delicious food is slightly marred by stunted service. We’ll leave it at that. The dishes certainly look and taste good, however, so don’t be too put off. Worth it if you have a lot of time on hand.
On 4/20, some of you may be looking for some food ideas, so here’s a link-a-licious post pointing out some of the recipes that have brought my stomach satisfaction over the years. Most of these call for a decent amount of preparation and time to do well, but I’d still recommend any of these over that wretched Kraft Mac & Cheese anytime. Cheese was never meant to be powdered. [High-five.]
Let’s begin with this delicious Waldorf chicken salad, which carries the succulent bite of the spring and summer to come in each of its vibrant bites.
For those nights that still feel a bit cutting and cold, here’s an apple crisp to keep you warm and gooey.
If you want to act all piss elegant, try this traditional French snack.
One simply cannot go wrong with this classic kimchi fried rice with fried egg recipe.
The red pepper relish dip recipe contained in this post is a favorite of many guests.
Arugula is a mainstream lettuce.
The infamous Bitch Slap Brownies by Peaches.
Keeping things hot and spicy is this Tom Yum soup.
Check out the great crepe caper here.
You can’t beat the meat.
This recipe from Lidia Bastianich is just incredible. So is this one.
Bon appetit.
And I am nothing if not a Spice Girl. Here is a wonderful ‘Curried Lentil & Vegetable Soup With Spiced Yogurt’ dish that I made a few weeks ago and it’s been haunting my mind ever since. This recipe was from ‘The Complete Asian Cookbook’ and at first I wasn’t sure if such an all-encompassing tome could actually deliver something worthwhile. I was pleasantly surprised at the depths of flavors garnered with just three basic spices, as well as the substantial heartiness of the soup itself – which is really more like a vegetable stew. The absolutely integral addition is the hefty dollop of spiced yogurt, which brings it all together in one miraculous swoop of creamy but healthy goodness.
Here are the ingredients for the soup:
– 2 Tbsp. olive oil
– 1 small leek, chopped
– 2 cloves garlic, crushed
– 2 tsp. curry powder
– 1 tsp. ground cumin
– 1 tsp. garam masala
– 4 1/2 cups vegetable stock
– 1 fresh bay leaf
– 1 cup brown lentils
– 14 oz. butternut squash, peeled and diced
– 1 14 oz. can chopped tomatoes
– 2 small zucchini, cut in half lengthwise then sliced
– 7 oz. broccoli cut into small florets
– 1 small carrot, diced
– 1/2 cup frozen peas
– 1 Tbsp. chopped fresh mint
– Salt and pepper
– 16 oz. water
And the ingredients for the all-important Spiced Yogurt:
– 1 cup thick plain yogurt
– 1 Tbsp. chopped fresh cilantro (coriander) leaves
– 1 clove garlic, crushed
– 3 dashes Tabasco or Sriracha sauce
1. Heat oil in saucepan over medium heat. Add leek and garlic and cook for 4-5 minutes or until tender. Add curry powder, cumin, garam masala and cook for one minute or until fragrant.
2. Add stock, bay leaf, lentils and squash. Bring to boil, then reduce heat to low and simmer for fifteen minutes, until lentils are tender. Season well with salt and pepper.
3. Add tomatoes, zucchini, broccoli, carrot and 16 ounces of water; simmer for ten minutes or until vegetables are tender. Add peas and simmer for 2-3 minutes more.
4. To make yogurt, place yogurt, cilantro, garlic and hot sauce in small bowl and stir to combine. Dollop a generous spoonful of yogurt on each serving and garnish with chopped mint.
The only modification required was some additional water (as I mentioned, it’s really more like a thick stew, and I wanted to keep a soupy consistency). Also, I’d advise mixing the spiced yogurt a day in advance so the flavors have time to really spread throughout the mixture. You can stir it once or twice during the day to incorporate it all. (This also makes an easy dip for pita chips or veggies while waiting for the soup to come together.)
The most difficult part of this whole thing is the preparation and chopping of all the ingredients, but if you take it as a Zen moment of ritual and methodical motion, that can be enjoyable too. I’ll take whatever peace is available these days, and if a decent soup happens to come from it, so much the better. Spring may be here, but the cold will linger. This dish will take that edge off.
(Seriously, it’s all about that spiced yogurt.)
When Sunday dawns with just-below-freezing temperatures, but the sun is shining strongly, the relatively short trek to the South End Buttery is a worthwhile endeavor – mostly because I know what’s at the end. In this case, a delicious almond creme croissant (and a chocolate orange scone for the ride home). Such ended this past weekend in Boston, a jaunt that was as much about business (securing a contractor for the bathroom renovation) as it was about pleasure (perusing bars for possible party locations with JoAnn).
While the nearby Cafe Madeleine remains closed for unexpected repairs, the Buttery provides a perfect pastry fix on Sunday mornings. As a treat for Andy, I also pick up a small package of Sea Salt chocolate chip cookies, and I’m proud to say that the majority of them made it home intact. (I’m less proud to say that they didn’t last very long on the kitchen counter.)
On this Tuesday morning, I remember that Sunday morning – still better than a Monday, but still a little sad.
I love duck. I loved it the first time I had an exquisite dish of Peking duck at a wedding rehearsal dinner for my cousin, when I was maybe ten or eleven years old. Since then it’s been a favorite for sentimental reasons, and for the simple flavor when it’s done right. Which doesn’t always happen, and it’s sometimes a crap shoot on whether you’re going to get a great meal or something gamy and fatty. For that reason, I’ve avoided trying my hand at the yummy waterfowl. A while back, however, my Mom gifted us with a frozen duck, and a couple of weeks ago I tried out Martha Stewart’s recipe for roasted duck, and it turned out to be a delectable success (with a big messy drawback, but more on that later).
The main trick with duck is dealing with all the fat that the birds need to survive the cold and wet environs where they make their home. Some cross-hatch scoring on the breasts, and lots of shallow knife pricks to allow exit room for all the fat, are all that’s needed, along with a high oven temperature to keep the skin crispy and the insides moist.
Because of all the fat, there’s no need for olive oil or butter: the bird can roast without further addendum. Martha advised to cover the bottom of the oven with something to catch any splatter, but that seemed a bit too Martha for me, and an unnecessary step, so I popped the bird and the roaster into a 425 degree oven for the first 50 minutes of breast-up roasting.
It turns out Martha was right and not just being overly cautious when she advised putting in some foil to catch the splattering. It was a huge mess. And the smoke… oh the smoke… it was everywhere, and it got into everything. It’s not a horrendous smell, but it’s pervasive and lingering, and the lengthy cooking time only prolonged the ordeal.
After the first 50 minutes, you turn the duck over and cook for another 50 minutes. More splatter, more smoke – lots of each. Then you turn it once more so the breast is back on top, and you cook for another 50 minutes – total cooking time of 150 minutes for an average bird.
At the end, I let the duck rest for twenty minutes or so, during which I roasted some parsnips and sweet potatoes in some of the rendered duck fat. (Save the rest – it’s to die for.) I also took the time to make an orange marmalade sauce, which is the most important part of the whole dish. Orange and duck is one of the finest pairings my mouth has ever enjoyed.
For all the deliciousness of the final product, I don’t think I’ll be doing this again anytime soon. I’ll save the smoke and oven mess for the restaurants.
For my first attempt at pho, I went slightly faux, omitting the whole roasting of bones and onions beforehand and adding some beef broth. While perfectly serviceable (and more than adequately delicious) that extra step of roasting things beforehand was one I took for this next batch. I’m not going to say it made an enormous difference, but it negated the need for the beef broth (which added an unnecessary flavor (and saltiness) that somehow worked against the traditional pho I was hoping for).
This time around, I roasted the beef bones and onions under the broiler until nicely browned before beginning the broth. I also realized that the proposed ten-hour cooking time was not entirely necessary – at some point it becomes adding water simply to boil it away. I’ve read that three to four hours are all that’s needed to yield the maximum flavor from the bones that you’re going to get. Five to six hours seems safest to me, and manageable. This is a stock that tastes even better the second day, so making it in advance is an easy way to accommodate the extensive cooking time.
I’ll keep on working on this one. It’s a recipe worth perfecting, and the only way to do that is through trial and delicious error.
One doesn’t think of fine dining in destinations established with other priorities in mind, particularly museums, but Bravo at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston has been serving culinary excellence for a number of years. Ensconced in a corner oasis of the second floor, it functions as a jewel of elevated dining, a respite in the midst of all the art and beauty for those moments when you may want more than cafeteria trays and crowds. A comfy bar, and refined yet cozy banquettes in the seating area, provide rest for feet tired of standing. It’s a gorgeous space befitting a museum, and the food itself is its own work of art.
On my last visit, timed just as it opened on a busy Saturday afternoon in the aftermath of a snowstorm, the tomato bisque with a side of grilled cheese goodness was the only way to go. Creamy yet light, and topped with a decadent drizzle of basil oil, it arrived looking like some gorgeously-rendered abstract painting, all fanciful swirls and tiny bubbles bursting with flavor. The basil oil was the magical part of the bowl, lending a tangy note of elegance that makes it into something more than just a comfort food. The grilled cheese triangles are sharp enough to get noticed, made delicate by proportion and size. Despite such diminutive stature, they pack a punch of their own (but a couple more would not have been unappreciated).
For the main lunch dish on such a snowy day, I kept with the tried and comfortable, choosing an ample omelet that filled half a plate, accompanied by home fries and a toasted English muffin. Filled with the freshness of tomatoes and spinach, and exquisitely offset by the rich threads of cheese (to continue the comfort-food theme) the omelet was a balanced work of unpretentious brilliance.
One of my favorite dishes in winter is a steaming bowl of Vietnamese pho. It’s like a spicy hug from a pocket of paradise. Usually, I leave the making of it to the pros, but decent Vietnamese restaurants are not a dime a dozen in upstate New York (hence frequent trips to Boston – and yes, I have made at least one trip solely for the purpose of procuring pho).
During a quiet weekend, while feeling slightly under-the-weather, I decided to be brave and try my hand at the broth, though naysayers had warned it was a tricky one. I didn’t find it to be such – it’s more about the long simmer time (6 to 10 hours) that gives it a bad cooking name. I happen to love long simmer times, so this was perfect for a chilly weekend project. What follows is my modified recipe and method. Purists will likely scoff at the many shortcuts and anomalies, but fuck ’em, this shit was good.
INGREDIENTS:
METHOD:
Many recipes called for roasting the beef bones and onion beforehand, but I’m a one pot, Andy-clean-up kind of guy, so I didn’t want to rev up the oven and ruin a baking sheet. Instead, I gave up that smoky stuff for a more intense broth in other ways, starting with the addition of 2 cans of beef broth to the 4 quarts of water. I also sprinkled a dash of cinnamon into the mix (it goes so well with the star anise) to add one more note of flavor. This is supposed to be a pungent and spicy dish.
The process was relatively simply: boil the bones in the water and stock for about three hours. Add the onion, ginger, star anise, cinnamon, and fish sauce and simmer for about six hours more. Obviously this can be adjusted for reality, but this is the best time-frame from which to elicit the most flavor (of course you can go longer if desired – you may have to add more water along the way so it doesn’t boil down too much).
Separately, soak the rice noodles in lukewarm water for about an hour. They should be malleable, yet somewhat firm (they will feel underdone even after an hour, but don’t worry because the boiling broth will finish the process beautifully).
As you near the end of the simmer period, add the green onion and cilantro to the broth (I also reserved a small bunch of cilantro for additional garnish later on). Traditionally, and if you have an excellent and reliable butcher, you would put the thin meat slices into the bowl and let the broth do the cooking. Failing such a supply, I dropped the meat into the broth on the stove and let it boil for a bit. (I’ll sacrifice some tenderness for safety when Price Chopper is involved.)
To plate up, drop a decent helping of the noodles into a large bowl. Spoon in the simmering broth until it covers them well, along with several pieces of beef. This will finish cooking the noodles nicely, and then it will be time for the real magic to begin.
As if after my own heart, it’s the accessories that really make this dish special – and if there’s one thing you can’t forego when having pho it’s this collection of fresh ingredients. In a restaurant, you’ll usually be served the dish of amendments first, piled high with bean sprouts, Thai basil, lime wedges and little bowls of hoisin and Sriracha. These accoutrements are vital for such a richly-flavored broth, lending a vivid contrast to the flavor at hand.
I simply tear the basil apart with my hands and drop it into the broth, along with a handful of sprouts. A few squeezes of lime is enough to spruce up the surface, then I stir in some hoisin and Sriracha. For my home-grown version, I tore up the additional cilantro since I love it so much. The end result was decent enough – and an almost-authentic approximation of the pho I’d only had at restaurants.
I’m not always great in the kitchen, but sometimes I’m pretty good. This was one of those happy times, and this is a dish I’ll make again.
Boston Chops is one of my favorite restaurants in that fine city, but until a few weekends ago, I’d never tried them for brunch. Having passed it on Sunday mornings many times, I always filed it away as something I’d get around to doing, but never did. I finally broke such an egregious habit and came away with a new favorite brunch spot.
The fun and funky music in the background (everything from current radio fare to 90’s classics) had a few servers discreetly shaking their groove thangs, and whenever I see employees having fun at their jobs it makes the dining experience ten times better. The seriously competent and seriously fun staff make this brunch experience a memorably enjoyable one, from the greeting host to the team of servers who never let the glasses of water dip below half-full. But who needs water with all the Bloody Mary selections on the menu? The biggest dilemma of the morning was trying to whittle down the choices to one, but I decided on the Pickled Mary – with pickled asparagus, green beans, frog balls and cornichons – with a promise to myself to return to try the others another day. (The Prime Raw Bloody and its oyster and jumbo cocktail shrimp sounded especially tantalizing.)
A sweet surprise arrived in the form of this insanely good dish of sweet rolls, which would be reason alone to come back every Sunday, and brave any sort of snowstorm to do so. These are, I imagine, what crack must be life – addictive, mind-blowing, and impossible to refuse. We are them in furiously quick and rude fashion and didn’t even care what we looked like. That’s what brunch is about.
The Croque Monsieur, served with a thrillingly ample portion of their famous frites and a small arugula salad, was heaven-sent for a less-than-sunny Sunday, taking the chill off with grilled perfection and ridiculously rich goodness. Next time I’ll try their Kale Omelet if I’m feeling extra good, the Eggs Benedict if I’m feeling like myself, or the Fried Chicken if I’m feeling especially sinful.
I’ve watched the preparation of risotto a couple of times, most recently by Lidia Bastianich, and everyone has always made it look very easy, provided you follow a few simple rules. I’m proud to say that for my virgin attempt at this Italian classic, I did pretty well. The constant stirring is a necessity, and yes, your arm will get tired. (Mine certainly did.) And when you get toward the end, it’s less about following the exact recipe and more about how much liquid you need to add to get it to the right consistency, which you can only gauge by repeated tastings.
For this initial try, I kept things relatively simple, utilizing an onion and a couple of fennel bulbs as the base. The best thing about risotto is its ability to take on any and all flavors and accents, but I wanted to taste the Arborio rice and see how things worked before getting all shellfish fancy and rainbow bright.
The slow and laborious ladle-by-ladle process of cooking to keep the rice intact works wonders, but it is a task. Repetitive and demanding, and without any corners to cut, it eventually becomes a peaceful endeavor once you give in to the rhythm, listen for the slight crackling, and keep things in motion. It’s also best done on a cold fall or winter’s night – you’re going to sweat.
Slowly but surely, the rice gains its classic soft-focus consistency – and I do mean slowly. This is one thing that cannot be rushed.
It’s a good lesson during these soon-to-be-hectic holiday times. We should all slow down a bit, savor the minutes, and pause for reflection. Making risotto is an opportunity for that, and like many instances of cooking, I find it peace-inducing and cathartic.
The end result was heavenly – rich and creamy and full-bodied, aided by the last-step addition of freshly-grated Parmigiano Reggiano cheese and a few more dollops of butter. As you approach the last minutes of cooking, be sure to taste for consistency and flavor, and hold off on the addition of salt until after you’ve added the cheese. (Mine was a tad too salty by the end of the ordeal.) All in all, however, I was pleased with the final product. I’ll try it again as soon as my arm recovers from all the stirring.
When I was a little boy, one of the first restaurants to which my parents ever took me was a place called Pepe’s in Amsterdam, New York. They knew the owner, Sam Pepe, and on certain Saturday or Sunday nights we would go out for a dinner together. Pepe’s was a no-frills, old-school Italian restaurant that basically operated out of what looked like a converted house. There was a bar with tall seats, and in the back a small, dimly-lit dining area. A tiny salad-bar held one of the favorite foods of my childhood: a yet-to-be-duplicated mixture of garbanzo beans in an onion marinade. It was wetter and more flavorful than any other garbanzo bean medley I’ve encountered at every other salad bar I’ve visited over the years. That was the best part of every meal there for me, and I’d have been happy if that was all there was to eat.
Of course there were full entrees as well, but as a kid we mostly just had spaghetti (my Dad had his with olive oil and anchovies and a sprinkling of parsley). Mr. Pepe came out every time we were there, mingling and talking with the guests at every table, including us children, which, when you’re a kid, is a pretty cool thing. Now that I think about it, it’s pretty damn cool as an adult. Such personal service is in short supply these days.
I was reminded of those dinners when I visited my parents the other weekend, and they took me out to L’Ultimo on the Southside. In a town like Amsterdam, it sometimes seems that everyone knows everyone else, so when we walked in my parents immediately recognized the table next to us and chatted a bit, and then our server mentioned that she knew my brother, and soon enough it was like I never left my hometown. L’Ultimo is a far cry from Pepe’s (which is a good thing considering that my tastes have evolved from the days when garbanzos were enough to satisfy) but the goodness and familiarity of a family dinner out felt the same. Breaking bread with loved ones, in the town in which you grew up, is a warm reassurance in a cold world.
My newly-kindled love affair with soup is in full-effect with this entry. I’ve declared my obsession with Lidia Bastianich from the Create Public Television station (don’t get me started on one man’s unhealthy fixation on JoAnn Weir) and one of her Italian cookbooks features a section on soups that has transfigured the entire notion of that liquid love.
Most of my former issues with soup revolved around the idea of it being rather insubstantial starter fluid, light of heft and lacking in anything fully filling. An ill-fated cabbage soup – made mostly of water and cabbage, and devoid of flavor or broth – did nothing to help my disdain for the dish. Yet there are ways to bulk up any watery concoction – from the simple amendments of noodles or rice, or more decadent additions of coconut milk or cream. When all else fails in thickening up a big pot of the stuff, simply boil it down for an hour or two – even the clearest of liquids will eventually condense into flavorful richness. Oh, and when even that doesn’t managed to turn it something good, drop in a few bay leaves – the greatest secret of many a cook.
Lidia suggests the making of a big batch of vegetable broth base, from which you can create virtually any kind of soup. Still holding onto a few strong threads of doubt as to how flavorful a soup could be made from water, potatoes, celery and carrots (not even an onion or clove of garlic!) – I forged ahead and did as instructed.
The most difficult part of this is the peeling and cubing of two pounds of potatoes – but this is the work that keeps one occupied on a cold day, the mundane routine of the kitchen that, when coupled with music and a glass of red wine, can turn into something wondrous instead of woeful. It’s the cozy preparation that lays the groundwork for a spectacular bowl of goodness that will warm the oncoming night. I’m getting ahead of myself. First, the recipe, from ‘Lidia’s Family Table’:
SAVORY POTATO BROTH
Ingredients:
Preparation:
In large cooking pot, heat oil to medium-hot, but not to the point of smoking. Add potatoes, sprinkle on 1 teaspoon of salt, and toss in oil. Cook until lightly crusted and caramelized (about 6 minutes). Lower heat to prevent burning, and stir so they don’t stick. As potatoes start to leave a crust at bottom of pan, add celery and carrots. Stir well, scrape up any potato crust, and raise heat until vegetables are hot and steaming. Push aside to clear a hot spot in center of pan and drop in tomato paste, cooking it a bit before integrating it into the vegetables.
Pour heated water into pan, drop in bay leaves and cheese rind, grind 1/2 teaspoon black pepper, add salt, and stir well. Cover pot and bring to a soft but steady boil for an hour, stirring occasionally.
Uncover pot and cook for another hour or so, still at low bubbling boil, until it has reduced to 4 quarts.
After an hour, remove the bay leaves and let cool. Divide as you wish, or use as a simple soup on its own. Oddly enough, I didn’t happen to have the outer rind of a big-ass block of cheese lying around, so I omitted it – though I can see how that would add another layer of richness to the affair, and may find a smaller piece in the future for just such a purpose.
This is the savory vegetable broth base from which I made two variations on a couple of Lidia’s recipes: a parsnip and fennel soup, and a bok choy and scallion soup. Basically I chopped up the additional ingredients and boiled them for 45 more minutes or so. The russet potatoes somehow remained solid enough and didn’t fall apart – not sure if this was due to the initial cooking in oil part, but whatever the reason, it’s a happy one.
Though it’s a simple recipe, it does take time – but that’s cooking time, not active preparation and work time, so once it begins you can sit around writing silly blog posts while the heat works its magic. You can also speed things along by upping the heat and boiling factor, but the slow nature of the cooking process is, for me, part of its cathartic empowerment. One of the best lessons of all is to be found in the making of soup: patience.
One of the few saving graces of the arrival of the colder seasons is the opportunity for comfort foods. The downturn in temperature practically demands it, and it’s the one instance where I’m happy to oblige. This is the time of the year when I enjoy cooking. It’s cozy to be in a kitchen warmed by simmering stews and soups or a tray of winter vegetables roasting in the oven. I’ll attempt a chicken at some point in the coming months, but for now it’s just soup, as evidenced by the feature photo.
This one is a bowl of Won Ton soup, procured at a Malaysian restaurant in Chinatown. Suzie and I ducked in just before closing time on a late September evening a little before midnight. The winds were starting to bite, and we were only about half-way back to the condo, so we took refuge in the almost-empty restaurant. A novice to the Asian noodle scene, I vowed to make this the fall and winter in which I sustain myself with their heat-miser magnificence. I chose one of the first soup entries on the menu – something with pork dumplings and scallions that sounded plain enough to enjoy as an entry-way to more extreme bowls down the line. It was amazing.
The broth was light but flavorful, and the pouches of pork dumplings were like pungent little pillows, providing their spicy protein in puffs of perfectly-puckered pulchritude. Scattered with scallions, the soup was layered with several levels of flavor, even as the main broth was relatively clear. The noodles were just the right amount to sustain without overfilling, and substantial enough to be more than satisfying for a full meal. Up until recently, I’ve always considered soup to be s starter or an accent, not the main course, but I’ve changed my mind. With noodles and/or rice, a soup can be a hefty dinner unto itself, and this fall I’m making it a staple dish in the seasonal repertoire. Stay tuned for more soup tales…
Let’s get one of my favorite parts of Seattle out of the way early on: the food. A lover of seafood will find his or her mecca in this ocean-inspired city. For this post, I’m only going to delve briefly into three spots that impressed me, and keep in mind that this is just the most minor of culinary spotlights in a city with such a buzzing food scene.
For the first night dinner, there was no other place to go but Place Pigalle, overlooking Puget Sound as the sun went down. My love for all things octopus continued with one of the most imaginative dishes I’ve seen utilizing the cephalopod: octopus with lavender-fennel sausage. Hello taste explosion! I’m a sucker for all things lavender as well, so this was an unthinkable, and unbelievably good, combination. After my mouth had its happy ending, I had the halibut – and the whole meal was the perfect introduction to the Northwest, where beauty managed to be both raw and refined, bright and bold, and unfathomably intriguing.
Across the sound, the ferry brought me to Bainbridge Island (site of a future post on Bloedell Reserve). Before the forest, however, some sustenance in the form of the best deviled eggs I have ever eaten. (And I’ve tried a lot of deviled eggs over the years.) Crafted by the folks at Café Nola, these had lobster – a portion of a claw on each – and the filling was expertly flavored to make the whole thing even richer. Out of all the deviled egg variations that are out there, this was by far one of the best. I still have daydreams about it, with drool running down my face and onto my office desk. Sorry, I can’t help it. Oh, the Dungeness crab melt that followed wasn’t half bad either.
As amazing as the previous meals were, my favorite of all the time I spent in Seattle had to have been the meal I had at Matt’s in the Market. Housed at the Pike Place Market where so much other yumminess happens, Matt’s was a feast for the eyes and the mouth.
As another sun set over the Sound, and the gorgeousness of impending twilight lowered itself as a backdrop, one of the most enchanting salads I’ve ever seen appeared on the table. A bed of smooth avocado, topped by a slab of exquisitely-ripe watermelon, formed the base of this whimsical treat, accented by edible violets and cucumber horns. Forget salad – this was a veritable art installation.
Paper-thin radishes and Serrano peppers gave an impassioned pizzazz to the fresh dish, and I didn’t think the main course could top it.
It happily turns out that I didn’t think correctly.
A Thai-inspired seafood stew, with green coconut curry, basil, mint and cilantro, was a pungent holding pen for mussels, fin fish, Yukon gold potatoes, clams, scallops, Thai eggplant, fried shallots and peanuts. My description cannot possibly do it justice. It was spicy, it had heat, yet it was perfectly tempered by the fresh herbs and potatoes. Somehow, the flavors of the seafood stuck their heads above all the amazing things going on in this bowl, and it was easily one of the best dishes I’ve had on this trip – and possibly any trip, in a very long time.
Seattle was winning me over, even though it had had me at hello.
Up next: A reserve of beauty…
Brunch on the roof-deck of the Taj Hotel is no average affair, but the last day of one’s thirties is no average affair either. We splurged at the establishment that hosted our wedding weekend, and tried out their highly-touted Sunday roof-deck brunch. It was, unsurprisingly, an over-the-top affair, with and endless buffet of decadent treats. I tend to get a little uncomfortable at such formal affairs, especially when the wait-staff puts on airs of utmost importance, but no such formality or judgement was in evidence. The service was attentive but non-intrusive, the professionalism intact but friendly. It set us at ease to enjoy the food on display. And what a display it was.
Endless platters of shrimp, oysters and crustacean claws (already cracked!) spread out before us. I could have made a meal on these alone, but it was only the beginning.
A charcuterie board looked almost too perfect to disturb, but at I made a big disturbance. (A bit more money would have gotten me a glass of champagne, but I couldn’t waste precious stomach space on the bubbly.)
A sashimi spread put the average Japanese restaurant to shame, and here it appeared as almost an after-thought. (Likewise with the freshly-carved tenderloin and bearnaise sauce, not to mention the omelet station, and an entire Indian buffet – the nod to Taj heritage.)
Yet it was the desserts that caught the eye most, such as this insanely-good hibiscus elderflower mousse, which somehow managed to taste even better than it looked.
A sinful cavalcade of sweet treats went on much further than the stomach could contain, but we did our best, and I managed to sample almost everything.
It was a decadent indulgence on the morning before my 40th birthday, but things were about to get even more sumptuous, thanks to Judy Garland…¦
(Before that, however, I needed to sit down. Five plates are a lot to digest.)
