The Food Section

Eat Anywhere

The Table-less Meal Kit by Simplicitas includes nifty multi-utensils (combining a knife, fork, and spoon), mugs, and dishes that fits together to form a compact set of tableware for two. Perfect for for an an impromptu picnic just about anywhere (and probably also quite useful for for feeding a toddler on-the-go). $38 at Flight 001.

Image: Simplicitas.

Lost in Translation

VEGAS, BUBALA? Above, the original Canter's in Los Angeles, and at top, the Vegas version.

A few years ago, Jessica of Ritz Bites tipped me off to the weirder than weird news that Canter's Delicatessen, the Los Angeles institution, had expanded to open a branch in Las Vegas. On one level, this made a certain kind of sense: You can have anything in Las Vegas, from a scaled down Eiffel Tower and Brooklyn Bridge to restaurants serving the culinary creations of Thomas Keller, Joel Robuchon, and Daniel Boulud, so . . . why not a Jewish deli? On the other hand: Whaaa?

The original Canter's holds a special place in my heart. While I was in graduate school at UCLA, I lived a few blocks away from Fairfax Avenue, and spent many late evenings and early mornings there studying and writing. More recently, on a visit to Los Angeles, Anya woke up at 4:00 a.m. and refused to go back to sleep. Where to go for breakfast before dawn and entertain a sleepless toddler? 24-hour Canter’s, naturally.

Big, blown out photos of the original Canter’s line the walls, but otherwise, the Vegas incarnation, buried deep in the casino at the Treasure Island resort, is a different beast than its mothership. It has a vaguely retro/space-age Jetson’s chic, with a lot of stainless steel and curvy light fixtures. Where were the illuminated autumn leaves lining the ceiling? And, what about the trademark telephones? None could be found. The sandwich menu was more or less intact, though the tepid corned beef I ordered was disappointingly chewy.

Something (maybe everything) was lost in the translation to Las Vegas. No waitresses (you order at the counter). No bakery. No movie industry types or students (like myself at one time) or elderly Jewish couples. On the day I ate there, the deli had been transformed into -- of all things -- a sports bar. There was a Green Bay-Philadelphia game on, and every seats were turned toward the flat screen televisions. Burgers, not pastrami, seemed to be the most popular dish, with lots of Miller Lite sloshing and not so much Cel-Ray.

Canter's Delicatessen (Treasure Island, 3300 S. Las Vegas Blvd. Las Vegas, Nevada, 702.894.7111).

Postscript: Puglia in Pictures

On the left, puntarella piled up outside a produce shop in Vernole. On the right, olives at the market in Trani and handmade semolina pasta at Masseria Barbera in the Murgia hills.

I've sorted through all of my photos of Puglia to put together a slideshow of the best, mostly taken in and around the towns of Bisceglie, Lecce, and Trani:

For even more photos, be sure to visit 101 Cookbooks and delicious:days, where Heidi and Nicky and Oliver have posted some stunning images of the region.

Related:
» Early to Market in Bisceglie
» Mysteries of Puglia: Moira and Mussoli

Early to Market in Bisceglie

The drive from Bari's airport to Bisceglie is deceptive. The landscape is marked by an incredible amount of modern development: big box stores, a giant outlet mall, and huge cranes building new apartments. But, peel back a layer of the Apulian onion, and you'll find along the coast the old whitewashed towns with narrow streets that wind their way up out of the Adriatic.

I got up early on my last day in Bisceglie and walked along the water into the old city center, where there was an incredible market. The fishermen head out early from the town's small harbor, pushing colorful wooden boats against the tide, and return with a jaw-dropping bounty of seafood -- octopus, squid, clams, oysters, and silvery, glassy-eyed fish. Adjoining the fish market was a vegetable market teeming with fresh produce -- bright fall persimmons, puntarella, pears, olive dolci (fresh, uncured olives), and green and purple artichokes with stems as long as your forearm.

Below is a slideshow of photos (click directly on the photo to advance; refresh your browser to return to the beginning):

Mysteries of Puglia: Moira and Mussoli

I've just returned home from the second leg of my trip to Italy: five days in Puglia at a conference on nutrition and olive oil presented by Oldways. My thanks to Melissa McCart and Jane Lopes for guest-editing the Appetizers and the Agenda in my absence.

I'm slowly poring over the hundreds of photographs I took on the trip -- from olive groves on the cusp of the harvest to open markets brimming with puntarella, persimmons, artichokes, and octopus. Until I edit these photos down to a reasonable number, I bring you two images from Puglia that are forever seared in my memory.

Above is a detail from a poster for Moira Orfei, "Queen of the Italian Circus," whose visage shadowed us throughout our trip. Those posters -- announcing her "RITORNA IN PUGLIA DOPO 10 ANNI" -- were everywhere. Plastered to nearly every highway underpass, Moira's surreal eyes (and those eyebrows!) constantly followed us like Big Brother with a beehive hairdo. A brief search online finds that she is a lifetime circus performer born to a clown, actress in myriad 1960s monster movies, and even the inspiration for a novel.

Below is a plate of steamed mussoli served at one of the only restaurants open in the town of Bisceglie after 9:00 p.m. on a Monday night. We thought they were mussels at first, but they turned out to be something else entirely -- a mussel's crusty cousin.

Inside the shell, the mussoli tasted like mussels, only with a much more intense, briny flavor of the sea. Unlike mussels, they don't open when cooked. So, to get at the meat, you pinch and pluck out a little plug found along the seam where the two sides of shell meet and then stick a knife in to pry them apart. Searching for information about the shellfish online has yielded precious few details about these mysterious creatures.

The utter weirdness of the eating experience was only made more so by the Dirty Dancing soundtrack playing on a cassette tape while we dined.

Sushi Milanese

In New York, they call it crudo, but here at da Claudio Pescheria dei Milanesi, they call it sushi. Go figure.

Plus, rather than fetching the high prices you'll find in New York for Italian-style raw fish, at da Claudio you can have yourself a generous plate full of ultra-fresh thin-sliced fish, including tuna, salmon, shrimp, and branzino, among other varieties, for just 10 euros (and that's including a glass of wine).

You do have to eat standing up, but that's part of the fun. It's cheap, unpretentious, and delicious.

The blog Porcini Chronicles compares the sushi servers to baristas, and the comparison is a good one. Like ordering un caffe at a bar, you pay first at the register, then head to the counter, which is set smack dab in the middle of the fish shop, and present your receipt. The barista (or pescerista, if you will) lays down a pile of chopped salad on plate, covers it with raw fish, ladles on deep green olive oil, and dusts the whole thing with sea salt and black pepper (there's also a selection of marinated seafood like cuttlefish, shrimp, and scampi to choose from, along with raw oysters and other shellfish).

An order includes a glass of sparkling white wine poured from a tap. The pesceristas work quickly, and the pace is frenetic, particularly during lunch. But, once you get your order and can settle in to the tender fish, crunchy salad, and cheap, but refreshing wine, you can just relax and enjoy the show.

da Claudio Pescheria dei Milanesi
16, Via Ponte Vetero
02 8056857

Buon Giorno!

I'm in Milan (that's a shot above from my hotel in the Brera district), and then I'm off on Thursday to Puglia for a food conference presented by Oldways.

Posting will continue, along with some help once I head south from intern emeritus Jane Lopes (on the Agenda) and Shopping List contributor Melissa McCart, who will helm the Appetizers.

I went to my favorite restaurant, La Latteria, last night, and I have received a bunch of eating and drinking recommendations which I'm sorting through for the remainder of my stay. If you have any must-eat, must-drink, must-see suggestions for Milan, please share them in the comments or send an email.

Parisian Pitfalls

Paris dining is full of pitfalls. The guidebooks warn you, your best friend who just got back from a Provence tour with a quick weekend stop in Paris warns you, and even your distant college backpacking memories remind you: Paris is very pricey compared to the rest of France, it’s surprisingly easy to eat badly if you’re not careful, and Parisians are not necessarily the world’s most courteous or servile people. This isn’t a good thing or a bad thing, of course, it just…is.

I grew up in Paris, I can fully con Parisians into thinking I’m one of them—and still, during my short vacation here this past week, I’ve experienced some of those dining pitfalls. So, in the interest of helping others avoid the same mistakes that I’ve made this week, please find below a short list of the some of the eating and drinking experiences that can go terribly awry in this tough town.

Croissant aux Amandes

The almond croissant is my absolute favorite flaky-pastry pastry, or viennoiserie as the French call that genre of pastry that includes croissants, pains au chocolat and apple turnovers. It’s an epic calorie bomb that tastes as divine as it is dense—pastry layered with almond cream, layered with marzipan, topped with powdered sugar and slivers of toasted almond. And like all Parisians, I have my favorite source. It’s a little boulangerie-patisserie on the short rue Mouton-Duvernet, in the 14th arrondissement, one of the city’s most quiet and pleasantly inconspicuous neighborhoods. It is, however, my mecca. I turn up this past Sunday, stand in line searching the display case, and immediately locate my target. But when I ask for a croissant aux amandes, the baker’s wife tells me that they only have chocolate almond croissants left ! I am crestfallen. Paralyzed. Incredulous. Who knew they would run out of the classic kind? It’s only noon! Now, I’m going to have to accomodate a thick vein of dark chocolate running the whole length of the pastry—every single bite, chocolate and almond, chocolate and almond. Woe is me.

I buy it because I have no choice—but don’t let this happen to you. Get there early.

Terrace Dining

You know that feeling: you’ve been on your feet for hours, shopping, strolling, taking in a few exhibits, meandering down streetlets and up boulevards. But suddenly your feet feel like lead, your legs are fomenting mutiny, and just really need to sit down and have a bite. Of course, you’d like to find a little terrace or garden, somewhere you can enjoy the summer breeze and the people-watching and the fact that it’s 2pm on a Tuesday and you have nowhere else to be. The problem with Paris is that there are just too many places to do this.

Take, for instance, the 10th arrondissement near the Canal Saint Martin. This is a neighborhood just north of the Bastille, built around this lesser-known cousin of the Seine river that’s controlled by ancient iron locks, and lined with cobblestone walks and trees and benches. It’s a neighborhhod that’s been gradually hipster-fying over the past few years, with boho-chic boutiques, galleries and trendy innovative restaurants springing up. Primo people-watching. But do I go to the Chinese take-out—these traiteurs chinois now pullulate in Paris, and they’re actually cheap and good, nothing to do with their New York counterparts—and get a Vietnamese spring roll and some dumplings to go and picnic on a shady bench by the canal? Or do I grab a sidewalk table at one of the two cafes facing each other on the corner of the rue Lancry and the Quai de Valmy, that both appear to serve delicious-looking salads, if the food that the hipsters already eating there is any evidence? And if so—which one ? This one offers a tuna tartare with fresh dill—the consummate French summer dish—and this one serves a Salade Océane, a trio of poached fish on a bed of dijon-dressed frisée… 

All I’m saying is that this is a dilemma you never want to face, so just do your best to think ahead.

Sancerre v. Water

And then of course, there’s the café situation. Café waiters are notoriously surly. Some may even appear mean. This is in their job description, if not their DNA. They do not have the patience to field questions, especially not about the drink selection or their prices. But in fact, one of the stranger aspects of the café economy in France is the pricing. Who knows whether it’s a question of supply and demand, mischievousnous or French wackiness, but a glass of wine in any given café is among the cheapest beverages you can order. A glass of chilled Chinon, or a pleasant little Bordeaux is, quite literally, cheaper than a Perrier with lemon. A glass of Sancerre costs less than a cappuccino.

I know this seems strange. I know it’s only 4 o’clock in he afternoon. But don’t ask your waiter for any explanations—just suck it up and resign yourself and order the wine. And just so you’re fully warned, if it’s any time near-ish apéritif time, you may be compelled to pick at a dish of complimentary herb-marinated olives, as well.

***

In conclusion, just try to be careful. Be on your guard. These pitfalls can be very hard to avoid in Paris, so you may just need to learn to live with the fate that befalls you.

French Women Eat Milk Fat

In the Department of Fatty and Caloric Foods the French Seem Magically to Metabolize and Yet Neither Get Fat Nor Die Young, I would have to add sweetened condensed milk. I know, jaws are dropping, the mind boggles: the French? Canned cloying milkstuff?

When you think sweetened condensed milk you picture little cans of that Eagle Brand goo that’s invariably called for in “dessert bars” and “no-bake pies”—those classic American assembly line desserts that usually include whipped topping and butterscotch chips, as well. Or, since the mainstreaming of dulce de leche (which is just caramelized sweetened condensed milk) in Haagen Dazs ice cream and Cheesecake Factory cafés—it’s now their fifth most-popular cheesecake—you might even think of gooey Latin American treats. Or you might just think of fudge, which can be made quite simply by nuking a package of chocolate chips with a can of the condensed stuff, stirring, and then proceeding to have a very excellent time.

But my own first taste of sweetened condensed milk actually took place in France, allegedly the homeland of complicated, sophisticated fats, like real-butter flaky pastry and triple-cream cheeses. It turns out that not only do the French eat the milky goo, but they eat it straight. I discovered this one year at a rustic sleepaway camp on the Atlantic coast in Southern France. Four o’clock rang in snack time everyday, and since the French aren’t afraid of feeding their children a lot of sugar, this often meant chocolate sandwich cookies and chewy caramel candy. But one afternoon, the counselors handed out little paper packets in the shape of tetrahedrons, a sort of three-sided pyramid that fit in the palm of the hand. I took one and squeezed it—it felt like toothpaste inside—but I had no idea what it was. I looked around and watched the other kids: they stuck a little corner of the packet in their mouths, bit down, and tore. And then they inhaled.

What these delicate French children were inhaling in these adorable packages was pure sweetened condensed milk. It was packaged in these kiddie portions and marketed as a children’s snack. The brand of choice was Nestlé, the little packets were called Mini Berlingots (that’s what the tetrahedron shape is called in French), and they also came flavored, strawberry or chocolate. To make an analogy to crack cocaine would perhaps be overstating my enthusiasm for these little berlingots—but not by much. After my first draw, I was hooked, though I remained unclear for years as to what exactly the divine sweet cream was.

Soon after, I found out that the stuff was available in less mini packaging—in full-on toothpaste-sized tubes, that could be stashed in the bottom of one’s book bag for quick sucks throughout the day. I may sound like an addict here, but the hit-of-goo-on-the-run was not my idea at all. That’s literally how the condensed milk was promoted on the tube’s packaging then, and that’s exactly what it says on the back of the Nestlé package today:

Offrez-vous un instant de pure sensation gourmande pour recharger vos batteries en le dégustant tel quel, partout selon vos envies! Indulge in a moment of pure delight, boosting your energy by enjoying it just as it is, anywhere that suits your lifestyle!

Just to sum up and make sure the point is clear: the French here are suggesting you suck on a tube of intensely sweetened whole-fat dairy product for the sheer gustatory pleasure of it. And they don’t stop there. They also vaunt the nutritional benefits of sweetened condensed milk, citing it’s richness in calcium and protein. So that in addition to the fact that it just plain tastes delicious, the French breezily celebrate the stuff—a mere 660 calories and 18 grams of fat per recommended serving—as an energy food, much the way that Americans might talk about, say, a granola bar.

So what can you say to a nation of slim, long-living, life-loving people who advocate sucking on a tube of yummy milkfat? Amen.

Street Fare: Amsterdam Edition

Scenes from the Noordermarkt

Thanks to a tip from Heidi, we headed on Saturday afternoon over to Amsterdam's Jordaan neighborhood in search of the Noordermarkt, an outdoor farmer's market located along the Prinsengracht canal. The market is just a short walk away from the Anne Frank House, which we returned to on another day. By the end of our trip, the Jordaan turned out to be our favorite place for walking and shopping, randomly exploring its narrow streets lined with charming townhouses.

The Noordermarkt occupies a triangle overlooked by the Noorderkerk, a large 17th century church designed by architect Hendrick de Keyser. Though we arrived late in the afternoon, the market was still going strong, filled with stalls doing a brisk business selling an impressive variety of produce, cheese, baked goods, and meats. Below are some photographic highlights.

Home from Amsterdam

We've finally returned home from our trip to Amsterdam.

Despite a bout with stomach flu that sacked us on our last two days (blame the "Flemish fries" with mayo?), we had a wonderful time exploring Amsterdam. It's a lovely city, even in the drab, wet weather of February.

Not only was the trip an opportunity to go somewhere we had always wanted to visit, we also got to meet a bunch of fellow bloggers whom we had only "known" previously through their online presences. After years of reading 101 Cookbooks, I was very excited to finally meet its creator, Heidi, for the first time. Plus, we also got to know some of the people behind a number of culture, gossip, and music blogs -- namely David, Trent, Rachel, Liza, Frank, and Glenn -- who made the trip the same time we did.

With my fever slowly subsiding, look for posting to return to normal starting next week, beginning with some gastronomical highlights from our Amsterdam adventure.

Italia '05: Arrivederci!

Blogs are supposed to be oh-so-up-to-the-minute, but this series of posts on our July visit to Italy has bucked that trend. Months have passed, seasons have changed, and even a child was born while the Moveable Feast soldiered on. One unintended benefit has been the opportunity to look upon all of those images of Italy in summer as winter in New York draws near. It's 19 degrees right now!

If you happened to have arrived late to Moveable Feast: Italia '05, here's the entire series, from start to finish:

»Destination: Italy
»Seeking Santa Margherita
»Send in the Clowns
»Restaurant Redemption
»Baby Gastronomy
»Camogli: Market Day
»