Teddy's Offal Night Part Deux

Writing about the wonderful experiences we have eating Teddy's offal dishes brings me great pleasure. Thoughts of this meal invoke fond memories of grown men eating what far too few people are willing to enjoy. Teddy is incredibly passionate about this type of cooking. As with many talented chefs, he sees it as a way of showcasing his craft. And it is no small task to do justice to his offal-y creations with words.

The word offal is said by some to be derived from the bits and pieces of an animal that "fall off" while it is being butchered (the story goes that "offal" is then derived from "fall off"). The word is obviously susceptible to plenty of jokes, and so it certainly hasn't helped with waking up the masses to enjoy this type of cuisine. And it is probably a good thing really because chef Teddy was able to cook for his mates for next to nothing because offal is offal-y cheap. Yet, there is one other reason you may not see it much, and that is because it actually can be pretty nasty if it is cooked incorrectly. I mean, we're talking about delicate organs here - if you overcook them or don't know what to do with them, they really can taste like shit. Think of how much you hated your mom's overcooked liver. Also, unlike muscle or flesh, organs tend to be much more showing of a chef's talent. So when you see it on a menu or someone wants to cook it for you, they're telling you something about themselves. And you need to listen.

CRISPY PIGS EARS. The ears were braised in trotter gear for about 3 hours, then sliced and deep fried to allow for proper break down of the collagen. Not much needs to be said here. They were fried. They were chewy. They were "unctuous" (man foodies are really loving that word). They were delicious.

Another ingenious idea Teddy had was to provide butter inside hollowed out veal bones (which were of course properly boiled down, after the morrow was eaten I'm sure, to provide the sanitary dish). We had actually chatted about what we can do with marrow some time ago, and Teddy apparently came up with a few ingenious ideas (see the dessert). But he also found a wonderful thing to use the bones for. This man wastes nothing.

TROTTER CAKES, with fennel & bacon, maple butter glaze, apple ginger and prune relish. This was by far my favorite meal that night. Most people enjoyed the next dish (Oxtail on toast), and I'll give that dish proper acknowledgement in a minute, but these trotter cakes and relish were one of the most delicious things I have ever eaten. Chef Teddy explained the dish as one of smoked bacon, fennel seed and parsley with the scraps of trotter all suspended in their own jelly and maple glaze. Every bite provided for a delightful and mildly sweet, porky flavor with just the right give. Since I'm half-dutch, I love ham, especially maple glazed ham. If you can imagine a deconstructed maple glazed ham, reconstructed into little cakes, and with much more flavor and texture, then your only part way there. And the combination of this dish with the apple, ginger and prune relish was just genius. I mean, this is the kind of dish that makes a restaurant famous. It was that good.

OXTAILS ON TOAST, with tomato confit, horseradish cream. Ok, so I said I would give this a proper acknowledgement since it was the group favorite. A simple description is oxtail braised for about 3 hours and served on buttered toast with horseradish cream (which is essentially horseradish and creme freche we are told). It's simple, but it took alot of time to make (which is the common theme on these dishes tonight I've noticed). And it has that sweet, fleshy taste that I love so much about oxtail. You know, I feel guilty writing about this dish because it struck such a high note with everybody else. I did think it was a superior dish, but I was still thinking about the trotter cakes and relish. Sorry.

At this point in our meal, Adam arrives (tardy bastard) after giving some of the local boys in chelsea some gymnastic lessons. I hadn't seen Adam in some time, and he's toned down some (you know, lost fat, gained muscle from all his rompings in the gym with the boys). So perhaps the jokes stop there before he kicks my ass.

CURRIED KIDNEY GRATIN, with beef dripping toast. OK, what do you say about a dish that reinvents the way you think about an organ that has passed uric acid for an entire animal's life? I mean, we all enjoy a good steak and kidney pie. But that is a less adventurous dish, as you can hardly tell what you are eating. Here, you have large chunks of the organ, reminding you what you are eating and sharing the limelight on their own in a curry sauce that is spiced just perfectly. Any carnivore would thoroughly enjoy this dish. This is not "adventurous" eating when you consider that the flavors are all familiar, and not what you would expect from offal. I suppose if you love offal and the rich taste of offal and you hate curry, then this dish might not even do much for you. But for me, it was a very welcome creamy curry flavor with chunks of delightful kidney that taste like, well, I guess steak. I slurped down every bit of the curry sauce. Teddy shows me his source of inspiration for this dish, which comes from a recipe derived from Anissa Helou, kind of a hero to Teddy.

ROASTED PIG'S HEAD. Hand made tortillas, radish, red onion, crema, salsa verde. The theme music from 2001 Space Odyssey begins. The chef presents an entire Pig's Head, split in two, braised for 3 hours and chilled in trotter gear, finished with a sweet maple glaze, served with fresh radish, sour cream, red onion and salsa verde (a very nice spicy variety with tomatillos, cilantro, and vinegar). These sides helped cut the fatty pieces of head flesh; Teddy explains that all offal needs to be cut with something to provide balance. The dish arrived, and a couple of people started to tear pieces off, and within 1 minute we were full-on cave men devouring the head, wrapping fatty, sweet, unctuous (there is that word again) morsels in freshly made tortillas. We probably should also give a thanks here to Guanita (sp?), who works with Teddy and initiated his inspirationto to prepare this dish. We should credit Guanita's wife for supplying the amazing freshly made tortillas. But the biggest thanks goes to Chef Teddy who did something amazing with a $12 head (yes, Pig's head is that cheap).

BONE MARROW CUSTARD, Lemon-almond gremolata. Ahhhh, bone marrow. I love bone marrow. I appreciate it's buttery flavor that accompanies a piece of toast. And I fear Teddy and I had conversed a little too much about the other uses of bone marrow. Perhaps it is just something best left to being roast in a bone, or served as part of a pasta dish (see Teddy's last Offal night; that dish was amazing). Does it belong in dessert? Well, I can say that I really appreciated this dish, and I did enjoy it. The custard was unlike anything I have had. Well, actually, it was supposed to be a custard, but it was torched and so became a creme brulee instead. However, the marrow ensured that the texture was a bit grainy, almost the same as the texture of cheesecake. Teddy did not want it to be a thin, slippery texture, but rather firm so that we cold taste the bone marrow. He confirmed that this should be thought of more as a savory a traditional british after dinner dessert, and not a sweet. But, I think I had an expectation in my head that it was going to be more like the marrow that is roasted in a bone, which is obviously impossible if you are baking it in a custard. I just wish I ate this custard thinking rationally... knowing that it was a savory baked good. If I was thinking rationally, and not completely entranced by the previous courses, I may well have been thinking a little more clearly to enjoy this dessert more. As I write this, my mind wanders back to those delectable trotter cakes... mmmmmmmm....

Persimmon (277 E. 10th St.)

I had a chance to check out Korean hot-spot, Persimmon, located on 10th St. between Avenue A & 1st a few days ago. Chef/Owner Youngsun Lee honed his skills at Momofuku & has now created a prix fixe 'neo'-Korean experience in the East Village.

The menu is seasonal, changing every two weeks & will set you back $39 for 5 courses per person. They are currently applying for a liquor license, so are no longer BYOB, a shame as some booze would have really improved my meal.

I started with the fish cakes & Dan got the sliced beef with melon sauce, both of which were good. We both selected the Bossam or pork belly for the next course which I'll have to admit was amazing! Simply cooked, yet delightfully fatty & flavorful, this was by far my favorite dish.

I followed with the massive Salmon & Rice pot which I really enjoyed. The small dishes that came with the mains really added to the experience. They included kimchi, roasted baby garlic & tiny fried fish. I'll have to admit that the next 2 courses really didn't do much for me; a small soup with mushrooms & a watermelon dessert.

All in all, I enjoyed the food there. The staff were attentive (we sat at the bar, right by the kitchen) & friendly. I'll definetly be going back when they get thier liquor license & the menu has changed (hopefully the Bossam will still be on there!)

How to impress your mates....

Purchase a fresh pig's head from 'Los Paisanos' and slice the bugger into two equal pieces, right through the nose.
Purchase four pigs trotters and cut them all in half.
Borrow a huge cast iron pot, big enough to hold all your piggy parts.
Find all sorts of vegetables and herbs, a bottle of white wine and enough water to cover your piggy bits, and throw into borrowed pot. Bring to boil. Simmer until everything is brilliantly soft.
Remove trotters and let cool. Use to make 'trotter cakes'.
Let head cool in stock overnight, strain and reserve stock the next day, dry head thoroughly and brush with molten maple butter, and glaze and burnish in a fabulously hot oven until Mr Piggy looks like he's had two weeks in Greece with a case of Hawaiian Tropic bronzing oil. Hey fucking presto.
Serve with lots of wine and bread.

Bussaco

Bussaco is the new incarnation at the old Black Pearl spot on Union Street in Park Slope. Scott Carney, the owner, has a fine pedigree having cut his teeth and made somewhat of a name for himself at Gotham B&G under the mighty Alfred Portale. Carney has employed an equally ambitious chef, Matthew Schaefer, also with an impressive background having spent time in the kitchen at both Aquavit and Le Bernadin. There's no doubt that these two gentlemen know how to run a restaurant and kitchen. Whether they can do it together in that spot remains to be seen.

An exemplary martini was made at the bar by a knowledgeable young chap, who explained the restaurant's water policy of double-charcoal filtering and carbonating tap water. Guests pay $4 for an unlimited quantity. It would be shame if more restaurants don't follow their example. Who on Earth wants to pay $9 for a nicely-shaped bottle of Norwegian glacial fjord juice when you can drink pure water for next to nothing?

The space is fairly large for Park Slope, and it does have a nice airy feel, but it suffers terribly from bad acoustics. There is literally nothing to absorb sound and conversations bounce around the walls freely. This would be no bad thing for a professional eavesdropper or spy, but on the night I went, there was a rather too happy bar crowd and I ground my teeth every time one young lady in that crowd let rip with her atrocious guffaw. I am sensitive to noise, I know. I suggest some nice Persian rugs from up the road to damp the noise a bit.

The menu is well thought out and leans heavily on what can be found at the Grand Army Greenmarket or from local producers. A crab chowder contained more than sufficient crab meat and smoky bacon adrift in a creamy shellfish broth mined with potato. A crisp roasted quail breast shared a large white plate with a circle of foie gras mousse and pickled peaches. The peaches won over the other flavours, I suspect because there was not enough foie in the mousse to counterpoint them and assert the quail but it was a well though out, cohesive dish. Scheafer's roast pork with crispy skin was slightly dry on presentation and continued to dry out while we ate. It took us a while to find the crispy skin, until we spotted a tiny blackened disc of a porky nature, which we assumed must be it. These tiny problems will iron themsleves out, for sure. My bass and Manila clams in lemon-herb broth was wonderful and the kind of thing you'd expect to get at Le Bernadin: Perfectly cooked fish, plump juicy shellfish and a broth contrasting and supporting both protein elements. The pastry chef, Deb Snyder from 50s eyesore Lever House doesn't let the side down, perfecting both an apple-caramel bread pudding (and I know my bread puddings) and a chocolate cake with toasted almond ice cream. Domestic and international both feature in an interesting and sensibly priced wine list.

Service was very efficient, and the waitstaff smiled a lot which is nice to see. They were a little over-attentive though, re-filling our water glasses after every couple of sips. My attempt to put the bottle on my side of the table next to the wall to prevent this was useless. They simply reached across us and our food to re-fill. I can fill my own glass, thank you. It was almost like they had nothing to do and felt they needed to look busy. I can understand that. For a restaurant with some buzz about it, the place had roughly 20 guests in a space for about 60.

And this is one of the reasons I fear for Bussaco. Despite the pedigree of both owner and chef, they have opened another 'New Brooklyn' restaurant in Park Slope, a neighbourhood with too many of this ilk already, and this amid the current financial turmoil. I do wish them the best of luck, and sincerely hope they make it, because I like the place.

Not a Chappuccino In Sight…

As a Brit, there is something magical about the smell of Indian food. For me it invokes a bunch of memories ranging from great nights with good friends sat around a big table in Brick Lane (the “go to” place for a decent yet cheap ruby in East London) to childhood memories of watching WWF (as it was still called) wrestling as an 8 year old with Shak (my neighbour in Blackpool) as his mum kept us well away from losing our virginity by stuffing an assortment of deep fried Indian treats down our throats. So to walk through the door of JC’s place with a pair of very open lungs was a real nostalgic treat as vapours of cumin, cardamon and cilantro tickled my belly and brain in equal measures.

Now every executive chef will agree that nothing gets the taste buds going like a good smoke and surely it is only the archaic smoking laws here in NYC that stops every meal opening with a fat one. To accompany the Glastonbury inspired amuse bouche was a tribute to the Queen Mother (god rest her soul) – a self-poured glug of Bombay Saphire Gin with a token splashette of Tonic. 15 minutes into the night and already things are going paradoxically both fantastically well and utterly pear-shaped.

As soon as JC’s delightful missus had been dispatched with $20 and orders to keep herself busy for a few hours, the eating proper could begin. Chef JC had the following five course South Asian inspired extravaganza for us…

Poppadoms & Chutneys
Red lentil & Carrot Soup, Homemade Naan Bread
Seafood Bhaji
Tandoori Chicken with Black Lentil Sauce, Herb Pulao, Rocket & Mango salad
Cardomom Kulfi

Now even just typing all that makes my rectum emulate Eric Idle’s eye (know what I mean?) but JC resisted the temptation to make us five courses of molten lava and I can truthfully say that Wednesday morning was free from the anticipated “ring of fire” scenario. That’s a big “Bravo” in my books straight away.

Anyway, down to business. What good Brindian (British Indian) meal doesn’t begin with a veritable tower of poppadoms served with an assortment of dips? JC rustled up four homemade dips for us from scratch of mango salsa (damn good), mint raita (extraordinary, I could have drunk it by the pint), hot green chilli dip (nice stuff, would have liked more heat) and a cucumber yoghurt dip (nice and refreshing). It’s basically Indian Superbowl food and the poppadoms resemble light tortilla chips which have been shallow fried in oil to result in a perfectly glistening vehicle with which to drive half a pint of dip straight into your gob. Indeed they are so light that it feels you could eat a thousand of the little buggers but caution and restraint are required as they are like a tardis made of tampons wrapped in a Shamwow (don’t deny you know what I mean) and overindulgence can leave you too full to enjoy subsequent courses. The Curse of the ‘Dom has claimed many victims but none, I am pleased to report, last Tuesday.

One thing I am most excited about with the turn of the weather is the return to some thick, warming, hug-in-a-mug soups and JC began the season with a fine puree of carrots and red lentils spiced enhanced with the regular Indian spice blend. He really nailed this one and the homemade naan bread (an unleavened bread which he topped with poppyseeds) was the perfectly authentic mopping up tool. He was even thoughtful enough to give the diners their choice of crispy or extra crispy bread…well, that’s how I’m choosing to report it. Two courses in and two ethnic riots (the British equivalent of a home run).

Course three was a seafood bhaji (think chunky pancake) made from salmon, turbot and shrimp if my memory serves me correctly. I’m used to the protein content of a bhaji being basically irrelevant because of the over-riding spice blend but with these bad boys, JC managed to keep them extremely light (which is pretty impressive for a deep fried ball of ingredients held together with batter) and the individual flavours of the seafood remained well and truly in tact. Yet another great dish from JC Jaffrey.

The inevitable Thursday Club over-eating groans were beginning to become audible around the table but luckily we had a while to wait for the final savoury course. Unfortunately we filled that time by chugging more beer and smoking our heads off…not exactly the 45 minutes sleep we probably all craved by that point. Still, when the main course arrived we promptly all fell on it like starving animals. What appeared was well worth waiting for – a baked tandoori chicken breast (a marinade of yoghurt, lemon juice and a variety of spices that results in a piece of protein that is the same shade of pink as Hello Kitty’s undercarriage…I assume). Whilst this colour occurs only in nature as a way to entice bees to flowers and men to oral sex, the resultant flavour (of the chicken, not the minge) is truly incredible. If there was a downside, it would be that Teddy’s piece was a little underdone but, quite frankly, that serves the fat bastard right for jacking the biggest piece. Serve it to me next time JC, you know I’ll just swallow it whole and not say a word (insert your own gay gags here). To accompany the chicken was some herb pilau (tasty with a nice bite) and some black lentil sauce that came out more like a puree but still had great taste. A thoroughly enjoyable dish.

So what do you need after all that rich savoury food? That’s right, an even richer dessert. Without the aid of an ice cream machine, JC had managed to whip up an extremely tasty cardomon kulfi (think cardomon infused ice-cream made with condensed milk) served with some Indian sweets (not recommended by the ADA). Despite being fuller than Pete’s Book of Tall Stories, we all wolfed down this hypnotic sweet treat and I can honestly say it was the finest Indian dessert I have had the pleasure to savour.
No surprises for what happened next - we retired to a local juicer to put another nail in any remote chance of feeling human on Wednesday morning. Thanks for a fantastic meal JC.

Porchetta (110 East 7th St.)

After reading NY Mag's review of this new 'pork-centric' gem in the East Village, I decided to go try some for myself. According to the 'omnipresent' Wikipedia, porchetta is; 'a savory, fatty, and moist boneless pork roast of Italian culinary tradition'. A pretty accurate description if you ask me.


The location is small, offering maybe 6 seats at counters, so I think it really lends more to takeout, but I still ended up eating there. The menu is small & concise, offering vegetarian options & a few sides, but I was really only interested in the pork, so I ordered the porchetta plate (who needs bread anyway?)which came out to about $13. Before I left my house, I did a bit of research & found mixed reviews & some complaints, mainly about price, portion size & what some whackjob described as 'inedible gristle'. I found none of the above to be true.

Served with beans & greens, I found the pork to be incredibly moist & flavorful. I particularly enjoyed the spice rub on the pork - the fennel added so much to this dish. Being a pork aficionado, I ate every bit of the succulent fat before polishing off the rest of the meat. I'll have to admit though, that the sides really didn't do anything for me - I was all about the pork. Now if only they would sell it by the pound!

The decor is minimalistic, the staff are engaging & friendly & the food is top notch. I'd recommend Porchetta to anyone who likes pork, or just good food in general. Rest assured that I'll be going back there.

9th Street Espresso expands!

I've always been a fan of the coffee at 9th St. Espresso, but not such a fan of their crowded 700 E. 9th St. location. So, I was really stoked when they opened a Thompson Square branch at 341 E. 10th St. (between Ave. A & Ave. B). Gone are the crowds & tables packed with laptops & people pretending to work. The new spot has a much more 'take-out' feel. It's still the same great coffee, but minus the clutter. The stark white decor & high counter running along the length of the store give the space & airy feel.

But what about the coffee? Oh yeah, the coffee, it's pretty damn delicious, probably the best in the city in my opinion. A little on the pricey side, but the baristas really know what they're doing & the consistency of the Hair Bender blend used for espresso is amazing. One cappuccino is all you need to kickstart your day. Check it out if you are in the area (they also have a location in Chelsea Market).

Black Iron Burger (540 E. 5th St.)

I've been watching, with a lot of interest, the remodeling of the old Bouche Bar, so when Black Iron Burger opened up, I knew I had to go & check it out.

As soon as you enter the place, you know that the owners mean business. The location is small, but they did an excellent job with the decor. They have a wide selection of great beers & I was glad to see that there wasn't a Bud Light tap in sight.




I ended up getting a beer & a burger with blue cheese, quite possibly my favorite topping for a burger. Served unpretentiously on a plate & wax paper with tomatoes onions, lettuce & pickle, visually, it looks great. I wasn't 100% sure what to expect, as this was my first time there. I thought that the burger was good, not great, but I had 2 major gripes; Firstly, the bun. Maybe I'm just fussy, but I found it a little on the hard & dry side, no matter how much I drenched it with ketchup. That's the best way I can describe it.

My second & far more startling gripe is that we (I went with 2 friends) were never asked how we wanted our burgers cooked. This is fine if you're at McDonald's or like burgers that have been sitting under a heat lamp all day, but for a restaurant that's specializing in burgers, this is unacceptable. I like my burgers rare to medium-rare, so I found it to be overcooked. That having been said, I think there must have been some customer backlash as a friend that recently went there was asked how he'd like his burger cooked. Bravo.

They're still a new restaurant & are probably ironing out the kinks. It's no Corner Bistro, but is a decent, inexpensive option for burgers in the East Village, comparable to Royale. I'm definitely going to go back there & see if anything has changed.

King Sizzler

There's a chippy near my Mum's house in England and it's called Sizzlers. Whenever I drive past it, I'm always tempted to pop in for a cheeky Pukka with some scraps on the side, but I can't get past the name. I just think of its murky stainless steel fryer ranges, day-old batter mix and where the frymaster's fingers have been. Sizzlers.... I think of hot spluttering choking fat, the air thick with vinegared spud moisture and the windows streaked with condensation. I think of drunk Fridee night spot-enamelled Chavs sharing a nasty battered sausage with soggy fat-soaked chips fighting over who's going to mount the neighbour's dog first.

Alas I am a Northern Monkey and even fried food from a place like Sizzlers is in my blood in the worst, familial and most genetic sense. And I love it shamelessly. I know another man who loves to fry. This is a man you know.

We ate at Adam's place a couple of weeks ago, and he prepared for us some really simple, rustic fayre. Before the scoffing began however, we had to watch while Chef 'Pistol' Pete got his pink arms out and showed off his new tattoos - a shiny knife and a rather happy piglet galloping up his arm towards it. Did I mention that Pete is Jewish?

A sumptuous white bean and sage soup was topped with fried ingots of bacon. The soup tasted of white beans and was seasoned well. When the spoon I raised to my mouth snared a chunk of the fried piggy on its way upward, I murmured with delight. Sadly no beans remained intact to chew on, the mixture having experienced the whirring might of the stick blender, but the sage was there in tiny green flecks and danced on the tastebuds when the two made contact.

Fried green tomatoes had a crisp breadcrumb jacket, while the fruit's flesh remained juicy and sufficiently tart. The addition of fennel sausage was a great idea. A dish this vegetarian definitely needs some meat.

His Guinness ribs were delicious, and though I couldn't exactly detect the stout, the meat had a beery bitterness which I enjoyed. Ribs had been twice-cooked resulting in highly moist pork and it shredded with ease even between the fingers, the remaining bones left cold, white and cleaner than if they'd enjoyed a few minutes in a medical autoclave. Adam has a knack with meat. When he gets too old for his current job, he should go into barbecue.

A bread-based dessert with fruit was good. The fruity bread was fried, of course, mixed with prunes and chopped mint and placed in front of us. A first mouthful was dryish. Then he remembered to whip the cream and put that in front of us too. This was exactly what the pud needed. Simple and delicious.

Barnyard (149 Avenue C)

Avenue C has finally got a high end meat & cheese shop. Barnyard, located between 9th & 10th Streets & opened by the Brix Wine guys, it's a real welcome addition & shows how the neighborhood is changing. They sell a variety of goods; sandwiches, breads, meats, cheeses, pate, duck fat & the like. The staff are friendly & knowledgeable & while the location is great for me as I live a few blocks away, my only real problem is the price. Some of the cheeses top out at $25 a pound, so if you love as much cheese as I do, each visit could turn out to be extremely expensive.

That having been said, I will be going there for some specialty items, but for my basic cheese & cured meats needs, I'll be going to East Village Cheese.

The Boys of Summer

To wrap up a hectic and somewhat scatter-brained summer for the Thursday Club, Teddy decided to fire up the grill and treat us to an 'Al Fresco' feast. Here is what we dined on:

-Scotch Egg 'Buddha Style', Thai red curry cream
-Octopus and squid salad, chickpeas, dried papaya, mint
-Marinated beef flank, arugula, white truffle and parmesan vinegarette, crispy potatoes
-Warm Figs, date puree, white goat cheese ice cream, oatmeal and spicy sherry sauce

The grill-related scents of summer filled Teddy's backyard and cold beer filled an large, icy tub right next to our table. Although some chilled wine selections would have been perfectly acceptable for grilling, beer was the drink of the day. And with the way we had to crowd the tub to cram all the long necks in, no one would go home thirsty. Some of these degenerates wouldn't even go home.

I always link outdoor grilling and hard cooked eggs for some reason. Whether in deviled egg form (which I could eat roughly a hundred of on a good day) or chopped on a nice green salad, summer cooking is always better with eggs. Teddy created a little jewel of a starter which was a play on the traditional Scotch egg. Spicy sausage rolled in peanuts, bread crumb, and a tangy Thai-inspired sauce protected a firm egg interior. They were carefully lined up and carelessly knocked down allowing little time for us to comment on how good they were until we were starring at the last one......which Grant disposed of after polite yet pointless deliberation.



Teddy's next course was a salad that contained a laundry list of ingredients and borrowed from a number of culinary areas. All tied together nicely in flavor combinations that varied drastically from bite to bite and was a delicious surprise every time. Chickpeas, sweet dried papaya, briny green olives, earthy seaweed, meaty octopus, warm squid, fruity olive oil......and more.



The squid was cooked two ways. After marinated to infuse more flavor, the bodies were grilled gently over the flame until firm, while the tentacles didn't get off as easily. They were tossed into a cast iron pan (nearly large enough to fit an adult sitting cross legged) that was kept over the burner for at least 15 until it could melt soft metals. With a hiss and crackle, the individual legs seemed to tap dance across the pan surface as they cooked before nestling in the leftover marinade to finish cooking through.





As you can see, it was quite the bowlful. If steak wasn't on the menu, this could have easily been the main course of a lighter, summer menu. Maybe for some other cooking club perhaps.

No outdoor is complete in my mind without steak of some kind. Teddy opted for a marinated flank that was cooked rare and sliced into chunky strips. To go with red meat, potatoes of course. They were aggressively crisp and took several turns in the oil coated pan to ensure no spud was left soft. As they tumbled over and over, it almost sounded like hail stones on car roof tops......yup, that crisp. The star of this dish for me was the parmesan-truffle vinegarette, which was the ultimate triple threat. Slathered on the steak to enhance the juicy, marinated bites, it coated the crispy potatoes to add a cooling and creamy dip and made an ordinary pile of leafy greens the desire of the table. It also succeeded in turning the blandest of fingers into a nice post-meal treat.



If the first 3 courses were more rustic and straight-forward, dessert was the flash grand finale. Fresh figs, and date puree on one side, goat cheese ice cream on the other. All topped with a crunchy homemade cookie and boozy, tart Sherry sauce. With so many naturally sweet ingredients, the ice cream was a perfect compliment to level the sweetness off. The tangy goat cheese gave that extra boost that an ordinary vanilla just probably wouldn't pull off.




As if these courses weren't enough, Porky Pete came through with some dynamite cheeses from Murray's Cheese. I don't remember the details of all four, but they were all American and relatively local. The two that I liked in particular; one that was described by Pete as 'blue, goat and delicious' (snicker) and the Hooligan cheese from Cato Corner Farm which was stinky as hell, creamy and complex. We were pretty stuffed a this point, but there is always room for the cheese course (And beer. And port.).



Although I ducked out early to ensure a sober morning and subsequent work day, Mike, Boogie, Grant and Teddy did the Park Slope rounds in search of a suitable night cap. This took them to Barbes (one of my all-time favorite juicers) and the Dram Shop for some wobbly-legged shuffleboard games. Unfortunately this is the only information I got out of them, but I'm surprised they could remember this much actually. And all of this on a Tuesday night. Damn.

Even though the weather will keep warm for weeks ahead, this was a great opportunity to celebrate outdoor dining and the summer that was before the sun recedes and gives way to the icy curtain that is New York City winter. As daylight gets more scarce and summer menus morph into braised meat stews with root vegetable mash (which isn't that bad of a thing), try to get outside and enjoy the virtues of the grill, pop in a hard cooked egg and chug a cold bottled beer. Time is running short.

BBQ at Porkey Pete's Place

Ahhhh, memories of last summer. It is now fall, and I am just getting to post this now. Ridicuous, considerint I had some of the best bbq in my life just a couple months ago at Pete's place. One Saturday afternoon, I headed over to Porkey Pete's place for what was told to be a day of good bbq and "awesome appetizers." Being somewhat of a bbq fanatic myself, I wasn't expecting to be overly impressed. Not that I had doubts in Pete (how could I? the man is a trained chef), but I've eaten plenty of good bbq in my time - so I just wasn't expecting to be "blown away."

I guess what I wasn't prepared for was this tremendous feast that ensued. Corn bread baked with smoked bacon chunks, a molasses bbq sauce, great cole slaw, and peach pie (leaf lard, the fat from around the pig's kidney, I am told is the key) all made their way to the table.

I'm not going to say too much here, since this wasn't a TNC night, and I'd feel bad teasing all the boys that didn't make it. But it was one of the most memorable slabs of smoked rib I have ever had. Good one Pete - bravo.

Dan and Porkey. Look how happy they are?

Gold medal meals at Grant's

Poor little Yang Peiyi. Who'd have thought the Chinese would be so concerned about straight teeth in her 7 year-old mouth while she blasted out China's 'Ode to the Motherland', perhaps the country's most patriotic song for the benefit of the World and the Olympic opening ceremony. She did brilliantly. And they didn't think she'd measure up to international standards of cutedom, so they got some other girl, with a nice smile, to lip synch. Can you imagine Yang Peiyi's pain?

"Mummy. Mummy, did I not sing very well?"

"Oh yes, Darling, you did very well, but your teeth look like the rake we use to clean up after Fido."

It seems the famous American quest for multiple golds in the beauty stakes has inspired countless other nations to subscribe to its twisted ideal of beauty: Fake tan, fake tits, chiseled abs, straight white teeth, Procede, ExTenze, Relacor, Vis-Align...Does everybody think that straight teeth in a mouth is more important than the words that come out of it? Am I the only one that doesn't?

A struggling cook who desperately wants to win awards, rosettes, pats on the back and Burgundy stars, whose cooking is confident and faultless, might think about beautifying his plates to wow critics and pull lasagna over the eyes of the 'inspecteurs', but they'll see straight through his cheap attempt to up the stakes. It's as big a giveaway as linear scars under a perfectly formed, evenly tanned breast, or a bestubbled Adam's apple on a Bangkok hooker.

Overgarnishing is a sin. If it's on the plate, it should have purpose: For the mouth, not for the eyes. Grant doesn't overgarnish. His food speaks for itself. That's not to say that it wasn't beautifully presented. It was, and frankly a joy to eat.

A slice of heirloom tomato was baked with a manchego and bacon crust, varnished with a few drops of truffle oil. The acidity of the fruit battled bravely with the sweetness of the cheese and the salty kick of the bacon. His Pan-Asian inspired shellfish laksa with squid, seared masala-dusted scallops and big bulbous prawns sat atop a jungle curry sauce thickened with coconut cream. This was a dish celebrating the virtues of of sweet caramelisation and gentle pungent heat, and is one of the best dishes I've eaten all year. A breast of duck marinated in orange juice, garlic, balsamic and spring onion was treated to a hot sear in a glowing pan, the skin transformed from brackish blubber into crackling savoury brilliance in nearly seconds, left the meat underneath moist, pink and deliciously gamey. Duck always needs some sweetness to accompany it, and while the beets underneath didn't achieve the required sugary glory, they were roasted well and mined with grains of smashed walnut and freckled with parsley, yielding a playful congregation of textures. A classic succotash containing edamame, bacon, sriracha and corn exalted a beautifully cooked fillet of perch flanked by toothsome squid and again, the Big Man managed to balance heat, sweet and salt with ease and demonstrated that he has a deft hand when it comes to cooking fish. Wine, a long deep breath and some Olympics in wide screen for the guests quickly followed the fish and while the majority jeered Phelps and scoffed at the tumbling floor action of Chinese and American gymnasts, we could hear Grant in the kitchen muttering, opening more wine and making dessert. A slop of Basmati rice pudding ringed by finely poached peaches had ungainly nuggets of European chocolate (of origin unknown) strewn on the top, and we watched the chunks melt silently into creamy white abysses. It was indeed ambrosial and I said so, but nobody in the room got the joke despite the fact that half of us hold British passports.Where does a culinary athlete position himself on the podium when he's taken gold, silver and bronze? Well, I worked it out. He doesn't. He should sit at the bar, graciously accept the bouquets and back slapping and let everybody buy him a well deserved drink.

Brasserie Bofinger - Pied de Porc

I decided that, feeling French, and in the absence of any work to do (I was on holiday) I'd enjoy a drink and a scoff at one of the oldest brasseries in Paris: Bofinger. I was told that they serve one of the best pig's feet dishes in all of France. Pistol Pete that it was not to be missed. Nor the decor, the service, the amazing wine list, and the general ambiance.

Although Bofinger wasn't around during the revolution of 1799 when the Bastille was razed, it sits right next to that monument in the Marais/Faubourg and would have been packed to the rafters for the almighty piss-up that ensued. This fine institution also introduced 'draught beer' to Paris during the phylloxera infestation that destroyed much of France's grape harvest in the late 1800s. Brasserie Bofinger and its environs, it seems, are famous for more than one kind of revolution.

I kicked lunch off with a superbly constructed martini, and took a long lingering look at the wine list. I also had my eye on a dozen Belon oysters before the famous pied de porc. Our waiter, an elderly chap who'd been around during the revolution, wanted to know if I'd eaten pied de porc before. "Oh yes, Matos, we eat all kinds of shit in England you know!" He looked at me as if I'd made an unexpected confession, which of course I had. We both knew though, that I was about to amazed.

I thought the poor bugger's knees might snap as he staggered over with my big pile of glistening burnished meat, with chips of course, and he was visibly relieved to set it down on the table. "Bon appetit!".
Trotters are not easy things to eat. The best bet, I thought, might be to pick it up and eat it like corn on the cob, but with all these fussy French sods loafing around and eyeing the Brit suspiciously, I thought I'd be good and make the first incisions with knife and fork. The first incision punctured the crisp orange mantle of pork skin with a thud and the point of the knife went effortlessly through the whole trotter stopping only when it hit fine old porcelain on the other side. I put my greasy thumbs either side of the first incision and applied a gentle pressure. A rivulet of shiny golden fat and gelatin came oozing out and made a smart puddle on my plate. I spent a few minutes glueing a few of my chips together while I though about the elusive ruby red pearls of meat inside the foot, and how good all that crisp skin will taste when I finally get in on board. There is not a lot of meat on a foot (check your own and you'll see) but what it lacks in protein, it makes up for in gelatinous gloopiness and downright satisfaction. A messy 30 minutes later and my foot had been reduced to a pile of bleached white toe bones, a few bits of hairy skin, and a somewhat plumper, happier Teddy.

Le mystère a résolu

The French have always fascinated their European counterparts. For decades, they have viewed as the most stylish, the best smelling, and the most ferociously committed gourmands on the planet. How can they afford so much time to eat? To cook? But how do they do it? It was on a recent visit to Paris that I worked it all out. The answer lies in the country's insistence on a 35-hour week, no more, no less. While the rest of the World works relentlessly at dead-end jobs they hate to buy shit they don't need, the French put in as few hours as possible so they can loaf about in smart cafes and temples of gastronomy scoffing incredible food with real 'terroir' , drinking champoo, smoking thin cigarettes and discussing the merits of the new Gucci camel-skin driving shoe.

That's it: I'm cutting fucking right back on my hours. That should do the trick.

I'm Hatin' It!

I performed culinary seppuku last night & ate McDonald's... Don't ask me why, but I was really craving some processed mystery meat. I ordered from the shithole on 1st Avenue between 6th & 7th. It only took a few bites for me to remember why I haven't eaten from them in 3 years. Instead of just going with my usual 'Chicken' McNuggets, I decided to prolong my agony & ordered a Fillet 'o Fish, Big Mac & an Apple Pie as well. The Nuggets I could tolerate, but the Fish sandwich was by far the most disgusting thing I've eaten in a while.

Why the hell is their food so hideous (better yet, why the hell did I attempt to eat this stuff)? I can imagine some fat cat in their corporate office devising more & more ways to poison McDonald's customers while driving stock prices up.

Ronald McDonald you SUCK! Oh no, not you Hamburglar & Grimace, you guys are ok in my books...

A Return To The Kitchen

As you may have noticed, there's been a real decline both in posts on the blog & Club Meals recently, but it looks as if we're back on track. The gang got together last night 'round Teddy's house for one hell of a meal.

The festivities started with a Watermelon & Basil martini. Normally not my cup of tea, I was too buy necking the stuff down to take a picture! Sorry :)

While we were all standing around the kitchen, Teddy served up Bacon wrapped Prunes w/Yancey's Horseradish Cheddar & Chili. An excellent amuse gueule with it's mix of sweet, savory & spicy. Trust me, these bad boys had a nice little kick to them & didn't last long!

We moved to the table (& onto the next bottle of wine) for the next course; Brandied Chicken Liver Parfait, Tarragon Butter, Parsley & Roasted Peach Salad. Honestly, I don't know how Teddy does it. I've tried to make this parfait several times & I just can't get anywhere near as good as his... Flavorful & creamy, it was awesome with the light salad.



We had a little time to ponder just how badass the meal was while Teddy was searing the next course; Roast Wild Sea Bass w/Tomatoes & Montpellier Butter. Having seared the bass before putting it into the oven, the skin was a deliciously crispy. I've never had (or heard of) Montpellier Butter, but wow, it went very well with the fish & the sweetness of the tomatoes. Another great course.

Next up was Peppered Beef Filet, Fennel & Lemon Salad, Sweet potato & Blueberry/Balsamic Sauce. The house looked like a smokehouse as Teddy seared this lovely piece of meat. It was served rare as hell, just how us ravenous carnivores like it, atop delicious sweet potato mash. I tried to get a bit of each element in every bite & I was in heaven.

We ended the night with dessert; Classic British Treacle Tart, Lemon Balm Syrup, Clotted Cream. Now, I'm not really into sweets, but the dessert was quite possibly one of the best I've had in quite some time. Believe me when I say that the crust was to die for! We tucked into this while drinking an awesome sparkling wine; Scrapona Moscato D'asti. Lovely!