Smoked fish and goat cheese on toast. Delish!

(René Redzepi doing what he does best: foraging)

My life has been forever changed. I just finished the fantastic, didactic and deeply fascinating profile on foraging in The New Yorker, entitled “The Food at Our Feet.” I’ve always imagined myself retiring early (very, as in 32) to the French countryside or a small, lesser-developed island in the Caribbean and working at a local bar, living the simplest of lives. Now I can introduce a new hobby into my fantasy life: foraging. Wherever I go will, as a prerequisite, have an overabundance of nature, and thus my goal of becoming an amateur forager extraordinaire might have a fair shot.

Anyway, here is the article. Much of the author’s foraging education is provided by René Redzepi, owner and head chef of Danish restaurant Noma, considered and officially voted by many in the industry as the “best restaurant in the world.” Anyone who considers themselves a foodie owes it to themselves to read this piece. Some tidbits that might pique your palate/interest:

“He told me about beach dandelions with nippy little bouquets of flowers and tiny roots that taste ‘like a mix of fresh hazelnuts and roasted almonds,’ and about the vanilla taste of wild parsnip flowers, and about pink beach-pea flowers that taste like mushrooms.”

Do I have your attention now? Please do yourself a favor and read it.

Blows. If you’ve tried it then you’re aware. It’s something that I’ve always treated with utter flippancy. I’ll start one in all seriousness, with grandiose expectations of looking like Hilary Swank in Million Dollar Baby by the end of the month, and then two days later shrug my shoulders all like, “What are you gonna do, diet? Yell at me?” when I’m stuffing a cheeseburger into my face.

But this time is different. There’s a wedding involved. No, not my own. My friend Sarah is getting married and it’s a reunion of sorts, so naturally I want to look good. And I bought a dress that is more of a goal than anything else. It’s a halter dress so my arms will be the on total display, and as of now my arms look just like pale sausages. Pouches of fat have gathered where my triceps should be. So in addition to my diet, I’ve been lifting weights like crazy.

I started my new regimen last week, which involved at least 20 minutes of exercise per day (even if it’s running in place in my room), eating oatmeal and salad alternately, and trying (desperately) to not drink on a weeknight. I weighed myself after the first week and saw that I had gained 3 lbs. WTF!

So I embarked on something I never thought I’d even consider, something I would scoff at when suggested in my presence. I started logging my daily food intake. I discovered a great website for just this: caloriecount.com. It features a food log, activity log and weight log that track your every movement. You enter every single thing you eat that day, as well as your physical activity for the day and the site tracks your calorie intake and output. As long as the net is negative you should be on your (slow, tedious) way to losing weight. Also, based on your body type, height, targeted weight and date, they tell you how many calories you should be consuming maximum. Logging has been much easier than I expected and it has changed the way I eat. No longer will I mindlessly shove handfuls of salty things into my mouth, now I think about everything I put in it, because it’s either going to go towards or against my weight-loss goals. And knowing that I have someone to report to, who I don’t dare cheat on, I am much more choosy about the calories I ingest.

Anyway, this post is starting to sound like an ad. Let’s just say that this whole calorie counting thing seems to be working and I’m optimistic. I’ll keep you posted on my progress/regression.

So my first target date is my friend’s wedding and my targeted weight is 130 lbs (I currently hover between 136-139). We’ll see what happens, but I’m not too hopeful. Oh, one last thing you should know: the wedding is two days after Thanksgiving…

So I had no idea what I was doing when I made this. I had never made duck before and I have a spotty record when it comes to roasting chicken. But I did have an inkling that duck would be slightly more precarious (and was later proven correct). One degree too high and it’d burn, one degree too low, it’d be pink in the middle. Luckily, I had a meat thermometer—for those of you who don’t own one, get one!

I rubbed the duck with a sauce that uses traditional Chinese five spice powder as its base. I mixed the powder in with hoisin sauce (because it goes so well with duck and is also Asian) and honey (for a sweet kick) and boiled the mixture with water to mitigate the flavor and create a reduction. The end result was a flavor-packed duck with crisp skin and tender meat, although a smidgen burnt on the outside and a smidgen pink on the inside. Hey, it was my first time.

(Carving the duck, roasted potatoes and tomatoes on the side)

This was a real challenge. Before I delved into this feat, I barely knew what a soufflé was. Now, I feel like I have expertly mastered it. For anyone who has ever dared to make a dish from Mastering the Art of French Cooking (or seen Julie & Julia), you know how complicated some of those recipes are. Even the structure and language is hard to follow sometimes, nevermind the dozens of techniques you’ve never heard of before.

My biggest hurdle? Stiffening the egg whites. I needed assistance just separating the egg whites from the yolk (Chef Ramsay would have laughed and then slapped me). After fifteen minutes of beating the goop manually, I gave up and turned to the electric mixer. The stiff, white foam-like result was a real beauty. Compounded with the hard work that went into making it, the stiffness of those egg whites brought a tear to my eye.

(Pre-oven: batter, salmon, folded in egg whites and Parmesan cheese)

(I mastered the art of French cooking! We paired the soufflé with garlic mashed potatoes and Russian ratatouille)

(It came out shockingly perfect. The crust was crisp and cheesy, the inside was soft and buttery and the salmon was flaky and perfectly baked-in.)

(Who gets the last slice?)

DISCLAIMER: I did not make this with the intention to prompt anyone to propose. When I looked up the recipe, I didn’t pay much attention to the title. I was just blown away by how simple and delicious-sounding the recipe was. So I made it for my boyfriend…twice. Then I looked into the meaning behind the name one day and was mortified. Thank God he has no interest in food culture and would never look into the recipe. And if you’re reading this—SHUT UP!

Anyway, it is quite delicious. And here is the recipe I followed. Notice how vague it is!

(This is the first one I made. Not enough gravy!)

Pizza, our favorite sustenance. It’s cheap, customizable and easy to eat, typically with others while watching your favorite show, or walking on the boardwalk, or sitting in a park—all happy memories. It can encapsulate all of our favorite elements: carbs, dairy, meat, veggies, more carbs (baked ziti pizza, anyone?). And even though we all have our favorite local pizza spot, making it at home yields surprisingly masterful results. I’m not tooting my own horn, just proving how incredibly easy it is to make a successful pizza at home.

The best part about making a homemade pie is that you can use just about any kind of carb in lieu of pizza dough. I’ve used focaccia bread, French baguettes, even bagel squares—they all come out crispy and delicious. In the photos here, I used Turkish Lavash bread that I scooped out to create a makeshift deep dish crust. Before I piled everything on top, I drizzled the bread (on both sides) with olive oil and a little salt. The toppings I used were strictly vegetarian (which for me is out of character): Cabernet-based pasta sauce, thick slices of mozzarella, sauteed eggplant, mushrooms, grape tomatoes, fresh basil and Parmesan cheese sprinkled on top a few minutes before the pie comes out of the oven. The result? An criminally delicious and simple meal and another happy memory.

(The way the cheese stretches is like art)

It’s not exactly a crisp and shiny idea anymore, but it is still the most exciting recent development in the food industry. The supper club.

A supper club is a communal dining experience, as much a social event as it is a culinary challenge. The dynamic of the guests is as imperative as the one between the courses. There needs to be cohesion and variety, a motley hodgepodge of people and dishes that emphasizes creating a discourse more than avoiding disagreements. When my friend Piama and I started our own, affectionately called pree—an amalgamation of our nicknames, P and Ree—we sought to achieve just this.

Our menu:

In honor of summer and savoring its final weeks, we based the menu on our favorite season. We made not one but two salads to open the palate, Caribbean jerk chicken wings for a summer BBQ feel, a white gazpacho to cool the mouth down after the spicy wings and a roasted pear and chocolate sauce dessert that needed no impetus.

Our guests were a mixture of my friends, Piama’s friends and some mutual friends, six in total. Some were clueless about anything culinary, some had more discerning taste buds and some just really liked food.

(Boiling/pickling prawns in red wine vinegar with coriander seeds, mint and cilantro)

(The beginning of Piama’s signature sweet-hot fruit jerk sauce)

(Stage two: adding in chopped kiwi and mixed berries)

(Stage three: fusing into a mean sauce)

(Heirloom grape tomatoes)

In search of a recipe that could integrate all or most of the disparate ingredients I had in the fridge one day, I combed the internet and ended up pulling elements from several recipes and funneling them into my own creation. I was elated by the end result. The cumin and brown sugar rubbed salmon goes incredibly well with the red onions and feta, and the sundried tomato and basil vinaigrette that I had bought at a farm stand on the side of the highway was, unexpectedly, the perfect dressing.

Piama’s warm lentil and sweet potato (the menu lists batata but alas, it was too hard to find in Midwood, Brooklyn) salad was packed with flavor. The earthy sweetness of the potatoes and lentils worked beautifully with the peppery arugula, and the dressing bound all the elements together with a complex tartness. I could easily picture this at a local farm to table restaurant. Plus, it was the perfect bridge between the cold salad and what was to come next.

(Our salads hanging out together)

Here’s where the utensils are put down and etiquette is hung up, replaced by industrial-strength napkins. These are Piama’s signature crispy chicken wings doused in sweet-hot fruit and jerk reduction. They are, from the first wing you sink your teeth into to the last bone you’re licking clean, the most intensely pleasurable flavor explosion you’ll ever experience. The bold sweetness from the rich fruit reduction collides full-force with the strong spiciness from whole peppercorns and chili sauce. Both flavors are powerful but neither overpowers. A definite bonus for these wings? Getting a chunk of strawberry or kiwi in your bite. 

Like an ice cold glass of water after an intense but cathartic run, this white gazpacho was meant to cool the palate down and ease it into the sweet end of the spectrum. My white gazpacho was based on Aarti Sequeira’s (season 6 winner of The Next Food Network Star) coconut tomato gazpacho with coriander and mint pickled shrimp recipe. I remember from watching the episode that she had originally intended to make a white gazpacho but she couldn’t find cucumbers, forcing her to improvise. I decided to honor her original goal and make the lighter version. What I ended up using: cucumbers, coconut milk, pureed blanched almonds, green grapes and a little bit of vinegar. Then I topped the soup with the pickled prawns (pickling process pictured above).

(Making the chili and curry infused chocolate sauce)

(Roasting the pears)

This is a dessert with wow factor. Everything from the presentation to the unexpected flavors seems well though out. The truth is, however, much of this was improvised. Piama was at the helm of the dessert course. She knew she wanted to make roasted pears with a chocolate sauce, but that’s about it. What would it look like? What garnishes could we use? She had no idea. But she thought on her feet and with her sous chef (me) at her side, we churned out plate after plate of these beautiful roasted pears with chocolate sauce, sprinkled with curry and chili powder.

All five courses were devoured and well-received. Our guests were full and satisfied. From the kitchen, as we frantically finished and plated each course, we could hear the rustling of voices and clinking of glasses. From the dining table, I’m sure our guests could smell the simmering of sauces and feel the energy of our creating. In other words, our inaugural pree supper club gathering was a home run.

The last six days of my life were spent in Palm Beach, Florida, eating, drinking and relaxing like a retiree, interspersed with boogie boarding like a 10 year old. I went with my boyfriend Alex and we stayed at his parents’ condo on the beach while they were away. Despite not having to pay for a hotel, I broke the bank and gained a few pounds by eating my face off. Here is some of the delicious Floridian fare that I will be trying to shed for the next few weeks/the rest of my life.

City Oyster & Sushi Bar, downtown Delray Beach

This energetic eatery offers extensive seafood and sushi menus, great service and a mean Bloody Mary. Every element of our dinner was spot-on. We started with a round of oysters and classic New England clam chowder, both of which wet our appetites. For my main course, I chose the mahi-mahi, which came with polenta and a balsamic reduction, paired with arugula, roasted red pepper and artichoke salad in a lemon vinaigrette. Like any restaurant in a coastal city should, this place served fresh, quality seafood. The mahi-mahi was meaty but tender, juicy and flavorful. The polenta was creamy and the arugula salad was a welcoming side over a starch.

This was the pan-seared scallops in a chive butter sauce with mushroom risotto. Alex ordered this and I was jealous. My dish was delicious but this was the next level. The scallops were seared to perfection, the skin crisp and salty and the meat underneath soft and tender. In a word, scrumptious. The risotto was creamy and soft and nicely accented by mushrooms and asparagus.

But the best was yet to come.

Ta-dow! A medley of unadulterated decadence and exquisite elegance on one plate. This was the dessert sampler platter, which consisted of the following (brace yourselves): hot apple strudel and vanilla ice cream with ginger, spice and caramel sauce, dark chocolate fudge brownie, warm chocolate lava cake, vanilla bean crème brûlée, caramel nut cookie basket with vanilla ice cream, raspberry sorbet with berry sauce and key lime tart with orange sauce. To say that I indulged myself would be a considerable understatement.

(Apple strudel and key lime tart)

(Vanilla bean crème brûlée, fudge brownie and raspberry sorbet)

Cabana Nuevo Latino, downtown Delray Beach

Originally opened in Queens, NY, this Delray Beach location is the latest installment in the chain’s expansion in Florida. The colorful atmosphere and lively salsa music drew me to Cabana over the quieter, monochrome French bistro across the street. I did not regret my decision. In addition to a friendly and knowledgeable wait staff, my dish was spectacular. Alex’s dish was average but I don’t think he noticed after three glasses from the gargantuan sangria pitcher.

I started with a salad, and when I think salad at a fairly upscale restaurant, I picture a small fistful of fancy greens piled almost as high as it is wide. This was not that salad. This was a Viking’s salad. It was crisp and refreshing, but to be honest it didn’t need to be that big. I was looking forward to dessert but when this arrived I knew that I would have to cross one course off my list.

These appetizer Caribbean jerk chicken wings were incredible. The sauce was packed with hot-sweet flavor, not too spicy and not too cloying. It’s the kind of sauce that throws etiquette out the window because you get it all over your face and lick it off your fingers. The only jerk chicken wings that I’ve had that trumps this version is my friend Piama’s own recipe. I’ve had the privilege of watching her make her wings and eating platefuls of them and believe me, they deserve their own entry. So check back for that!

This was my main course: pan-seared filet of Chilean sea bass over spinach sautee, yuca manchego cheese mash and saffron beurre blanc sauce. This was the best preparation of Chilean sea bass I’ve had in a long time. In Asian restaurants Chilean sea bass is almost always steamed under-seasoned. The saffron beurre blanc and yuca manchego mash were inventive and highly successful complements to the naturally buttery fish. In other words, I scraped the plate.

Alex’s dish was a special, but unfortunately there was nothing special about it. The generous filet of salmon was expertly grilled and pretty to look at, but the flavor was skimpy. The waitress described it as a tangerine sauce, which we expected to be tangy, maybe a little sweet, and definitely juicy. What we got, however, was more like a glaze and it wasn’t remotely reminiscent of a tangerine. It, along with the rice, were both more coconutty than anything else. It was a shame because everything else about the restaurant was fantastic.

Dune Deck Cafe, Lantana Beach

For a simple lunch/brunch by the water, Dune Deck Cafe is ideal. The diner-style menu offers sandwiches, wraps, breakfast platters and their signature “savory fries.” Even though most items were fried, their seafood was unbelievably fresh. I ordered the Catch of the Day sandwich, which happened to be mahi-mahi and given the choice of blackened or grilled, I chose blackened. When the dish arrived I smiled from ear to ear. The filet was more than generous and rubbed in Caribbean spices. It was exactly what I wanted. And the “savory fries” were indeed savory, but mainly due to extra time in the deep-fryer, I suspect.

This is another exhibit of Alex’s bad luck in ordering. He had decided on the smoked salmon platter with the usual fixings (cream cheese, capers, onions, etc.), which probably would have been a fine brunch, but at the last minute I pointed at the smoked salmon crepes on the specials board, which prompted him to change his order. I guess in this case, the bad luck was…me. What came were not crepes, at all. It was a wrap, plain and simple. Alex was rightfully disappointed but neither of us could blame the low-key diner for wanting to embellish their menu from time to time.

Home-cooked meal in the condo, South Ocean Avenue

(Pan-searing the scallops)

On the last night of our vacation, we decided to stretch our time in our amazing temporary digs, so we hopped over to a Publix and shopped for one meal. Dinner menu: Pan-seared scallops and cod with lemon garlic butter and Italian herbs, potato gnocchi in spicy sundried tomato pesto sauce and oven-roasted Brussels sprouts. Not entirely cohesive, I know, but we made what we felt like having. The scallops were a little overcooked (my fault) and the Brussels sprouts were a little burned (Alex’s fault), but the Bloody Mary’s were perfect and I couldn’t have imagined a better way to end our Florida eatathon. And for dessert? An Alien marathon on AMC!

(The spread. Isn’t it great how Bloody Mary’s go with everything?)

It was right around kick-off time. The Steelers were playing a Peyton-less Colts, which was going to make for an easy game to watch. As a Pittsburgh native and Steelers fan, I was excited. But I was also hungry. Not much can come between me and eating when my stomach calls, except maybe a family emergency or an injured dog. So we stopped off for takeout.

My boyfriend and I were on our way to his place in Midwood, when we spotted a new Thai restaurant on Coney Island Avenue. It seemed harmless enough. What followed our entrance into Lotus Thai Restaurant and Bar was the most abysmal restaurant experience I’ve ever had.

My first impression of the restaurant can be best expressed in an eye-roll. The massive dining room was adorned with expensive (or expensive-looking) leather booths, purple-lacquered walls, ambient lighting and Buddha motifs. It was like the small-time gangster version of Tao or Buddakan. And that’s not even the sad part. At 8:30pm on a Sunday night, when families go out for weekly dinner, when the Sub Sentional next door is hopping, there were two tables in this chichi, hollow shell of an actual Buddhist’s worst nightmare.

(Lotus Thai)

(TAO)

But we were already here and I was getting hungrier by the second. So we stood by the podium inside the doorway for a few minutes when finally someone came over and was about to seat us when we said we wanted take out. He immediately pointed to the back bar area and told us to go there, as if we were supposed to know that. When we got to the bar, the bartender, a Russian girl (I’m assuming because of the neighborhood) wearing what can be described as a wristband for a dress came over to take our order. I swear I think I saw pubes, and that is maybe the last vision you want to associate with food. After our order was put in, we sat and ordered a drink. I needed to take my mind off my hunger and each passing minute that I was missing the game.

Ten minutes went by, still nothing. I noticed a couple in a booth behind us whisper something. The girl got up and walked over to a man sitting on a bar stool, who was presumably the manager, and asked if they could order. They had been sitting there unattended to for twenty minutes. The man, who we still presume is the manager, walked away to find the waiter without a single word to the girl. Maybe he was a non-English speaker, maybe he was the bouncer, either way customer service is apparently not a priority here.

(This was about as busy as it was when we visited.)

After downing my martini, I got up to use the restroom, whose common sink space was another element knocked off of its grandiose idols. On my way back, I noticed their security room, which was wide open for all to see. Remarkably, the restaurant possessed a giant grid of monitors, maybe twenty or more, of every room and angle of the place. I could hear Chef Ramsay’s voice in my head: “How presumptuous!” Just how much money did the proprietors sink into this venture, knowing very well that it was on Coney Island Avenue and in a predominantly kosher neighborhood. Maybe on weekends the place comes alive (there was as DJ booth in the middle of the dining room, after all), but 20+ monitors? In sleepy Midwood, where the median age is middle age? Feels like money sunk into the ocean.

But wait, the situation gets worse. After my boyfriend and I had both downed our martinis and twenty minutes had gone by, we were starting wonder why our takeout was taking so long, given the near empty dining room. When I asked the bartender, this was her reply: (Flips hair, rolls eyes) “We don’t have a bus boy today, so the waiter has to do everything.” To this my boyfriend replies, “Is he the chef, too?” What did that have to do with us?? She rolls her eyes again and goes into the kitchen to check. After six years of working in Chinese restaurants, it was shocking for me to see this perfectly able-bodied girl (although perhaps her rubber band of a dress was cutting off circulation) standing around doing nothing when there were customers waiting for various things. In almost any other restaurant, she would be expected to take a table’s order or pack the takeout when the restaurant was understaffed, or even just busy. Instead, she did what may be the most shocking thing witnessed that night.

A customer sent back a glass of wine, for reasons unknown. This malnourished, malclothed “bartender” actually went and scavenged a funnel to pour the glass back into the bottle. She would have succeeded if the “manager” hadn’t casually thwarted her efforts. Too close for comfort, if you ask me. And as if that wasn’t enough shockers for one night, the “bartender” then took my empty martini glass, dunked it into a sink full of soapy water (once) and put it back into the fridge—without rinsing it, without drying it, without doing anything useful in that one fell swoop. When our food came shortly after that we booked it like Hasselhoff at a dry bar.

(Beware: some of these bottles probably contain someone’s backwash.)

And to top it all off, the food was terribly mediocre. The Lotus Pad Thai was dry, overly sweet and wholly uninspiring. The twist was the omelet on top, but it was more like bland noodles and egg foo young without the gravy.

At the end of the treacherous visit, I just felt sorry for them. The owners sunk enormous amounts of money, time and energy into a venture that I predict will last less than a year. If they undergo the Kitchen Nightmares treatment, however, I’ll bet you a plate of the best BBQ brisket in the South that Chef Ramsay would say: Cut back on the overly ambitious scope, focus on the food, fire your entire staff and hire an experienced one and for God’s sake, stop trying so hard.

Best part about that night? The Steelers beat the Colts 23-20.