Toll Booth Willie Chocolate Chip Cookies!

Is there anyone out there who doesn't love chocolate chip cookies?! Okay, besides vegans and their disdain for butter, and maybe people who don't like chocolate. (both groups should probably be brought in for questioning and subsequent evaluation.......just kidding!) All jokes aside, chocolate chip cookies are a treat that has the ability to warm the soul of young and old alike. So why are there so many bad cookies being served out there in the world? So many tasteless discs wrapped in cellophane packages with stickers denoting their shelf life, whose ingredient lists more closely resemble a science experiment than a baked good. How do we remedy this? It's easy, bake your own. You will enjoy them thoroughly, and I promise you will have no problem giving them away to people who will be more than happy to take them off your hands. They are a perfect addition to your politically correct non-denominational holiday party! Great for that PTA gathering that has been looming on your schedule. Be the ultimate soccer mom and bring these to the next game (just don't forget the orange wedges and Capri Sun!). Running late in the morning, coffee and two cookies will hold you until lunch. In big news here at thehumblecooknyc offices, we have decided to publish our very first recipe, our Toll Booth Willie Chocolate Chip Cookies! Now there are a few things to know about this recipe, whose name clearly pays homage to an American classic. Unlike many food writers out there (many of whom have recognizable first names) I will not deceive you into thinking that I am presenting some groundbreaking recipe. So many of the chocolate chip cookie recipes swirling around the web, or slipped into the latest "how to be a Mom" book are a blatant rip-off of the recipe featured on the ubiquitous yellow bag. They change one measurement and pretend that they spent years perfecting their perfect concoction. As Anthony Bourdain would say, I call BS! The reason people do it is that so many of our food references are built in childhood memories, and for so many people that included a batch of 'yellow bag' cookies. The truth is, that recipe makes a damn good cookie. I give credit where credit is due, so our recipe is simply enhanced. Think of it as the HD Digital Cable Widescreen Dolby Surround Sound version. After all, the original recipe was invented by Ruth Wakefield in 1930, around the time TV's first became commercially available. I'm pretty sure you wouldn't be satisfied to watch a tiny black and white TV, so why settle for the cookies that people ate at the time. That being said, let's all give thanks to Ruth for creating THE cookie, the one whose impact on American culture is without parallel. It's impact has been so great that I can't think of another recipe (savory or sweet) that has stood the test of time as THE standard like Ruth's has. (As with many great things, Ruth and her Toll House Inn were from New England, and she basically added chocolate chunks to a classic colonial recipe for Butter Drop Do cookies). One final thought about cookies that was prompted by a conversation I had with a friend recently. I am a guy. I like to watch football. I love to play sports, and I don't mind being dirty. I insist on carrying heavy things by myself, even when it hurts. Asking for directions is always a painful endeavor. But I really like to bake cookies, and I am one hundred percent fine with that. I like to strap on the apron (figuratively, seeing as I don't own one) and get it done. I prefer baking cookies to hanging out with guys who drink beer, eat chicken wings, and generally act as if they were an incredibly vulgar seven-year old. Gentlemen.....it is okay to enjoy baking, cooking, or what have you. The kitchen is not off limits to those who want to retain their masculinity.

So here is our recipe (rip-off?), but read on to hear our thoughts on some important points.

Toll Booth Willie Chocolate Chip Cookies

1 3/4 sticks of unsalted butter, softened (7 oz.)

3/4 cup sugar (5.25 oz)

3/4 firmly packed light brown sugar (6 oz.)

2 large eggs at room temperature

2 teaspoons of pure vanilla extract

2 1/4 cups of unbleached organic all-purpose flour

1 teaspoon of fine sea salt (actually just a smidge under 1 teaspoon is perfect)

1 teaspoon of baking soda

1 cup of dark chocolate, preferably 60-70% cacao, chopped into small chunks (6 oz.)

1 cup milk chocolate chips (7 oz.)

1. If you plan to bake the cookies immediately, preheat your oven to 350F and line your baking sheets with parchment paper or a silicone mat.

2. Place the butter, brown sugar, and sugar in a mixer. Beat until smooth, light, and creamy, about 2 min, or longer if mixing by hand.

3. Add the eggs (pre-beaten) and vanilla, and beat until just combined.

4. Sift the flour, baking soda, and salt together in a medium bowl. Add the flour mixture to your wet ingredients and beat on low speed just until the flour is combined, no more.

5. Add both chocolates, and again beat on low speed until your dough comes together and looks delicious!

6. If you are baking your cookies immediately disregard this step. If you want the ultimate Toll Booth Cookie, cover your bowl with plastic wrap and place in the refrigerator, preferably overnight, but a few hours will also work.

7. Place the dough in rounded tablespoon like mounds on the baking sheet, giving them plenty of room to spread. Bake for 7 min, then rotate the pan and continue to bake the cookies for another 5 to 7 min. It is better to have the cookies looking underdone in the center, instead of browning, because they will continue to cook after removing them from the oven (allowing for a chewier cookie). Take the cookies out of the and let them sit on the pan for at least a few minutes before using a spatula to move them to a cooling rack.

8. Repeat

9. Eat and enjoy with family, friends, co-workers, acquaintances, or random people you have never met.

Let's talk a little bit about the Toll Booth Willies, and what makes them special.

First things first, ingredients. This is incredibly important because you simply can't create something that is better than the building blocks you use. If your ingredients are sub par, your cookies will be too, no matter how good the recipe is. So.....

-Use the freshest eggs possible, looking for vivid orange yolks.

-High quality dark chocolate is a must, and makes all the difference. Valhrona is the best, but Callebaut makes some solid chocolates that are far more affordable.

-This recipe ups the ante with vanilla because we feel that it creates are far better cookie. Please use real vanilla extract, not the imitation stuff that tastes like a gas station.

-King Arthur Flour is highly recommended. It is available almost everywhere, and the quality is solid.

Some notes on the recipe itself......

-If you can, get yourself a small oven thermometer. So many people fail at baking simply because their oven dial is miles away from the temperature actually being created inside. Baking these cookies at 350F allows for a chewier cookie than other recipes that call for 375F, which tends to crisp the edges too much.

-The refrigeration of the dough really allows the flavors to take shape, and it also prevents the dough from spreading too quick and overbaking.

-When a recipe calls for room temperature butter, it usually means just that. If the butter is still cold at all, it simply doesn't cream properly with the sugar. You want the airy, yet creamy texture that only warm butter can produce.

-We bake one sheet at a time, but I employ two baking sheets in the process. The second sheet to go in should be cold. If you use the same hot sheet pan the bottoms of the cookies brown too quickly. If you only have one sheet pan, cool it off under running water before using it for the second batch.

Don't skip the dessert!

Classic desserts are something that simply never seems to go out of style. I can vividly recall many a meal that has been mediocre at best, yet was saved by a splendidly sweet flourish at the end of a meal. Do I have a sweet tooth, yes indeed. Is there ever a time when dessert seems like a bad idea? Not likely. If I cared to be fully honest I could disclose the fact that as a child I may have overindulged in sweets, but this assessment rests precariously on the notion that consuming a half gallon of ice cream in a sitting qualifies as overindulgence. Fortunately I made it out alive, and let go of some of my childhood obsession with sweets. Don't get me wrong, I still crave sweets, but moderation is certainly the order of the day. I believe that erroneous thinking has taken over America, one in which dessert is the enemy. My theory is that sweets are wonderful, and should be eaten regularly. I would rather eat a slice of pie and never touch HFCS laden soda. Skip the Big Mac, and instead bake yourself a delicious batch of cookies. It's all give and take, but rest assured, you can maintain a reasonable weight while fully satisfying any sweet craving that comes down the pike. I say this from experience, being that people always comment about how I eat like a horse but remain by most accounts, rather thin. I could tell you that I have a fast metabolism, or that I exercise like a fiend, or that the new diet book to hit the shelves was a real winner. Lies, all of them. I don't eat like a horse. In fact, most people would be amazed at the fact that I eat much less than previously realized. Strange, being that I seem to have a bit of a preoccupation with food. Simply put, I eat what I want, when I want, mostly healthy, home-cooked food. I try and do some active things, but you aren't going to catch me running a marathon anytime soon. Food is meant to be enjoyed, and enjoy it I do. And dessert certainly factors in heavily to that equation. Few things can transport us back to childhood joy and innocence like a scoop of really good ice cream. Few things pack the memory filled punch of a freshly baked pie. And few people can say, with a straight face, that they don't love the smell and taste of a batch of chocolate-chip cookies fresh out of the oven. Life is just far too short to deny our biological wiring that overwhelmingly shouts that sweet equates to good.

I do not begrudge the pastry chefs out there who are doing amazing, modern interpretations of their sugar laden fantasies. (If you aren't up on it, check out Michael Laiskonis of Le Bernardin or Brooks Headley of Del Posto, who both turn out incredible creations from their pastry kitchens.) Yet for as stunning as many modern desserts can be, what I usually crave are classic flavor combinations that harken back to simpler times. Perfectly sublime vanilla ice cream? Why yes, I would love some (and so easy to make at home, I promise). Elegantly smooth and rich pumpkin pie? Indeed. Brownies? If you insist. Strawberries with freshly whipped cream? How could I ever say no (Actually I will quickly say no if it is January, because the last time I checked, strawberries don't grow during the winter, at least not where I'm from. And there is something devastatingly disappointing about a rock hard and fully tasteless strawberry that has spent weeks on a truck getting to the supermarket.) The other interesting thing about dessert is that making them at home will naturally limit the amount you will ultimately eat. I am not busy turning out sugary treats each and every day (though my new mixer certainly upped the ante for a couple of weeks), but am instead waiting for inspiration or a craving to dictate when the time is right. The other magical byproduct of homemade desserts is that it creates a decidedly altruistic approach to food. Bake some cookies and bring them with you the next time you are going to be around a group of people. I promise you that smiles will be your reward. Dessert makes people happy, and it can soften the hardest of folks into a state of childlike wonder.

So what have I been making? Well there was the Black Bottom Cheesecake Cupcakes (that's a mouthful) that are from a newspaper article my mother clipped sometime in the '80's. They are a true crowd pleaser, with the chocolate-chip cheesecake playing the perfect counterpoint to the decadent chocolate cake. Many cupcakes suffer from the 'I need a glass of water' syndrome, dryness outweighing flavor, but these little babies are as moist as could be. There was also a classic chocolate souffle that was divine (strong words, but it really was transcendent). Pulling a hot souffle out of the oven is a show stopper. Puffed up, with just the slightest jiggle to its velvety consistency, the heady perfume of dark chocolate filling the room. And a show stopper is sometimes just what the doctor ordered on a night filled with endless dreary studying to tend to. Souffles are slightly tricky, but certainly not impossible, the hardest part being the achievement of perfect consistency of the egg whites. Now, having a stand mixer certainly makes this much more feasible, but prior to receiving one as a gift I hand-whipped everything. It is possible, and if you want to build forearm strength, whipping egg whites may be the finest exercise. There was also a pumpkin pie that was so rich and tasty that it made me question how anyone could ever think that the inclusion of squashes in the realm of sweets is an error in judgement. One last thing to consider is the fact that freshly whipped cream makes just about anything sweet that much better. It is cream and sugar after all!

Go make yourself some dessert. Better yet, make someone else some dessert. You will both feel better about the world.

Soon I will be revealing my ultimate chocolate-chip cookie recipe.......stay tuned.

Let Them Eat Pie

Sometimes things happen outside of our control that dictate the food we eat or cook. This is part of the adaptive nature of good cooking that I have spoken about frequently. I think it is more exciting to go with the flow, shall we say, allowing life to come at us with inspiration. The other morning I was incredibly grateful to find a brand spanking new KitchenAid mixer sitting on my doorstep (thank you so much Mrs. G). For a cooking enthusiast, it was my Christmas morning. I couldn't unpack it quick enough, rearranging my tiny counter to make room for my new toy. Later in the day I turned on the television and was welcomed by the soothing voice of Ina Garten, The Barefoot Contessa. Now it is not a mystery that I find many of the shows on the Food Network to be paltry at best, but Ina's does not fall into that category. There is something idyllic about her impossibly unrealistic for the masses Hamptons lifestyle. Yet as distant as her world seems from mine, I find myself really believing that this is how she lives. Shopping at quaint markets, always baking treats for friends, and holding impromptu parties on the beach while braving less than ideal Atlantic wind gusts. Beyond all of that, I think she makes some pretty wonderful food. Never complicated, always straddling a reference point that most people could easily grab hold of. But Ina holds a special place in my heart for an entirely different reason. The single thing that endears her most to me is the shows that start off with a monologue about "Jeffrey", her husband of 41 years. Now anyone who has been in a relationship knows that at times things can be difficult, even for the best of unions. At times the people we love can drive us crazy like no one else. So I think any relationship that stands the test of time is something to be applauded. What's so great about Ina is her desire to "make Jeffrey's favorite dinner" or to indulge a memory of "our first time in Paris", or some other incredibly adorable little statement. This isn't about a woman in servitude to her husband, but a clear representation of one person who enjoys doing things for the person she has been with for 41 years. Call me a hopeless romantic, or call me silly, but I like things like this. It's not the glossy Hollywood version of love, but a small expression of caring and devotion that registers as far more Norman Rockwell in an HDTV world. Cheers to you Ina!

So I had a brand new mixer, and a heaping scoop of inspiration from Ina. Ashley was leaving the next morning for North Carolina and was feeling the stress inducing effects of another tough semester. With all this in mind I decided that it would be a good time to make a delicious dessert for us to share on her last night before departure. I strongly believe in the restorative effects of dessert, it may not have been proven by University research, but I just think they haven't looked hard enough. The question became pumpkin or chocolate. She swiftly responded with chocolate. I can say with marked assurance that the word chocolate has never caused me anything but elation, never negativity. With my shiny new mixer beckoning to be broken in, I settled on a classic Silk Pie. Classic only in the sense that it is served at diners everywhere, where it is almost never bad, but rarely good enough to remember. One thing that I always try to remember about pastry of any kind is that there a some ingredients that are considered 'bad', and yet they are the very things that make pastry and desserts so good. Cream, eggs, butter, sugar, chocolate, flour, more sugar, maybe a smidge more butter. If you don't want to eat these things, you probably shouldn't eat anything that will ever emerge from a good pastry kitchen, just stick to fruit with honey (which I love, although these days some people think honey is bad too. Militant vegans, you simply have to love them!). When making anything with chocolate I believe that it is key to get really good dark chocolate, which has become increasingly available. I happen to love Valhrona, which to my palette is worth every single penny. Get really fresh eggs if you can, the kind whose yolks are a color reminiscent of Tang (I used to love Tang!). Making fresh whipped cream is also a real eye opener for many people. Now I know what you might say, "easy for you to say with that fancy mixer", but rest assured I have been hand-whipping cream for years, now its just easier. The crust had to be real Oreos, I simply couldn't justify the use of anything else. With some great ingredients as the foundation, the pie came together beautifully. It was dark and rich, with the whipped cream serving as the perfect counterpoint to the decadent filling and crust. We sat in our tiny apartment and enjoyed a delectable slice with some creme anglaise (i love it on just about anything sweet) on the side. The best thing about that night was my girlfriend's smile, which made every minute in the kitchen well worthwhile. So thanks Ina, and thank you Mrs. G!!

All-American Apples

I have been feeling incredibly proud to be American as of late. One of the interesting things about the process of food writing is that you discover a great deal of what makes you tick as a person. I have explored ethnic cuisine, and have read about the history of food and its direct correlation to culture. I have cooked things that have no reference point in my my own upbringing, and have explored ingredients from across the globe. And when all is said and done, I cannot help but return to a place of gratitude for the fact that I had a privileged upbringing in this wonderful country. A country so diverse that a notion of a clearly defined 'American' cuisine is virtually impossible to define (it brings tears to my eyes that many people in the world would consider fast food as our defining culinary offering). This is not about politics, conquest, the lens of history, or some notion of global superiority. My country is my home, and I love it dearly. I never went hungry as a child. I was given a wonderful education. I was allowed to be the person I became, to think freely, to express myself as I saw fit. This has not been the collective experience of every American, but we continue to make strides to realize a better America for everyone. The story of our country is certainly sordid at times, but I am enamored with the manner by which so many people have come here to forge a new existence, a better life, pulling up a seat at the the table for "a piece of the American pie", a pie that in my humble estimation would most certainly have to include apples.

The apple is a remarkable ingredient to say the least. Its mapped genome contains 57,000 genes in comparison to a human being which clocks in at about 30,000. That makes it one amazingly complex fruit, and it has spread around the world with a seemingly endless amount of varieties available today. Like so many of our ancestors, apples are not native to the Americas, first coming to this country with colonists who quickly planted seeds and developed orchards upon arrival. Most of the apples went to the production of cider (cider always referred to the alcoholic beverage until Prohibition when unfiltered apple juice came to be called cider, with anything containing alcohol now referred to as hard cider) which became the most common beverage of Colonial America. Young and old enjoyed alcohol with every meal, making it hard to imagine how so many things actually got done. With their apple seeds the colonists also brought recipes for pie, which had been a staple since medieval times. Over the centuries Apple Pie has become part of the American lexicon for good reason, with greater results. It is delicious, it tends to conjure up nostalgic memories, and it is something best made in the home. I long for the days when home economics was part of a basic education. Bring it back, and make the gentlemen take it as well, and for God's sake, teach our next generation how to make pie!

With a healthy helping of American pride, and an ever-growing fascination with apples I came to the conclusion that making an apple pie was paramount to an enjoyable fall season. I had never made a pie from scratch, so I perused several recipes until I felt that I had a pretty good base of knowledge for the technique. Throughout the process of making the pie I tried to keep memories of childhood at the forefront of my mind. Cooking has a wonderful way of bringing out the distilled essence of the events that make up the formative years of our existence. In the case of apples I was blessed with a New England upbringing wherein fall was always marked by trips to orchards to pick or buy apples and fresh unfiltered apple juice (cider as it is best known today). This would always be followed by a fresh baked apple pie, which has a way of scenting a home in a way that seems just right, for lack of a better description. With these images and scents floating through my consciousness I set out to bake a flaky pie. The results were lovely, though it quickly became apparent to me that pie making is most certainly an art learned over time, which probably accounts for the lack of home production these days. It is all about the crust, the humble, yet defining vehicle for the apples we love so much. My pie was delicious, flaky, and just far enough from what I remember to make apple pie my current project. As soon as I craft my rendition of the perfect apple pie, the recipe will be posted. Until then I will continue to experiment, thoroughly enjoying every mistake and triumph along the path.

With the current abundance of apples at the farmers market, in all their inexpensive and tasty glory, I decided to also try my hand at some form of an apple cake. I settled on an Apple Kuchen, which is a German cake by ancestry. I love the idea of new people bringing old food to our land, and the Kuchen seemed to embody that perfectly. I made a Brown Sugar and Cinnamon Apple Kuchen with New England Cranberries. Because of my propensity for moistness when it comes to cake, I decided to make an apple jelly (essentially homemade apple sauce pressed through a tamis to remove any trace of fibrousness, allowing for a silky mouthfeel) and a classic creme anglaise for service. It looked amazing, and filled the house with a smell reminiscent of Christmas, a fireplace, and a well written short story. This morning it made for a wonderful day starter, as an accompaniment to press pot coffee. I will continue to cook with apples, and I will continue to love my American experience, fore they seem to go hand in hand.

"For Mom and Apple Pie"

-stock answer given by soldiers to journalists when asked why they were going off to fight in World War II

Raise Your Glass To New Experiences!

I have often been described as a person who is not afraid of a little adventure, and yet for all my interest in the culture of food, I do not have a litany of notches in my culinary belt. I have never traveled outside of North America, I have not eaten at any of the gastronomic temples of haute cuisine, and my experience with most ethnic foods is limited. If someone would like to pay for me to do any of these things, I am more than willing. Until then, I will have to make do with my books, my home cooking, and the fact that I am privileged enough to live in New York City where cultural diversity is a way of life.

This weekend I ventured out to Flushing, Queens for the very first time. I had an appointment in the vicinity, and with its reputation as the Asian capital of New York, I must say I was thrilled to check it out. My plan was to shoot out to Flushing on the subway, grab a bite to eat, and head to my appointment. It seemed simple enough, until I strode up the stairs of the subway station onto Main St., and my head nearly exploded. It was Saturday night and the sidewalk was an undulating mass of people moving in every possible direction. It was a situation where the quick pedestrian merge was required, lest someone barrel me over. My decided advantage in the situation was my height, allowing me to peer out over the throngs of people. My decided disadvantage was my height which made me stick out like a sore thumb in this crowd of primarily Asian people of shorter stature. That and the fact that I had no idea where I was or where I was headed. I didn't hear a single person speaking English, so instead of asking for directions, I did what so many male travelers have done before me, I pretended I knew where I was going. After walking a few blocks I realized I was headed in the wrong direction so I decided to cross the street, then head back from where I came. Why didn't I just stop and turn around? That's a very good question. I suppose I was convinced that the elderly Chinese woman directly behind me would spend the remainder of the evening telling her whole family about the uncomfortably tall white man who didn't know where he was going. I know it's silly, but in that moment, that's exactly what was going through my head.

As I walked down Main St. I was overcome by an urge to eat. There was roast duck hanging in several windows, glistening, calling out to me in some primordial kind of way. There were markets overflowing with produce, some of which were completely foreign to me. There were people hawking various food items right on the sidewalk, shouting out in what I am guessing was Mandarin (Mandarin is the dialect of choice in Flushing). There were smells wafting out of every restaurant, scenting the early evening air with an intoxicating perfume of culinary triumph. Seriously, the whole scene was amazing. So I did what any good aspiring gourmand would do: I freaked out. That's right, sensory overload got the best of me and I froze like a flagpole in a Midwestern winter. I had given myself so little time that I felt pressured to make a choice about what to eat. Unfortunately most of the restaurants used Chinese as their only form of writing which did not exactly help my cause. The other problem was that I saw so many exciting things that I just didn't know where to start. The lights, the sounds, the smells, the foreign language, the fast-paced excitement, it got to me. I realized that I would have to walk to my appointment, on an empty belly no less. As I strolled through the residential neighborhoods of Flushing the reality that I am not the culinary equivalent of Indiana Jones set in. It was a tough blow.

After my appointment two acquaintances asked me to go out for a bite to eat, upon whose completion they would give me a ride back into Manhattan. If I'm being honest, I must confess that my initial reaction was clouded with a great deal of skepticism. You see, I have been the victim of countless outings where the company was far better than the food. I have a real problem with going to a hack restaurant where I'm charged an incredulous sum for some insipid meal that makes me curse my decision to attend. Am I a food snob? Maybe, but not in an arrogant highfalutin kind of way. I just like to eat good food, where I don't feel completely ripped off. Tales of $8 bowls of watery oatmeal and the $12 Diner Pancake incident of 2009 come to mind (where I could actually see the Biquick on the shelf in the kitchen, I guess this is acceptable on the Upper East Side). Or maybe the unspeakable moments of terror induced by the phenomenon of "friends making friends go to bad restaurants". Everyone has been a victim of this cultural malady. You have a group of friends who always go to the same place. The food has always been bad at said place, it's never getting any better, but they 'know us there' goes the logic, as if we were inviting the staff to dine with us. Some how I'm convinced that they aren't the only restaurant that will gladly take our money. It's better to eat bad food at a place that knows us than try and go to a place where the food is actually enjoyable to eat. I make a proclamation right here, right now: people who do this are being stupid! There, I said it. I feel better already. The thing is, I love many of the people who are all to happy to fall victim to this gastronomic transgression. But alas, I digress. (I've always wanted to say that)

I decided to agree to a meal with my new close friends Dan and Simone. Whenever I am putting my eating fate in the hands of someone else, we have officially become quite close, hence my new close friends. Fortunately I didn't make a huge mistake. I asked where we were going to be dining, expecting a response that would induce fear, maybe 'Charlie O'Toole's' or 'BJ's Grill', or any other faux Irish or generic American sounding restaurant of which I had no desire to offer my patronage. As I cowered in the back seat like a child who had just pissed Dad off, ready for a verbal scolding, Dan eased all my fears by saying that we were going to a little place in Flushing called OK Ryan. Strange name to say the least, but I was intrigued. It was a small place located in a strip mall slightly off the beaten path. When we arrived I had an overwhelming sense that everything would be okay. And it was.

The menu at OK Ryan seemed like some amalgamation of Chinese with a Taiwanese influence, but that is gathered from the ten seconds I spent looking at the menu. Basically I deferred to Dan and Simone, deciding that we would share several dishes, their choice, being that they had experience with this restaurant. This is where I must confess that I am a vociferous omnivore, with a substantial appetite, and incredibly poor food blogging skills. As the food started to come, I suppose the thing to do was to begin taking pictures of each dish, with the camera that was in my pocket the whole time. Instead I was drawn in by the food and the great conversation to the point where I forgot about my food writer aspirations. And yet, as I write this I am beginning to feel that this might not be a bad thing, that food is to be enjoyed more than fetishized. And the truth is that I enjoyed every minute of our meal, every morsel of food, every aroma. To my recollection the meal consisted of this:

Eggplant with Chiles and Minced Pork: Unbelievably good, to the point where I kept going back for seconds, then thirds, then the "well.....if no else wants to finish this I guess I will have to."

Smoked Eel: My only experience with eel is Unagi sushi, but this was long fillets in a red sauce, maybe Taiwanese, but I'm not sure. It was melt in my mouth fantastic, very rich.

Noodles: A chow mein type dish that was good, but not the highlight.

Pork with Bamboo Shoots and Vinegar: It was very unusual. Unlike anything I have ever had in its tang. That said, it was addicting!

Salt and Pepper Soft-Shell Crabs: I believe that I was born to eat soft-shells. Some people are born to hit a baseball, some folks are drawn to be doctors, and some paint exquisite landscapes. I believe I may have been placed on this earth to eat soft-shell crabs, and this version of fried soft-shells in a salt and pepper spiked coating was just so good.

Orange Slices: Who doesn't love the orange slices at the end of a meal? It is an awesome end to a meal. I love it every time.

It was a great meal, and my gratitude goes out to Dan and Simone for a wonderful Flushing experience, my very first, and for reinstating my deeply held belief that good food for reasonable money still exists. I will be returning to Flushing very soon to explore, to learn, and to seek out the deliciousness I smelled and spotted when I first landed on Main St.

My Own Two Hands

There is something unmistakably satisfying about making something with your own two hands. It is an experience not to be missed. It rings true in a way that is so different than eating a great meal in a restaurant, and undeniably miles apart from opening a box or space-age package containing unpronounceable ingredients. The beauty of cooking at home is that it isn't nearly as hard as people make it out to be. I think sometimes we forget that it was only a couple of generations ago that cooking, and creating by hand was simply what the vast majority of people did. The process of turning raw ingredients into something greater than the sum of its parts is not to be missed. I happen to love it, and I cook every day. I think it is honorable, creative, inspirational, and centering. After all, food is what we count on to live. Remember that the next time you are in a grocery store picking out what will become the fuel for you our your family to survive, and hopefully thrive.

Am I opposed to eating out? Absolutely not. In fact this post was inspired by a restaurant owner. One person's commitment to practicing a craft, and treating it like an art. Using two hands to make magic. Does this all sound lofty and pretentious? It's not. Dom DeMarco, owner of DiFara pizzeria in Broooklyn, NY has been making pizza for a long, long time. Let us examine for a moment what a long time is. In 1977, after owning the pizzeria in tandem, he bought out his partner and has had made every single pizza his shop has sold with his own two hands since that day. Every one. He has owned the shop since he was a young man in his twenties, and has been making pizza since he was a child. This my friends is dedication to a craft. The commitment that he would turn out the best product he could, using great ingredients, and never rushing is old-school at its finest. Fifty plus years, and a lot of pizzas. This is not about whether DiFara is the best pizza, or worth $5 a slice, and $25 a pie (though many refer to it in religious tones, and the wait for a pizza can often approach two hours). This is about someone who takes what he does to heart. At the end of every day at the shop, Dom has a glass of wine and a slice of pizza he made that day, to assess what he has produced.

So what does this have to do with cooking at home? It's about attention to detail. It's about caring about what you produce. It's about using your hands. When I cook I try to always remember that I am participating in a legacy that has been around for the course of civilized history. Cooking never has to be some mysterious activity practiced by a few. In fact it is one of the most democratic activities that exists, because it is simply about what you do. Knowledge means nothing in cooking without practical application. Practice. Practice some more. And then practice again. The beauty is that as you practice you have the opportunity to eat the results, and those results get better and better as time goes on. Why was Grandma's cooking so good? Maybe because she had been doing it for 50 years. Just a thought. Dom DeMarco made pizzas in relative obscurity until 1999 when a review in a restaurant guide drew the attention of the general public. It took forty years of making pizzas in Brooklyn before the world cast its gaze upon his little shop on Avenue J. That's a long time to practice. Obviously Dom loves what he does, because at the age of 73 when most people have packed it in for a slower existence he is still making pizza. Dom says that he will continue to do what he does until his body stops working. It isn't about money, and it's certainly not about fame. Dom cares about making great pizza for people. When we cook at home we should remember that. After all, we are usually cooking for family, friends, and ourselves. These are all incredibly important people if you ask me. Remember that the next time you prepare a meal and all will be just fine.

The pictures above are a few examples of food I made this week. Pancakes, I love pancakes. One was plain with apple and brown sugar compote. The other simply had dark chocolate chips in it. Both were lightly drizzled with real maple syrup, and both were delicious. The second picture is sweet potato gnocchi with sage butter, sprinkled with freshly grated parmigiano reggiano. Know most people's reaction would be, "who the hell is going to make fresh gnocchi at home?" I guess I would. People have been doing it for centuries after all. In fact, I had never made them before. It wasn't that difficult and it was well worth it. It was really really worth it in fact. The last picture is a typical 'what do I have on hand' sort of a meal. Here is how it played out. I have this yellow squash from the farmers market, I should probably use that today. I could saute that up in some olive oil, made a sprinkle of sicilian oregano. Then I could dump some fresh cooked pasta in the pan, a little bit of the starchy cooking water, salt, pepper, touch more oil, and we are golden. I have these cippolini onions that are amazing, maybe pan roasting them with butter would be nice. Oh yeah, I have the two different colored sweet potatoes that I roasted yesterday. Why don't I slice them and quickly pan fry each slice for a crunchy exterior. Now I will stack the sweet potato slices and onions because it kind of looks cool, plate the pasta, sprinkle with parigiano, and dinner is served. That's how my brain works a lot of the time when I cook. The thought process is not where it's really happening though. It's my hands that carry out the cooking, it's my tongue that I rely on to taste everything I make. How do you learn how to season food? Season and taste, and practice. My hands don't produce what Dom DeMarco does, but he certainly does inspire me to care deeply about what I make. For this I am incredibly grateful.

"Pizza has become considered a fast food. This one is slow food. Anything you do, when you do it too fast, it's no good. The way I make a pizza takes a lot of work. And I don't mind work." -D. DeMarco

Noodles and Friends

The time 12:20pm.

The place, Ippudo NY.

Outside, fall has officially set in, with grey overcast skies, and a biting wind that makes summer feel like a long forgotten memory. The chill in the air brings a bit of sad nostalgia that is strangely comforting. And when the cold sets in like it did today, few things soothe the soul like a steaming bowl of beautiful broth filled with noodles and assorted accouterments. In fact, when it is hot as sin outside, I still sometimes seek the refuge of this sort of meal. It is one of the single most satisfying things to eat on the planet. I feel supremely justified in my love of these dishes because something tells me that millions of people simply can't be wrong. In Southeast Asia they eat it for breakfast, and I tend to think that they are onto something.

Today, the subject at hand is japanese ramen, and Ippudo NY does it incredibly well. Now I've never had the opportunity to eat ramen in one of the famous Tokyo shops. To be honest with you, I've never traveled outside of North America so I don't know that I have that much to compare it to. Is it the best in the City? I don't know, and to be frank, I don't particularly care. I simply don't have the willingness or the fortitude to be one of those guys who spends years eating one type of food at hundreds of spots in and around the city in order to proclaim their own personal "top five" list. Ippudo is my current ramen spot and that's that. Is it authentic? That's a really stupid question. I'm not in Japan, so of course it's not authentic japanese ramen. Authentic is the most overused word in food commentary today. If something tastes truly amazing, why would I ever care about whether it is authentic or not? Now tradition, that is a word I can get behind. Why you may ask, do I scoff at authenticity and yet embrace tradition? Because tradition implies a set of principles that really make sense. Where as authenticity has become a sad marketing gimmick, tradition springs from decades, centuries, even millennium of shared experience passed down from one generation to the next, usually falling in line with two key ideas, it tastes good and it will keep you alive and kicking. I think that sometimes we overlook the fact that it wasn't too long ago that many food decisions were rooted in survival. This is a point that I don not take for granted. For the vast majority of the world, food is a daily battle, so I try to stay immensely grateful for the fact that I never go hungry. With that in mind I can officially report to you that Ippudo's Akamaru Modern will most definitely provide the sustenance that you need to tackle your day. Oh, did I mention it has the ability to make your eyes roll into the back of your head from pleasure? It's that good.

If there is one thing that can never be questioned about food, it is that it is better enjoyed with company. We aren't talking about late night face stuffing escapades while curled up on the couch. No pints of ice cream to the dome. I'm talking about nourishing, soul lifting sustenance that makes you happy to be alive. These are the experiences that are translated through the lens of good company. I have taken many people to Ippudo, and almost all of them have had the same experience. It went something like this. The bowls of ramen are brought to the table. Silence falls. After a couple of spoonfuls of broth and a single mouthful of noodles, they look at me and say, "this is really good." And then it happens. A few more sips of broth, followed by a much less demure slurp of noodles, and they lean back as a smirk takes over their face. We look at each other, and without a single word being exchanged, we both confirm that this is one of the satisfying things that a person could eat. That flood of joy is unmistakable. If you look around the restaurant you can always spot it happening, as if the shouts of the waitstaff, and the buzz of the open kitchen are somewhere off in the distance. When someone is fully present for a great bowl of ramen, time seems to slow down, the worries of the world fade, and the tension in the shoulders that has become a byproduct of modern life melts away. I will say again, it is that good. Two of my best friends, Ben and Dustin, have both experienced it on separate trips to New York. And they didn't have to tell me what was going on in their head because it was clearly displayed all over their face. Ashley got it too, taking pictures of the mysterious bowls of goodness for posterity's sake.

As I now sit here alone with my bowl of ramen, I am struck by the overwhelming desire to share the experience with someone else. Believe me, I am fully enjoying my bowl, so much so that it is empty in under ten minutes. But the enjoyment seems fleeting because I never have the chance to glance up, mid slurp, and silently convey to someone else that yes, life really is good.

Roast meat, play music, be happy!

Who among us can deny the allure of a piece of roasted meat. I'm sure that deep within each of us is the belief that this is a good thing, maybe even our vegetarian brethren. Now don't get me wrong, I'm all for eating less meat, because I think it is clear that in today's day and age our meat consumption has gone off the charts, leading to obesity, environmental catastrophe, and an industrialized food system that is criminal at best. I certainly don't eat meat everyday, having even gone weeks without a single indulgence, but when the desire arrives, quenching it with a good roast is tough to beat. And when I think about a piece of meat roasting to perfection, I can't help but think of days of old when people would gather round the fire, play music, dance, celebrate, and eat. In my mind, music and food seem to go hand in hand. The right music at a restaurant adds so much to the experience, while the right track played at home while cooking can elevate the entire creative process. Now I'd like to be super hip and tell you that I have a deep collection of vintage vinyl that I play on my German turntable, but I'd be a big fat liar. The truth is, many times when I cook I listen to my ipod with headphones, as my girlfriend studies away. Yet that simple act of creating a cooking soundtrack transports me to a wonderful place, and adds yet another element of fun to the daily meal. Food, and its preparation, should be enjoyable remember. I even think it is allowed to be classified as fun, but don't tell too many people about that or we may disturb the delicate balance of daily drudgery that so many people have bought into.

Shall we roast some meat? I think so.

Step #1: Go to a good butcher or farmer's market if possible. Procure a piece of humanely raised, antibiotic-free meat. If they can tell you where it came from it is a very good sign. In my case I went to Dickson's Farmstand Meats (dicksonsfarmstand.com) and purchased a beautiful Boston Butt pork roast. If you question my use of the term beautiful, just look at the picture above. It is beautiful, with plenty of fat, proof positive that good pork was never meant to be the 'other white meat'. The sad fact is that 'the other white meat', encased in styrofoam and plastic wrap at your local Mega Super-Duper Mart, tastes like shit. Good pork is a revelation for those who are uninitiated.

Step #2: Turn your oven on to 450F. Take your roast out of the fridge and allow it to come up to temperature while the oven is heating up. This is a step that so many people never do, and it makes a huge difference.

Step #3: Put on some great music. (My choices are listed below, and will be attached to many of my future posts. You don't have to like what I do, but try and put together a sweet playlist the next time you cook, if you don't already)

Step #4: Season the outside of the roast with whatever you damn well please. In my case I went pretty straightforward, salt, pepper, and herbes de provence.

Step #5: You should already own Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall's River Cottage Meat Book. If you don't, you should stop reading this and go buy that, you owe it to yourself. Use Hugh's 'half hour sizzle' method of roasting (half hour at 450F, then take the oven down to 325F to finish the roasting). For my pork, I was looking for an internal temp of 160F. On that note, make sure you have a good thermometer. They are incredibly useful, yet men in particular seem to shy away from them at all costs. Cooking a large roast without a thermometer is similar to the 'I'm obviously lost, but refuse to stop and ask for directions' maneuver.

Step#6: Make some vegetables, maybe a starch. I had some cute little mini acorn squash, and a bunch of multi-colored baby carrots from the farmers market. The oven was being used for one thing, why not use it for two? Squash and carrots on a baking sheet, toss a little olive oil over top and pop them in the oven. I don't salt vegetables beforehand when I roast them because it hinders the caramelization process, which is the whole point of roasting them in the first place (thanks Mr. Carmellini). Salt later if necessary.

Step #7: When the roast is done (you will know with the use of your trusty thermometer remember), take it out and let it rest for at least fifteen minutes, reserving the roasting pan and its contents for a pan sauce/gravy. Letting it rest means not touching it, AT ALL! Don't cut into it to see if it is done (remember the thermometer? if you used it, you already know it's done). Don't poke, prod, or shake. Think about when you want to rest. During those moments, would you appreciate someone poking at you? Well neither does your meat.

Step #8:Finish your vegetables or starch. I took out my squash and carrots when they were nicely roasted and preceded to make a little beurre monte. This is just the french term for butter sauce. You heat a little water and whisk in some butter, emulsifying the two together. Drop a couple sprigs of time (or any herb) in there and gently toss the carrots in the sauce. I placed a half a squash on the plate, placed some carrots on top, and placed a small spoonful of the beurre monte inside the natural well of the squash.

Step#9:Make a gravy or pan sauce. I'm not going to tell you how to do this because at some point I want to talk extensively about the lack of sauce making in home kitchens, and how to remedy this ugly reality. It's not that hard, I promise. The River Cottage Meat Book also has great instructions.

Step#10:Now that the roast has rested, cut nice slices for service. Not too thick, not too thin.

Step#11:Spoon a bit of sauce over the meat, and serve to someone you love, which could be yourself, though people seem to avoid cooking for one at all costs.

Step#12:Enjoy the fruits of your labor, and thank the pig for being the magnificent culinary creature that it is.

10/12/10 Playlist

Mumford and Sons: The Cave

White Blank Page

John Lennon: Beautiful Boy

Drake: Unforgettable

City and Colour: Live at the Orange Lounge EP

Black Star: Definition

The Black Crowes: Freak 'N' Roll....Into The Fog (2 CD)

Three Cheers for Rene!

As I have said before, I love cookbooks, and few things get me as excited as the release of a new one that has been on my radar for some time. NOMA by Rene Redzepi dropped this week, which to most people means nothing, but to me was a very big deal. Quick breakdown as told by the press: Rene Redzepi (chef/owner) is a genius, NOMA has defined an entire regional cooking style (Nordic), ranked #1 in S. Pelligrinos 2010 50 Best Restaurants list (a big deal to say the least), NOMA's food is strictly comprised of ingredients that are native to Denmark and the surrounding countries (save for exceptions like chocolate and coffee), etc., etc. With that out of the way, I can talk about what I think is the most important thing in the book, purity. The truth is I will most likely never recreate a single recipe in this massive tome, both for lack of equipment (unless someone cares to purchase a Thermomix and Vacuum Sealer for my amusement), and lack of ingredients (buckthorn berries and such). But I really don't think that matters, because within its pages NOMA holds a bounty of inspiration that can be taken to any home kitchen.

The story of how the restaurant developed is amazing, and the pictures perfectly capture the amazing plating skills of Redzepi. But what really comes through as the pages are turned is the idea that food should really taste of itself. How can a cook most honor the ingredients at hand, making them as delicious as possible? How does seasonality go from being a buzz word at the latest restaurant opening, to a storyline that allows the cook, and subsequently the eater, to appreciate the bounty of any region? It is this purity of intention, and purity of ingredients that makes NOMA such a compelling read. "A sense of time and place" is a quote that can be referenced in just about any article on Redzepi, and it is important not to overlook the power of that statement. Believe me when I tell you that I am not a diehard locavore by any stretch of the imagination, but I am strongly drawn to the idea that every place has a bounty of ingredients that can help the cook find their own voice. After all, it is easy to be a great cook when you have a perfectly ripe tomato. When I go to the farmer's market I really try to take in the signs of the changing seasons, the smells that abound, the farmers that have produced the very things that I am taking home in my bag. It becomes much easier to tell a story when you have really soaked in the backdrop that it springs from. The only unfortunate aspect of the book is its ability to remind us of how far we have drifted from this ideal.

Coffee is a magical product in so many ways. I have been in love with coffee for a long, long time. In fact I can trace the love affair back to a specific instance. Not a date, but a memory as vivid today as it was when it first happened. Every Sunday my Mom would cart me and my brother to my Grandmother's house for Sunday dinner. And after every one of those dinners my Grandmother and Mother would bring out the Folgers and have a cup of coffee. Now I know that Folgers is not the pinnacle of coffee, but you also have to understand that in the 80's in New England, that is precisely what people were drinking at home. Around the time I was 9 or 10 I was finally allowed to partake in the ritual of after-dinner coffee, and it was revolutionary. I can't pinpoint if it was the bitter taste (Folgers, remember?), the milk and sugar to cover it up, the caffeine, the aroma, or maybe the chance to engage in a ritual that up to that point had been strictly for the adults. I guess I had finally moved from the 'kid's table', to the adult table at a family gathering, and I liked it.

I've been drinking coffee for twenty years, and those years have been interesting ones to be a coffee drinker in the United States. We all know how much has changed, as Starbucks swept the nation, and 'specialty coffee' became part of the American lexicon. Twenty years ago, the idea of paying $5 for any coffee beverage would have been considered ludicrous by 99% of the American public. These days there are more options for coffee consumption than even seems economically feasible, or even sustainable in the long run.

I buy good beans (mostly Stumptown), grind at home, and use a press pot. The coffee I make at home is simply delicious. When I'm out, there are a few coffeeshops that I frequent, including Stumptown at the Ace Hotel, and Cafe Grumpy in Chelsea. I will occasionally even go into a Starbucks if I am with someone who wants to, or there simply isn't another option (but their drip coffee is virtually unpalatable at this point). But here is where I differ from the current crop of coffee connoisseurs; I will go to Dunkin Donuts and order a coffee light and sweet, and I will enjoy the hell out of it. Sacrilegious say the coffee aficionados. I say lighten up.

I'm sorry, but I simply don't know how some twenty-year old kid got the idea that just because he waxes his mustache, and wears suspenders, he has the right to tell me about how I should enjoy coffee. I'm all for education surrounding a topic like coffee, but elitism I can deal without. Many of the 'third wave' coffee operations must have pretentious aloofness listed as a job requirement. Listen, I get the fact that you know more about coffee than I could ever wrap my head around. I get the fact that you take your craft seriously, which is something that I have an immense admiration for. I get the fact that your ipod is filled with obscure bands, and their latest Japanese only EP releases. What I don't get is taking the fun and enjoyment surrounding good coffee and strangling the life right out of it. I think it is incredibly honorable to work hard at a craft, in fact I think it is something that society is truly lacking these days. And a days work at a typical coffeeshop is tough. Much like working in a kitchen, there is a lot of bending (oh the knees), long hours on your feet (painful to say the least), and many customers who treat you like crap (after all you're just someone who 'makes coffee', or so the thinking goes for this particular brand of asshole). But here's the thing; I'm not one of those people. So what if I wear baseball hats instead of a cool fedora that I bought at the Brooklyn Flea. So what if my pants aren't unisex. So what if my lack of retro (or shall we say vintage) facial hair clearly pegs me as painfully unhip. I'm nice to you! I actually tip you for the services you render! I actually have a deep appreciation for what it is that you do! You don't have to impress me with your knowledge of obscure music, or the screenplay you are writing, or the fixed gear bike shop you hope to open. In my book, you are a rockstar just the way you are......because you make amazing coffee! That's it. So the next time I ask you a question because I would like to learn more from you, who knows more than I, just answer it nicely. Don't look me up and down as you ponder whether it is worth your time. Don't blow it off and go back to talking to your co-worker about the new craft ale you are so excited to try. If you love coffee as much as you say you do, wouldn't you want to pass that passion on to others? Just saying. With all that being said, I must confess to having met two people recently who know a lot about coffee. A whole lot. In fact one of them probably knows as much about coffee and the coffee industry as anyone else out there. And guess what, they were incredibly nice. No pretension, no bullshit attitude, no holier than thou complex. Just really cool people with a passion for coffee. It was a refreshing experience.

So what have I been drinking lately:

-At home I have been brewing Ethiopian Suke Quto, Kenyan Ngunguru, and Costa Rican Don Mayo Reserva, all from Stumptown. They are all delicious. I mostly drink coffee black, but I must say that the Don Mayo is exceptional with cream and sugar.

-My favorite drink when I'm out is a cappuccino at Stumptown in the Ace Hotel. The crew there have never made me a subpar drink. Exceptional every time. A close second has been the espresso shots I have been getting at Cafe Grumpy.

-I love Vietnamese coffee and get it almost anytime I am enjoying Southeast Asian food. I can never understand why more coffeeshops don't make a version of it using high end coffee.

-And yes, at times I drink Dunkin Donuts. Maybe it's my New England upbringing. Or maybe it's just good. Dunkin Donuts, light and sweet, is my version of table wine. I like it, a lot.

Adaptive Cooking

Let me start out by saying that I really love my girlfriend. I really, really do. It's that special heartfelt connection embodied by the fact that things that some would view as flaws, become the most cherished traits of the person you love. Ashley is truly amazing, and the fact that she puts up with me is even more remarkable. With that being said, I must confess to have just recently worked through a long standing resentment associated with her eating habits. What could cause such caustic reaction in association to the girl I love (besides my general thickheaded behavior, which is a given)? Well let's see....she doesn't eat seafood. I know, I know, it's hard to believe, but oh so true. And potentially even more devastating to our otherwise blissful relationship is the fact that she is adamantly opposed to spicy food.

Let's briefly travel back in time to my younger years, where I grew up near the shore in Connecticut. Before you go imagining a picturesque beach house, resplendent with nautical memorabilia, understand that my family was working middle-class. Growing up near the shore meant that our town was on Long Island Sound, and we were within a fifteen minute drive of the water. But that nearness to the beach, the saltwater, and its bounty meant that I grew up eating seafood, and it became a staple in so many of my eating memories. The Captain's Galley restaurant where fried seafood and onion rings were a religion. Weddings based around real New England clambakes. My father overcooking massive slabs of swordfish (though at the time I thought it was great). Lobsters whenever the prices were down. Getting New England clam chowder at every roadside restaurant from CT to Nova Scotia just to compare. Shrimp cocktail at Christmas. My eventual introduction to sushi. I loved it all, and I still do. It feels like seafood is in my blood, though I rarely have a chance to eat it. On the rare occasions when we eat out, we simply never go to restaurants where fish would be the highlight of the menu. I'm not going to suggest we go to a sushi bar where I get to indulge in one of my favorite things to eat, while she is forced to order a sub par version of chicken yakitori. And at home I continue to crack myself up daily when I ask her what she wants for dinner, then follow it with the suggestion of fish. Somehow it's still funny to me.

With spicy food I may fare slightly better, because I can always kick it up at the end with a sprinkling of this, or a dollop of that. Believe me when I tell you, I am not one of these post-frat freaks who get off on turning their frayed hat backwards and diving into a pile of wings that was listed on the menu as being covered in Gonad Exploding Supernova Hot Sauce. I just love a little heat. Not heat for heats sake, but to enhance the food. Give me a bowl of noodles and a jar of homemade Thai Fish Sauce with chilies, and I am a happy man. Crushed red pepper in fresh tomato sauce...yes please! Sichuan anything...but of course. Sriracha on the pork buns at Momofuku...I couldn't agree more. Spicy salsa on my tacos...gracias! But alas, it remains a solo pursuit that I don't think will change anytime soon.

So what does that leave a man to do when donning the apron for the evening meal? Adapt. Here's the thing (BLD), I love to cook for other people. The act of feeding someone else is a noble act in a world that has lost much of its nobility. And of all the people in the world, there is no one I would rather feed than Ashley. So I cook things that I know she will enjoy. There has certainly been experimentation with her palette; new ingredients, flavors, etc. But I'm not making Sichuan hot pots and presenting it for dinner with the disclaimer that it's something she should try. In the process of cutting out seafood and heat, I've become much more adept at cooking other things, which has been a bonus to my spicy seafood celibacy. Just remember to cook for those you love, with them in mind, and everything will be okay. I just hope I don't forget how to cook a piece of fish.

Let's Grab A Bite To Eat

Let me start off by saying that I love to eat out at restaurants. I love the going out ritual, the sojourn (as me and my girlfriend like to call it) to unknown neighborhoods, the atmosphere, the comfort of being served. There isn't much to not like about the activity, except for one small thing...the food. Prepare yourselves, as I am about to make a rather bold statement. Most restaurants aren't very good. That's right, I said it, and believe me, I stand by that statement 100%. So what exactly do I mean, since I will admit to it being a rather broad stroke of the brush (or pen I suppose). From where I sit, which is most assuredly not at a table in a fine dining establishment, the food at most restaurants in the mid to low price range is fair at best. Maybe to some people the food seems great, and maybe I just haven't been to enough restaurants, or had the experience of ordering take-out for 90% of the meals during my twenties. But I can tell you this much, I have been eating at restaurants since I was five. The point being, I've logged some real-world experience. I've had great times with great people. I've laughed, I've loved, I've gotten drunk (in my younger years). I've admired trendy design elements, and recieved brilliant service from out of work actors who should accept the fact that being a great waiter or waitress is an honorable career (just ask the French). But how many times have I had really great food?

Chain restaurants are bad, almost across the board, despite the fact that many are no bargain. I sometimes imagine the corporate heads of all the chains gathering in a secret room somewhere to craft their menus....

"Ok Bob, you do the Chicken Fingers with ranch sauce, and we will do it with buffalo sauce, and Chili's over there will do it with chipotle sauce (the Bobby Flay effect, wherein chipotles have become the ingredient of choice for chain hacks)." "We will make a burger that is as close to a hockey puck as possible, and you will too. Except we will put mayo on it, and you will use a seeded bun." "And don't forget guys, the oriental chicken salad is a must!!!" "We are all going to serve tons of fries with virtually every entree, let's just make sure they are undercooked, undersalted, and essentially inedible without mounds of ketchup. We need complete compliance on this one."

Are there exceptions to the rule that chain food is bad? I suppose there is, but in my mind the list is pretty short, and even these are servicable mainly when convenience is paramount to a successful meal. Smashburger makes a tasty burger indeed, but I'm pretty sure I don't want to know where their meat comes from. Chipotle is fast, reliable, tasty, and made with pretty decent ingredients. But the truth is a really good taqueria will always be better. I don't even mind P.F. Changs (I know, it's slightly embarrasing) for its middle of the road Asain flair, it's ability to go down smooth and leave you feeling full then empty in mere minutes. But real Chinese food it is not.

What might be even worse is the fact that most independent restaurants aren't very good either. Don't get me wrong, there are many good restaurants out there, but in comparison to the amount of bad ones, it seems quite clear to me that the scales are tipped in the wrong direction. The restaurant business is incredibly tough, and I give all the credit in the world to those who show up day in and day out and cook, but that doesn't mean I have to like the food they turn out. Maybe I'm picky, maybe I'm a snob (pretty sure the answer is no), or maybe I just find myself leaving restaurants feeling slightly ripped off (BINGO!). Or maybe I think I could do better (Triple Letter Bonus!!). Is that an incredibly arrogant thing to say? Am I totally kidding myself? Maybe. It's just that I have made many incredible meals at home that were infinitely more enjoyable than most of the restaurant experiences I have had in my lifetime. Simple food, using the best ingredients I could get my hands on. My own two hands, using tried and true techniques that some of the great chefs of the world have taught me (through books of course, though it would be pretty cool if Batali or Ripert was chillin at my counter showing me the way Yoda style). Plus I get to pick the music! What's the lesson that I have learned? Eat at home more often. Make eating out something special, not a way of life. If you need a jump start, read Cathy Erway's book The Art Of Eating In, and you will be inspired to find your own passion in the kitchen (it is a great personal story that is wonderfully written, I read in in two days simply because I couldn't put it down).

What are some great restaurants in my humble opinion? Find out soon.