There’s always a time in the summer when all I want to do is to dive into a bowl of pasta that’s covered with a meaty sauce, preferably one that’s been sitting on the stove for hours braising away. This inevitably falls on a day that’s particularly hot, of course, when the thought of getting near the stove is as good a decision as trying to find good tomatoes at the end of January. That’s the rub of trying to eat seasonally, though: you gorge and gorge and gorge on the season’s best foods until the sight of a zucchini or tomato is unbearable, or at the very least you can get a little bored. I liked how the couple behind We Are Never Full combated this by making a super-rich puttanesca that was heavy on pork belly.
Lately, I’ve found myself becoming more and more enraptured by movies that I had in quite some while: I credit this to watching a lot of foreign films lately (particularly those by Almodóvar and Fellini) and the availability of seeing virtually any film I want in one of the many theaters in New York. The AMC in Lincoln Square is our favorite theater, but sometimes we will go to the AMC Empire in Times Square if only for the novelty of riding the down escalator through an Applebee’s and a Dave and Buster’s as we try to make our way out of the building. It’s not quite the obsession I had with film when I was fifteen, but it’s nice to come back to it in a small way, and I am constantly on the search for recommendations for new foreign films to check out and/or purchase. Read More
Alternate titles for this post included: One stew to rule them all, You call that a stew? THIS is a stew, and finally, The epic stew of epicness. Working in an academic lab here in NYC for the last 1.5 years, I have been exposed to many college students and their requisite speech patterns. One word I hear often (besides random) is ‘epic’, used to mean something impressive. That’s a poor definition, for a more complete definition, read on.
[Ed.–Elizabeth found herself craving some bikini-pizza from this post, and so when Michael suggested making pizza to use up some leftover fresh mozzarella an actual pizza was born.]
With the prospect of Thanksgiving looming, we deemed our weekend ought to do without my beloved roasted chicken. One night we opted for a duck ragu, and the farthest possible go-to from that, I guess, must be two homemade pizzas.
The first, the ‘bikini-pizza’ as it were, was a bit wet once all was put upon the dough thanks to lots of fresh mozzarella, mushrooms and a twist with sun-dried tomatoes instead of fresh or canned. I anticipated this and and as such did not blind-bake the crust, giving the entire assembled pizza as much time in the hot box as possible. I covered an up-turned baking sheet with foil so if too much cornmeal got into the oven and burned, I could pull the entire thing out for the second pie. The day was dry and the dough was well-behaved, disembarking the pizza peel with ease. We bailed it after about 13 minutes at 500 F with a couple of spatulas and some oven mitts, as well as a optimally placed cutting board to rest. Read More
For the last six weeks I’ve been following the action around Foodbuzz’s Project Food Blog, a contest aimed to find the “next food blog star” among Foodbuzz’s Featured Publishers, and not only has it introduced me to some amazing blogs but it’s also made me unbelievably hungry. The biggest offender was last week’s challenge that had the remaining contestants do a “remix” on pizzas. So many delicious ones emerged as a result that my stomach started audibly growling while reading through the posts, and all I wanted to do last week was make lots and lots of pizzas. The wedding of two awesome people kept us away from our kitchen Saturday night, but a little planning and the help of Fresh Direct helped us bring one of the more intriguing pizza meals to life on Sunday night. Read More
Did you know that Little Caesar’s still exists? It’s been years since I’ve seen an ad for them (though that stupid jingle remains an eternal earworm), much less a physical location, but a few months ago one popped up a few blocks away on 125th Street, and whenever I pass it I always feel bad for the people who now have the orange glow of the signs blaring into their windows at night, as they can’t possibly cast a pleasant glow into a room. Read More
For all of the talking and writing and photographing of food we do, especially on the weekend, breakfasts and brunches are noticeably absent here on this blog. It’s odd because we both love breakfast food, but I think it comes down to motivation–we’d rather indulge in dinner rather than breakfast on the weekends, and often brunch ranks among the few meals that makes more sense to go out for rather than to stay in and cook.
It’s also likely due to the fact that things like orange juice and milk are expensive to buy when they are only consumed two days of the week at most–plus it always requires planning as schlepping to the market and back on a Saturday or Sunday morning before the first caffeine hits is an unbearably cruel thing for anyone to endure over the weekend.
Maybe it was this quote from No Reservations that put us over the edge subconciously:
Then there the People Who Brunch. The “B” Word is dreaded by all dedicated cooks. We hate the smell and spatter of omelettes. We despise hollandaise, home fries, those pathetic fruit garnishes, and all the other cliché accompaniments designed to induce a credulous public into paying $12.95 for two eggs. Nothing demoralizes an aspiring Escoffier faster than requiring him to cook egg-white omelettes or eggs over easy with bacon. You can dress it up with all the focaccia, smoked salmon, and caviar in the world, but it’s still breakfast.