Miss Ginsu: The Hedonista

Dog Days

6.30.2004

While the hot dog isn’t a fundamentally seasonal treat, isn’t there something about the summer season that begs its portability, its affinity for condiments, its light and airy bun?

My favorite New York dogs, in order of appreciation:

1. Crif Dogs (113 Saint Marks Pl) – Why? Taste. You already know hot dogs clog your arteries and send your cholesterol through the roof. Crif goes the extra nine with their deep-fried dogs, and they’re sooo worth it. Better yet, they deliver late at your favorite LES dive bars.

2. F&B (269 W 23rd St) – Why? Charm. The fresh, pop-art logos, attractive menus and European food offerings bring to mind populist IKEA design, minus all the lemming-like chaos.

3. Sparky’s (135 N Fifth St, Williamsburg) Why? Sincerity. Niman Ranch raised-right dogs and soy pups, house-made condiments, cute little penny-candies on the counter, and hormone-free dairy in the oh-so-yummy milkshakes. Good dog! Gooood dog!

4. Gray’s Papaya (402 Sixth Avenue) Why? Economy. Big city thrills don’t come cheap. Thankfully, a joint like Gray’s Papaya can fill you up when your pockets run a bit light. The Recession Special, up a buck from the last recession ($2.45 gets you 2 dogs and a papaya drink), is still one of the best deals in Gotham.

5. Nathan’s (1310 Surf Ave., Coney Island) Why? History. Nathan’s opened up in 1916 selling dogs for a nickel. Today, you can eat a Nathan’s dog, cruise the boardwalk and kick the sand like generations of New Yorkers before you.

7/12/2004 posted by witchbaby

Aw, man. You ain't lived 'til you've had a Pink's dog. One of the (rare) joys of living in LA was the food. Weird, I know. Raymond Chandler wrote that LA had "the most of everything and the best of nothing". I disagree. The fact that I was there alone and ate 99.9% of my meals alone allowed for me to experiment without someone stopping me from say, downing a 12" with a side of rings. And I've never had anything close to resembling the caliber of Indian or Japanese food I had in LA.

But then, I've never been to NY so I only have Toronto & Chicago as my weiner points of reference. (BTW, M says you must try Hot Doug's next time you're in Chi-town. http://www.hotdougs.com)

Argh. Now I'm hungry. And I just had Whities!

L- do they have Whities in NYC?

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Perennial Favorite Things: MPR & Lynne Rossetto Kasper

6.26.2004

Why does New York public radio have to suck so hard? There's so many compelling reasons why New York should boast the best public radio on the planet. I'll just name a few: regional population and wealth density, diversity, media competition and concentrated talent.

Alas, in my survey of public radio quality, I have to award the prize to Minnesota Public Radio. WBEZ in Chicago and WBUR in Boston might even come in before WNYC, but I've not lived in either of those fine cities, and they both unfortunately air the plodding, whiny "Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me," which I loathe. This sin is bearable on MPR only because they also air (and produce) Lynne Rossetto Kasper's delightful food show: "The Splendid Table"

Featuring content that ranges from interviews with some of the best and brightest in the industry to call-in cooking advice and the weekly homey road food commentary from Jane and Michael Stern, "The Splendid Table" is a smart, witty, hour-long tease for the tastebuds.

Thankfully, even though WNYC can't seem to see the wisdom in airing splendid radio, you and I can still get our fix. The Splendid Table airs at your convenience online: http://splendidtable.publicradio.org/

8/02/2004 posted by Anonymous

What a loathsome bore are you? Wait wait don't tell me is the best thing on radio. Stay in New York, loser.

8/02/2004 posted by MissGinsu

This post has been removed by the author.

4/02/2007 posted by Anonymous

I've been listening to NPR for over 20 years and find it more unbearable every year - sorry, The Splendid Table is enough to make me retch, Lynne Rossetto Kasper's voice is not unlike Mary Hart of Entertainment Tonight, offering the world a united tremor. I won't even go into Wait Wait Don't Tell Me, the orgasmic geek fest. Public Radio isn't what it used to be, great news without bad production. Even they're straight news programs have attitude, sassy comments, voices that need to hit the books and learn the basics of 'clean, clear speaking'. I wake to Cathy Wurzer in MN every morning, the female embodiment of Paul Harvey...
and race to turn the radio off before it burns. Take me back to when NPR wanted to present the news without presenting an attitude.

4/02/2007 posted by MissGinsu

My favorite NPR as of the last couple of years is "This American Life," the "Marketplace Morning Report" and I'm liking "The Treatment" with Elvis Mitchell. Living in NYC means 3 hours of Frank Sinatra in the middle of my Saturday. But that's okay. It's public radio. I support the diversity ideal.

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mmm... Bloody Mary goodness.

6.24.2004

Yes, I'm always in search of the perfect Bloody Mary. Or at least a damn nice facsimile thereof. The one they serve at Buttermilk in South Park Slope (577 5th Ave, Brooklyn, NY) on special on Sunday nights comes close.

It's vegetable-y (several jumbo stuffed olives, pickled peppers, etc.) without being pretentious. It's not exceedingly reliant upon horseradish. It's plenty stiff and nicely spicy. It's got about six components (including what I suppose to be magical elixirs and pixie dust), and it's inexpensive enough that a girl can order three or four for "testing purposes" without going absolutely broke. Really, what more can you ask from your favorite tipsy tomato treat?

Of course, my Bloody Mary research is a work in progress. I'll let you know how the battle goes once I meet my next worthy opponent....

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aibohphobia

6.22.2004

In no particular order, my favorite palindromes:

1. May a rat tar a yam.
2. Kayak salad = Alaska yak.
3. Reviled did I live, said I, as evil I did deliver.
4. Too hot to hoot.
5. Evil I did dwell, lewd did I live.
6. Evil olive!
7. Doc, note I dissent: a fast never prevents a fatness. I diet on cod.
8. Desserts, I stressed!
9. Cigar? Toss it in a can, it is so tragic.
10. A slut nixes sex in Tulsa.
11. Flee to me, remote elf!

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Ahhh! The Power of Beets!

6.20.2004

Did I ever tell you about the time I discovered beets? No? Well, it's a good story. I grew up in a beet-free home. Lotsa tomatoes, lotsa carrots. Pops just didn't bang a drum for the beet.

For that reason, I was a teenager before I discovered pickled beets at a potluck. I just couldn't get enough. They were amazing! Sweet, earthy, rich! I must have downed a half-pound of pickled beets. The day progressed without incident until that evening, when I peed bright red. Forgetting my earlier massive beet consumption, I thought I was dying of an internal hemmorage and nearly passed out.

Of course, that incident couldn't cure me of my passion for those mouthwatering magenta morsels. You'll still catch me redhanded (and red-tongued, for that matter) after a beet bonanza.

Best beets ever?

Roasted Beet Salad

Get beets of similar size (about 2" diameter, or cut down larger beets to halves or quarters). Lay down a large square of aluminum foil. Drizzle with olive oil and rub on kosher salt. Form a package with the foil and roast at 375F about an hour, or until a knife goes through 'em like butta.

Cool, peel, cut down to eatin' size. Toss with your favorite vinaigrette, and cubes/crumbles of a nice cheese. Maybe throw in some nuts, if you're in the mood. Maybe add fresh tarragon or another herb. Mount on mache, arugula, spinach or whatever lettuce you might have.

To be honest, I rarely even get to the vinaigrette part, because they're just so darn tasty when they're freshly roasted.

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Nachos With Riddick

I was planning to write a little review of The Chronicles of Riddick -- that promising Vin Diesel sci-fi bonanza with the unweildy title. Fortunately, I needen't bother since the guy on imdb.com wrote it far better than I would have, so I recommend you just read his review.

He's a bit more harsh than I would have been about the whole thing, and I'll not pan it completely. After all, drooling over Vin Diesel and Karl Urban for more than an hour with better-than-expected moviehouse nachos is rarely a complete waste of time.

For the complete experience, check out the Lowe's Kips Bay Megaplex with nachoes grande and carhop-style refreshment trays. If only they had Dr. Pepper, my life would be complete.

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Wherefore art mine siesta?

6.18.2004

Another long day without air conditioning at work, and I’m left to ponder the siesta.

Yes, the American working class somehow got screwed out of this very rational, utilitarian cultural concept. Why, oh, why must we be chained to the puritanical notion that an afternoon nap is somehow evil, slothful and inefficient?

Biologically, we’re rigged to hit an energy lull in the afternoon. We’re not so alert. We work more slowly. We make more (potentially costly) mistakes.

The good folks at NASA tell us that 26 minutes of napping equals a 34% improvement in performance and 54% improvement in alertness. Study after study demonstrates that a little shuteye could help us achieve all those “think outside the box,” “work smarter, not harder,” “good luck is created with hard work” platitudes. So why does the American productivity machine reject this fairly obvious cause/effect, problem/solution formula?

Simply this: As much as modern society heaps sacred reverence upon the gods of Science, it just can’t shake off its puritanical roots.

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Truth, Justice and Luscious Tomatoes

6.17.2004

Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for efficiency… direct deposit, instant gratification, online shopping, multivitamins, shortcuts, carpool lanes, email (and hell yeah! electronic publishing), are all my dear friends.

However, there are times when patience, effort and a “if it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing well” attitude are not only appropriate, and ethically virtuous, but -- dare I say it? -- better.

Take tomatoes, for instance. I’ve not yet met the efficient tomato that’s been delicious. Edible, yes, but there are those who claim those low-carb bars and dissolving Styrofoam packing peanuts are technically edible, too. Where’s the joy in that?

Fruit as a food genre is best for you, your palate, small farms and the environment when it’s local and in-season. The fact of the matter is: the fresh tomatoes are not ready yet. Therefore, a responsible, logical adult tomato consumer, you should arrange your meals around canned tomatoes and other fruits.

Yes, you can play the part of Veruca Salt by balling up your little fists and screaming, “But I want it now, Daddy!” And daddy can drop some cash and get you tomatoes from some distant land where it is summer. But is it the right way to behave? And, perhaps just as important, do they taste good?

Slow Food is a worldwide legion of concerned mouths dedicated to preserving the flavor in your foods, and promoting food production with less emphasis on pesticides, long-distance shipping and wicked short-term, gain-based efficiency. Multilingual millions defending “artisanal” production methods, endangered animal species and old-school recipes... now that's just plain cool.

I don't know about you, but I'll wave a flag for any army that wants to crusade for tangy, mouthwatering, garden-quality tomatoes.

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Best thing I've heard all week...

6.16.2004

“If you really feel that life could not possibly be gloomier, try any slow Miles Davis track. It will suggest to you that, however gloomy life may be, it cannot possibly be as gloomy as Davis makes it out to be. There is also the likely bonus to be gained from hearing some bystander refer to Davis as Miles instead of Davis. The surge of adrenalin at this piece of trendy pseudo-familiarity will buck up your system, and striking the offender to the ground will restore your belief in your own masculinity, rugged force, etc.”

— Kingsley Amis On Drink

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When fusion cuisine attacks!

6.13.2004

Like any powerful concept, fusion cuisine can be used for good or for evil.

Let me explain: Some ingredients have a natural affinity. Tomatoes and basil. Mint and lamb. Peanut butter and jelly. They're classic combinations for a reason.

Beef and ginger make happy playmates. So do beef and horseradish. Combining pickled ginger, roast beef and wasabi with romaine in a sandwich is a nice way to bring new interest to all parties involved.

Evil fusion cuisine involves a soul-removal. Take, for example, the chicken samosa at Vongerichten's meatpacking district streetfair, Spice Market. It's essentially chopped chicken bits packed into triangular eggroll wrappers. Dry, lackluster chicken in a crisp-fried shell does not a samosa make. There's no way the standard spicy Indian sauce condiments (which were underseasoned, but let's not go there) can cover for poorly executed food and bad recipe design.

The real beauty of a samosa is in the joy of a spicy stuffing punctuated with tiny flavor treasures all wrapped up in a tender, toasted shell. To remove both the luscious piñata-like filling and the tasty pastry shell and continue to call the thing a samosa is just plain wicked.

That said, I enjoyed the spicy tapioca ceviche, and he gets the toasty, malty Ovaltine kulfi right. I'm not asking for much here. Vongerichten is a talented chef. He seems like a nice guy. Just exercise a little respect for the original dish before you go winging out into a fusion orbit, people.

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impassioned

6.11.2004

This one's like a mantra for me: Wouldn't the world be a nicer place if everyone had a passion and the ability to pursue it? (Unless said passion involved torture or cruelty, I suppose...)

Here's a bunch of folks erudite and enthusiastic about the appreciation of beer. Slainte, L'chaim, and Kampai to them.

And while we're at it, here's a site to skill you in drinking with the locals... wherever that locality may be.

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cold comfort

6.09.2004

Our cool, damp spring screeches to a sudden halt with a day so muggy it's like walking around in someone's mouth.

And of course the air conditioner's out at work. Can't think. Can't focus. So sweaty and gritty I want to peel my skin off. A cool white beacon hovers in my mind like a shining beacon of sweet refreshment. Horchata.

In Mexico, horchata is a creamy, lightly sweetened rice milk blended with flavors of cinnamon and almond. The drink was brought to Mexico from Spain, and was probably brought to Spain by the Moors, who made it with the chufa – a root pod also known as “tigernut.”

I’m told that chufa horchata is liquid ambrosia, but since my corner market doesn’t sell a lot of chufa, I can’t corroborate. The sad fact of the matter is, I can’t even find a rice-based horchata ‘round my pierogi-rich ‘hood. What’s an overheated girl to do?

Luckily, horchata is extremely simple to make, and since there’s so many variations out there, it seems nearly impossible go wrong. Some recipes use a little milk or coconut milk. Some add in a bit of lime zest or a squeeze of juice. Some use a little vanilla. Some instructions recommend grinding the dry rice to a powder before adding water. Others tell you to cook the rice nice and soft first, then blend it to a smooth consistency.

The only components I really insist on: rice (1 cup per 8-10 cups of water), almonds (maybe a cup), cinnamon (one stick), sugar (1/2 cup or to your taste).

Prep the rice as you wish (soak powdered rice overnight in water or simmer whole rice until soft) with the almonds and cinnamon. Remove the stick before blending. Add sugar to taste. Strain through cheesecloth or a fine sieve. Chill. Revel in the cool, creamy goodness. It’s so very lovely over crushed ice. Throw in a touch of rum if the mood strikes you.

Heat index is up over 100? Bring it on.

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New Favorite Thing 06/06: Guilty Pleasures

6.06.2004

Why don't we revel in the delight of guilty pleasures for a moment?

Don't claim you're immune. I know some little section of your brain still clings tightly to that unbearably cheesy song, that Starbucks Hazelnut Latte, that awful item of clothing that should remain forever buried in a heaping pile of fashion roadkill at the local Goodwill... just stop pretending you're so damn cool for a quarter of a second, okay?

Here's my confession: I got up early yesterday and went to the new Harry Potter movie in one of those huge Megaplexes. I loved its dark, spooky overtones with little sparks of light and humor sprinkled throughout. Such escapist fun! Since I'm greedy, I snuck into a different screen and watched it again.

Afterward, I devoured a very sloppy, very tasty Wasabi Roast-beef sandwich at area chain Cosi. Crusty bread, tangy pickled ginger slices, lots of creamy wasabi mayo and moist roast beef slices. Fusion cuisine for the masses. So good, I could eat one every day for a month.

Ah! The joys of surround-sound fantasy extravaganzas in the big, comfy chairs of excessively large corporate theaters... not to mention reliably delicious sandwiches from high-end chain sandwich shops. Guilty pleasure bliss!

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Earl Grey: Hot!

6.05.2004

Sipping a pleasant cup of Earl Grey on a melancholy day and pondering the wisdom of Star Trek’s Captain Picard, I was moved to do a bit of research.

Apparently, it's far more easy to get a cup of Earl Grey swill than a quality pour. Since Earl Grey is not a cut or variety of tea leaf, but rather an infusion of black tea and a specific citrus essence, it’s easy to hide a cheap tea beneath the powerful perfume. (That said, I have full faith that my favorite starship captain’s replicator was fully adept at brewing a superior cup of Earl Grey.)

The tea, said to have been popularized in the early 1800s by England’s second Earl Grey (who, it’s claimed, saved the life of the Chinese man who gave him the recipe) is flavored with the essence of the fragrant bergamot orange cultivated in Southern Italy.

There’s some research that suggests bergamot orange oil is capable of a variety of internal terrors, including “muscle cramps, involuntary twitches (fasciculations), burning or prickling feelings (paraesthesias), and blurred vision.” Of course, sort of thing isn’t common in the casual tea-sipper. I never saw Captain Picard hunched over in agony or twisted in a fasciculationous bout (well, at least not from a relaxing hot beverage).

Therefore, I tip my teacup to intrepid adventurer Captain Picard – a man who stands tall in the face of dangers on land, in space and in his cup.

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Site that made me laugh out loud today...

6.03.2004

5ives: Merlin's Lists of Five Things

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You're a chef, huh?

6.02.2004

“SO! What do you do?” It’s informal party-speak for: “I’d like to peek into that window in your soul, if you don’t mind.”

My brainiac friends do things like extended magnetohydrodynamic modeling for fusion experiments. That line of work doesn’t leave a lot of room for casual follow-up questions. You need years of intensive physics study to form even a remotely interesting question. If you’re a professional cook, however, your occupation is intellectually accessible. Everybody’s eaten. Everybody’s been to a restaurant. Everybody’s got an opinion.

So you remember that time when we met at that party? If you could have heard my voice over the thumping bassline and whooping drunks, this is a sampling of what you might have heard.

Wow, so you’re a chef, huh?

Well, look at it this way: If I own a dingy, does that make me a captain?

“Chef” represents the head of the kitchen. Everyone else is just a cook, regardless of how much he or she kicks ass in the kitchen. So, call me a chef if you like, but it’s going to make any honest cook squirm just a bit.

So you’re probably never happy when you go out to eat, right?

It’s all about expectations. It’s pretty pathetic if I go somewhere and spend a nice chunk of change for something I could have done twice as well. But if I go to Burger King and I get Burger King, I’m a happy girl. I wasn’t expecting Nobu. If I go to Nobu and I get Burger King, however…

Do you want to hurt the people who order well-done meats and overcooked vegetables?

Nope. I just feel terribly sorry for them. And then I pick out the ugliest cut of meat, because at that point, there’s no flavor difference anyway.

So if I send something back, are you going to get pissed off and spit in the food or something?

Never. Never ever ever ever. I work with food because I love food. I respect food. I respect all the animals and plants and farm labor that went into that food. Why would I dishonor the food like that? Now keep in mind, that’s just me. I can’t speak for every cook or server out there, and I will say I’ve seen some shady things while working in fast food establishments as a teenager.

Like what?

I’ll pretend you didn’t ask that. So then, what do you do?

6/04/2004 posted by Anonymous

as the subject of this casual reference to XMHD modeler, i feel inclined, if not obligated to post a comment. True,
the usual response is the glazy eyed deer in headlights 'Oh',
pause 'you must be smart'.

At one point I resorted to lying,
bald face, (this was in college, when I was an aspiring neophyte physicist)... my favorite was Russian Lit. Uh, so
whats my point, uh yeah... glazy eyed 'Huh...'

Oh right,
intellectually accessible... uh so maybe go back to lying.
Oh wait, I don't get invited to parties :(

everybody is eaten

go learn about fusion propaganda: fusedwebDOTppplDOTgov

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Dog Days

Perennial Favorite Things: MPR & Lynne Rossetto Kasper

mmm... Bloody Mary goodness.

aibohphobia

Ahhh! The Power of Beets!

Nachos With Riddick

Wherefore art mine siesta?

Truth, Justice and Luscious Tomatoes

Best thing I've heard all week...

When fusion cuisine attacks!

impassioned

cold comfort

New Favorite Thing 06/06: Guilty Pleasures

Earl Grey: Hot!

Site that made me laugh out loud today...

You're a chef, huh?

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