Friday, June 20, 2008

Lebanese Style Chili over Rice (Fasolia w Rizz) - فاصوليا مع الارز



This is the Lebanese style of making Chili served over rice with vermicelli.

Serves 4-5
Ingredients:
1 onion chopped
Half a pound of lean stew meat
4 sliced cloves of garlic
1 tablespoon of butter
2 cups of tomato sauce
Juice of 1 small lemon
1 cup of fresh cilantro
1 cup of red beans soaked overnight and cooked
1 tablespoon of red pepper flakes
Salt & pepper to taste

For the rice:
2 cups of white long grain rice
1/2 cup of vermicelli
1 teaspoon of butter
1 cup of meat stock or chicken bouillon (optional)

In a pan, add the chopped onions, butter, stew meat, salt and pepper. After the meat had browned and the onions cooked, add the garlic then cook for another few minutes then add 1 cup of water and the tomato sauce and slow cook the stew for 15 minutes. Add the beans and then the cilantro in addition to the lemon juice and simmer for 10 minutes.

While the stew is cooking you can prepare the rice:
In another pan, add butter then the vermicelli until they turn brown, then add the rice and 3 cups of water and 1 cup of stock, bring to a boil then reduce the heat and simmer until the rice is cooked and the water is absorbed. (Do not stir the rice more then twice so it doesn't get lumpy).

Serve the Chili with the rice.

Mashups at San Domenico, skiers at Fireside

June 20

I’m not sure how to describe San Domenico’s swan song party. I got there at around 11 p.m. after an unusually fun press dinner that I’ll get to in a moment.
San Domenico closed last night, you see, after 20 years on Central Park South. But don’t worry, they’re reopening, probably in late spring of next year, on the north end of Madison Square Park in a bigger space capable of generating more income.
In the meantime, they'll be doing off-site catering starting on July 1.
I wandered past the velvet rope, skirted the bar and went down the stairs to what for years had been the main dining room but tonight was the dance floor.
“Grab a drink!” said Marisa May, founder Tony May’s daughter. She motioned to a table that, I’m not kidding, was covered with random glasses and had bottles of vodka and cranberry juice.
“Hi sweetie!” said a statuesque African-American woman manning the impromptu bar who leaned down to give me a peck on the cheek. I noticed open wine bottles and so asked for a glass of red. She asked if it would be okay if she poured it into a highball glass as that was all she had. I said that would be fine.
She asked if maybe I wanted some seltzer in it. I said no thanks.
It was so awesome.
The DJ was doing an I Love Rock ’n’ Roll (Joan Jett version) mashup with something else I didn’t recognize and people I’d never seen before were dancing with great vigor. To me, it looked like Marisa’s friends were dancing and Tony’s friends were (mostly) sitting around the dance floor on the banquettes, but I’m sure a lot more was going on than that. The only people I knew there, apart from the hosts, were two of their publicists and chef Bill Telepan, who was there to give his regards to San Domenico’s chef, Odette Fada.
The regular bar was up and running and serving regular drinks. Vodka and cranberry was popular there, too, but I stuck with red wine, switching to a red wine glass, until my last drink, when I saw the bartender pouring limoncello and had some of that.
A buffet had been set up in one of the side rooms, and beside it was a wheel of Parmigiano-Reggiano that had been busted open. I nibbled on that and continued to watch people dance.
Good times.

Before that I was at Fireside, at the Omni Berkshire hotel, for a press dinner introducing chef Sam DeMarco’s Tiny 'Tini menu (mini-martinis, little lobster rolls, cheesesteak dumplings, pulled pork spring rolls) and some of his early-summer menu items. Served with Rosé for some reason.
When I got there it looked kind of bleak: A table of mostly travel writers. And you know how tedious travel writers can be.
But at the last minute young publicist Blain Howard sat across from me, and next to me sat my friend Sara Bonisteel, who works for Fox News these days, and across from her was her friend, freelancer Michael Park.
What a relief!
I hadn’t met Blain before, but he’s a fellow Coloradan, mostly raised in Colorado Springs with a degree in philosophy (minor in psych) from CU Boulder with interests ranging from mixed martial arts (see how he’s boxing with the camera?) to graphic novels to science fiction.
He, Michael and I assessed Battlestar Galactica and wondered why fans of science fiction also were drawn to vampires, while Sara sat quietly. She participated in later stages of the conversation, which ended up being quite varied and lively. In fact, the travel writer sitting on the other side of Blain turned out to be Edwin Fancher, who quite apart from being a founder of The Village Voice was also in the 10th Mountain Division in World War II — the ones who skied — and so he got his training in Colorado (near present day Vail, which wasn’t there yet) before seeing action in Northern Italy.
You just never know who you’re going to be eating with.

What we ate and drank at Fireside, after those things from the Tiny ’Tini menu:

Prosciutto di San Daniele, arugula, marcona almonds and white fig vinaigrette
Cleto Chiarli NV Brut Rosé, (Emilia Romagna of all places)

Sautéed soft shell crab with chanterelles, fava bean ragoût and corn butter
2007 La Scolca Rosé Chiara, (Piedmont)

Braised American red snapper with saffron, fennel and tomato
2007 Domaine de Nizas Rosé (Coteaux de Languedoc)

Roasted Colorado Lamb T-Bone, crispy feta, watermelon and cucumber water
2007 Charles Melton, Rosé of Virginia, (Barossa Valley)

Bay leaf-laced pannacotta with orange suprèmes
Taltarni Brut Tache (Tasmania believe it or not)

Rhong-Times

June 19

Last night I was having Thai food at Rhong-Tiam with my history professor friend Jonathan Ray, who was visiting from DC. We were talking about his kids and romance and the prevailing political mood among Mediterranean medievalists when we were interrupted, very politely, by a photographer who said she was from The New York Times and wanted to photograph us eating.
Apparently Julia Moskin will be writing about Rhong-Tiam soon.
As we were leaving, we ran into my friend Yishane’s friend Emily, and Emily’s sister, who were heading to the restaurant for dinner. I told her about the upcoming Times piece.
“Oh no!” she said, because if the Times wrote about Rhong-Tiam, we would have trouble getting in.
That’s probably true, but it will be good for business.
Speaking of which, Rhong-Tiam chef-owner Andy Yang’s next venture, a fusiony place in the East village called Kurve, is slated to open on July 1.

What we ate:

roasted pork neck with chile-ginger sauce
fluffy catfish salad
(Thai) southern style chicken
pat pak boong fai daeng (“watercress greens on fire”)

Lunch is just around the corner...

Being so relatively compact, Stockholm is a gloriously walkable place. It is quite possible to go from one side of the city to the other within about an hour without having to break a sweat. The realisation that you’ve forgotten your camera/guidebook/lip balm/ear muffs/intercontinental ballistic missile back at the apartment doesn’t quite result in the same level of frustration and you are never too far from where you want to be.


It also encourages you to see much more of the city, take in the feel and ambience of the place without having to zip from one tourist hot spot to another, avoiding everything in between. The pace is more sedate but it genuinely feels like you have done more. Especially when massaging your tired feet at the end of the day before falling asleep at eight thirty thanks to sheer exhaustion.

Conversely, because it feels so compact it is easy to kid oneself into thinking a destination is much closer than it really is. A glance at the map can easily result in the mistaken assumption that that little place you saw yesterday – you know the one, where the food looked so good – is a mere stroll away. The cold hard reality of the situation, that it is still four miles away, only becomes scathingly apparent when hunger begins to cripple you, slowing your progress even further.


But at least you arrive hungry. And that is exactly how we arrived at Östermalms Saluhall, Stockholm’s foremost food market. Dating from 1888, this incredible indoor hall is a true temple to gastronomy – the sort of place that I can only dream about spending all eternity in when I shuffle off this mortal coil. The quality and range of the produce on offer was staggering and in between the fishmongers, grocers and butchers were four or five eateries offering some of the finest traditional Swedish food in the city.


I left the final decision as to where we ate up to the birthday girl but we had to wander round a couple of times, open mouthed, desperate not to miss anything, before we finally chose Lisa Elmqvist.

Lisa Elmqvist has been selling fish in Stockholm since the 1920s and from a single stall on the harbour front, the ‘empire’ quickly grew to include a restaurant, fishmonger and deli all housed in one corner of the Saluhall. Although it comes highly recommended, the restaurant looked a touch starched, especially for a couple of tourists how had trekked slightly too far to still appear as effortlessly cool as was necessary, judging by the clientele already eating there. Less formal, and less expensive, than the restaurant is the delicatessen offering similar wares without the pretence, table service or starched tablecloths.

Here it is possible to eat a light lunch for about ten pounds, including a beer and as much rye bread and knackerbröd as you can comfortably consume whilst still maintaining the requisite level of sophistication. We ordered at the bar and took a seat at a high table, balanced precariously atop tall stools. Two beers provided some much needed liquid refreshment and we nibbled on some of the delicious crispbread as a surrogate starter whilst we waited for our order to be called out.

We didn’t have to wait long. A shout rang out from the counter and informed us that they were ready for collection. My herring plate consisted of four different types of the cured fish complete with cheese and a hard-boiled egg garnished with tiny jewel like salmon roe. As a youngster I couldn’t abide the intensity of cured herring, nor could I understand the appeal. But, as with coffee and whiskey and a whole host of other foods, time has altered my palate and I can’t get enough of this northern European staple.

The selection in front of me was delicious, although when I tasted my girlfriend’s skagen I was in two minds as to whether I had made the right choice. Tiny crayfish tails, stirred into a light sauce of mayonnaise and crème fraîche and flavoured with dill, skagen is a real taste of summer and one that is worth replicating at home, especially as midsummer is just around the corner.


We both finished our plates, mopping up any remaining sauce with a thin slice of dense black bread and decided on how to spend the rest of the day - ‘There’s that great little gallery we went past yesterday, I’m sure it’s only a short walk away.’

Cutting costs - free food

To be perfectly honest, it would be a lie for me to say that we are feeling the pinch. This is the first time either of us have had to worry properly about things like bills, food shopping, mortgage payments and the price of oil so we have no point of reference. Having just bought a house and under no illusions as to the amount of money I could make from writing, we were prepared for some serious belt tightening, credit crunch or no credit crunch. For all we know it would have been this way even if the world’s economy were still sitting prettily atop the crest of a tempestuous wave of credit.

In addition to this, neither of us has ever been particularly extravagant. Aside from having to curb an enthusiastic album buying habit which took hold with a disturbing voracity towards the end of last year, I’ve not really noticed any major upheavals.

In fact, there have been a few of unexpected bonuses – we eat healthier food (less meat, for a start), we drink less alcohol, we can read the hundreds of books that sit as yet unread on our bookshelf and we can power through a series of great DVD box sets that were bought frivolously some months ago and remain unwatched.

On the food front, things got even more interesting with the arrival of a pocket-sized book called ‘Food for Free’ by Richard Mabey. This wonderful little tome, originally published in 1972 offers a wealth of information on over 100 edible plants, berries, fungi, seaweed and shellfish that can be found in the British Isles.

Eager to try out our new guide, improve our foraging skills and attempt to eat for nothing we headed out last night for a walk; gloves, scissors and bags in hand ready to be filled with nature’s finest bounty. Or at least that was the plan.


Things began well when we came across an abundance of low-lying nettles, still a long way off flowering therefore still perfectly viable eating. I gathered half a bagful with the intention to make a nettle soup. We moved on and almost immediately saw a long line of elders complete with bunches and bunches of their recognisable tiny white flowers. I turned to page 66 in my little pocket book.

‘Elderflowers can be munched straight off the branch on a hot summer’s day, and taste as frothy as a glass of ice cream soda.’

Woah, this was good news. I love ice cream soda and I was starting to get a little parched from all that walking. What better way to slake my thirst than with some fresh elderflower? I snipped off a small cluster, took a tentative sniff and bit off a sizeable clump.

After a brief chew my mouth was awash with a bitterly unpleasant taste. I realised that I had been drastically mis-informed as to the deliciousness of raw elderflowers and my girlfriend failed to stifle a hearty giggle as I spat and attempted to clean my tongue with the back of my hand. After a few moments there was a mildly discernable hint of the taste I recognise as elderflower, but it certainly didn’t have the frothiness of a glass of ice cream soda. This Mabey chap should have his tongue looked at.


There was a flurry of excitement further down the track as we identified what we thought was chamomile and then sorrel. Sadly our woodland powers aren’t quite strong enough yet and a little nibble suggested that neither was what we thought.

Still, we had gathered enough nettles for a hearty and healthy soup and a bagful of flowers – enough to make a decent quantity of elderflower cordial or maybe even wine. And none of it had cost us a penny. Satisfaction indeed.

Incidencias


El acordeón suena, creando un ambiente de magia y decadencia que te envuelve lentamente, deteniendo el tiempo en un punto entre el todo y la nada, creando un agujero de gusano capaz de transportarte a un espacio y tiempo indeterminado, más allá de las estrellas.

Ondas que se expanden y encogen, plegando la distancia infinita en unos pocos milímetros, doblegando los sentimientos a su vaivén circense, haciendo acrobacias con los nudos que se forman en tu organismo... ¿Qué milagros de la física provocan esa mezcla de amor y dolor? Los caminos hormonales se activan y desactivan, y una mezcla de endorfinas se disparan en tu cerebro; sin darte cuenta, tus ojos se nublan ante la emoción...

Y es ahí cuando comprendes todo y nada, cuando entiendes por qué las incidencias no dejan escapar los rayos de luz de su interior y colapsan el tiempo, deteniéndolo todo; cuando observas que el tiempo se detiene poco a poco, a cámara lenta, como en las películas, como si fuera una escena de Julio Medem; una voz te susurra desde dentro que nada va a salir bien pero todo es hermoso y va a seguir hacia delante, quieras o no.

Inspiras, expiras, suspiras; y todo vuelve a andar y a moverse; al principio sin sonido, luego de forma más escandalosa y viva. Vida, sí, descubres de nuevo que estás vivo, y das las gracias o maldices, da igual; la sangre fluye al compás de tu pulso, de tu respiración, y te guste o no, es belleza en estado puro.

Sólo somos estrellas que colapsamos una y otra vez, a veces entre nosotros, otras veces sin la ayuda de nadie; creando agujeros negros en el tiempo y espacio: ajugejos de tristeza, agujeros de violencia, agujeros de amor.

http://youtube.com/watch?v=FI76sKLMkMU