Twitter and other things I don’t understand

October 8

When did it become okay to make uninvited physical contact with people, even in a crowded place, and not acknowledge that you’ve done so? I’m not asking for cash compensation, just an “excuse me” or a “sorry.” Even a single-syllable “oops.”
There are exceptions. If you want to get past someone in a crowded space, especially a loud one, a gentle hand on the upper back or shoulder is an acceptable form of communication. It should be responded to by trying to move out of the way when it’s convenient to do so.
People do it on subways (acknowledge that they’ve touched you, that is). Recently even a neighbor’s three-year old, who accidentally reached up and smacked me in the leg as we were entering our building, apologized, and I live in Park Slope, Brooklyn — Spoiled-Child Central.
But not last night at the opening of M by Megu, a new bar upstairs at that restaurant’s Tribeca location. It was one of those velvet rope paparazzi parties and I guess the people who got there right before I did were famous — pop stars or reality TV show people or models or someone from another genre I don’t follow — because they posed for the photographers who eagerly snapped away.
One of the publicists offered to pose with me, which was nice, but I declined. If paparazzi don’t want my picture then I’m not going to give it to them.
Inside the party was just 15 minutes old, but it was already loud and crowded, which is of course what you’d expect.
I asked the bartender to make me something that was easy for her.
“Fruity or not?” she asked.
“Not,” I said, and she made me a saketini garnished with cucumber.
Then I tried to move away from the bar to let others get drinks, and a woman with her back to me blocked my way.
I tried the hand-on-the-shoulder trick, but she ignored me, perhaps because she was so accustomed to people touching her uninvited. So I squeezed by as nicely as I could, apologized and proceeded to get hit by ladies’ purses and body-checked by people who didn’t seem to notice that I was there. One woman, trying to show the stain on her beige top caused clearly by a splashed pomegranate Martini, extended her arm right into my chest, and then just left it there as if I didn’t exist.
I guess it’s just normal these days. A couple of weeks ago I went with my friend Andy Battaglia and his baby brother Jeff to a show at the new Chinatown club Santos Party House, where two of Andy’s favorite German techno/house DJs, Michael Mayer and Superpitcher were performing.
Little Jeff (actually, he’s several inches taller than Andy and built like the ex-fraternity, golf-playing guy that he is, whereas Andy looks like the cerebral music critic that he is) is in fact the CFO of a financial services firm — one that doesn’t trade in mortgage-backed securities, by the way — so I didn’t argue with him when he paid for the taxi ride home.
He’s just 30 years old.
Anyway, even before the headliners started people were walking through each other like they couldn’t see, and they all seemed to think it was perfectly normal. One guy, clearly in a different-from-usual state due to hallucinogens and/or stimulants, barreled right through me on the way to the bar, so I asked Andy if I could beat him up.
Andy shook his head.
“He’s pretty messed up,” I said. “I bet I could take him.”
Andy told me not to.
“What if I asked Jeff?”
He shrugged his shoulders. I decided not to bother.
Santos was a lot of fun, and the sound system was so good that the music made my whole body tingle without harming my ears. It was like being a baby in one of those vibrating chairs. Andy assured me it wouldn’t make me sterile.
For a club, Santos had an unusually good beer-on-tap selection. Stella Artois, of course, for Jeff and other Wall Street types (or to be fair, anyone who likes a mild lager), Guinness for the slightly more edgy, a hoppy Six-Point for snobs like me who like pretentious, bitter beer, preferably from a local microbrewery, and something I didn’t recognize and couldn’t read on the tap.
I asked the bartender about it. He said he had no idea what it was and poured me a taste. It was dark, but not as dark as Guinness.
I later asked a different bartender, and she didn’t know what it was either. Apparently they’d just added it and I guess no one had asked about it yet.
So I called them the next day. Turns out it was from a Pennsylvania craft brewery called Tröegs.
So that was good to know.
Earlier that same night, at a somewhat strange Scotch-tasting event I might get to describing some other time, I asked Andy, Jeff and Andy’s friend Dan Foster, a former intern of his, if they understood this thing Twitter and why people would want to read very brief updates about what a bunch of people were doing.
They didn’t.
Now that I’ve been tweeting (apparently that’s what it’s called) for awhile, I get it to a point. I understand why I’d want to be updated on what food trucks are in my neighborhood for lunch today, and I guess I even understand why I’d like to hear litte musings from good friends of mine. Especially since I have unusually poetic friends, like Craig Stuart, who keeps us up-to-date with his observations, like “1990s white BMW with wide center, red racing stripe down hood and roof, and Tintin image painted on side door, at Hayes and Buchanan.”
He’s a Sagittarius.
Anyway, my marketing people want me to tweet for this blog and see if it will drive traffic. And indeed it is driving a little bit of traffic.
(sign up here, if you want).
Speaking of Andy’s interns, I met another one last night at the opening of Naya, a new, rather high-end Lebanese place not far from my office. Young Paul Caine, who also is an intern at Eater, was talking to my friend Akiko Katayama. He thinks Andy’s awesome, which of course he is.
Apart from interning at two fine publications, Paul also works at a restaurant. He’s quite the go-getter, and kind of looks like Andy, actually.
Then consultant and former restaurateur Rita Jammet arrived and we eventually found our way to the back of the restaurant and hung out with the place’s owner Hady Kfoury, François Payard, with whom Hady used to work, and later on Todd English and Sam Hazen.
Rita and Hady had plenty to talk about, as they both grew up in Lebanon.
Sam, as you might know but I didn’t, because I don’t read Grub Street closely enough, recently left his job at Tao to become Todd’s corporate chef.
François expressed good-natured disappointment that I was so uninformed.
“You should read the papers,” he said.
Smartass.
From Naya I went to M by Megu, got jostled and chatted with freelance writer Jean Tang, among others, including a former server at Morimoto who now works at Jean-Georges Vongerichten’s new soba place, Matsugen, which is just around the corner from Megu.
I snacked fairly well on three types of kibbeh as well as hummus, falafel and cheese pastries at Naya, and I had a bit of sushi at M by Megu, but soba still sounded good. So I slipped out and popped into Matsugen, whose kitchen had just closed, it being just after 11pm. I still stayed for a drink, though. I had a Moskomur — clearly a Moskow Mule (vodka, ginger beer, lime, mint, simple syrup) with a Japanese accent. It was made with vodka, ginger juice and shiso.

Am i hopeless??

In a quest to live well and more vigorously healthy lifestyles, I decided to have a new resolution, and learn from experiences of some people i read in the internet to walk the step, taking the stair instead of taking the elevator to my office which happens to be on the six floor.

Well only six floors, it cannot be that bad.

First floor, still walking fast and ever smiling to the student greetings salam.

Second floor, walked slowly but tried to look serious, so student would not greet me with their salam.

Third floor, walked even slowly and no longer smiling and legs are starting to get tired.

Fourth floor, stopped for a while for fresh air and tired legs gets a little agitated and starting to feel pain on the join.

Fifth floor sharp pain starting to effect the lung and felt like air is not moving, also starting to have tingling sensation around the chest area and sweat are starting to flow like rivers.

Six floor barely made it for the last stair, and the lung suddenly exploded and release enormous amount of toxic carbon dioxide with a slight relieve and some smile on the face because I finally made it.

Then walked fast to the room, switched on the aircond full blast, with face facing exactly at the aircond duct for extra oxygen, opened up a new pack of cigarettes and huff and puff like there is no tomorrow.

Lit another cigarette and look myself in the mirror and was amazed that my face looks a little bit paler than usual as if just got back from a 3 hours facial wash, with no dark pigmentation.

Quickly took picture of a pink of health, glowly healthy looking face (but will not share pictures here, because i look like a rape victim at the same time)

Then

Walked out the room,
took the elevator,
went to the cafeteria,
ordered a cup of ice Nescafe, and a cup of hot one
went to the elevator,
pressed no 6
went to the office,
sat on the office chair,
drank the whole cup of ice Nescafe in a single sip
lit a ciggy
looked at myself on the mirror

and quickly make changes and amended the new short term and impromptu resolution and swear to myself, I will never, ever, ever fucking walk the stair ever again.


Yes, I am hopeless. No need to answer the question.

hik

Spinach with Rice - السبانخ مع الارز

This is a very easy and healthy spinach recipe.

Serves 4-5

Ingredients:
1 big bunch of fresh Spinach, chopped (or frozen, canned etc..)
1/3 cup pine nuts
1 medium onion, chopped
1 clove of garlic, minced
1/3 cup of olive oil
1 tsp allspice
Juice of a lemon
1 tsp tomato sauce
1 cup of lean minced meat
1 1/2 cups of water
Salt & pepper to taste

- In the cooking pot, add onions, olive oil, garlic, pine nuts and cook for about a minute, then add the minced meat, salt, pepper & allspice. When the meat is cooked, add the spinach. Turn the heat to low and let the spinach cook for few minutes then add the water, tomato sauce and let it all slow cook for another 12 minutes. Add the lemon juice in the last 5 minutes. Serve with rice cooked with vermicelli (the rice recipe is already posted with the red beans/chilli recipe).

Calorie quiz

October 8

I decided to play around with the survey gadget here at blogger, although I'm using it as a quiz to see how many people can guess which chain restaurant items have more calories. Here in New York that information is posted on menus and menu boards (of restaurants with 15 or more units nationwide), and I've found the results surprising.
I'll give you the answer to the first quiz in a week or so.

Update, October 15

This is how people voted when asked which Starbucks Item is more fattening:

Pumkin Scone: 19 (76%)
Old fashioned glazed donut: 6 (24%)
In fact, according to the labels at Starbucks, they’re close, but a pumpkin scone has 500 calories and a donut has 480.

Not My Best Work

As I ran on the treadmill last night after work, I distracted myself by dreaming about my dinner. I had marinated some ground lamb in Indian spices (garam masala, cumin, coriander, red pepper) and planned to make koftas (aka meatballs). I debated on the side dish. I had some spinach I could saute but that wouldn't fill me up. I'd rather not eat too much rice or other carbs. Then I remembered that I had a can of tomato puree in the fridge that needed to be finished. What if I made a tomato soup from it? I planned the recipe in my head. Saute some garlic and cumin seeds in olive oil, add the puree and simmer. It would be so simple, and I had cooked tomatoes like this in the past with good results.
You may be wondering now what is tomato puree. It is found in the organic food section and has far less sodium than other canned tomato products. Other than that, it is pretty much like tomato sauce. Which means the consistency is like tomato sauce. Which means it does not make a good soup.
I started cooking with gusto. I sauted the garlic, toasted the cumin seeds, sniffed the wonderful aroma. Then I poured in the tomato puree, noting as I poured that it seemed rather...thick. So I decided to add milk. Then I decided to add wine. After adding all that liquid, the puree was still begging to be spread on a crust and topped with mozarella. And my wonderful flavors of garlic and cumin were lost. I doused the "soup" with some ground cumin to no avail. It tasted like tomato sauce. Definitely not my best work.
Despite all that, I ate some of the soup for dinner. Then I ate some more for lunch. I think I'm done eating tomato puree. More to come on a successful recipe for tomato garlic soup with cumin.

In Praise of Delicatessens

I have a real ‘thing’ for delis; you know a vaguely irrational adoration bordering on obsession. A deli is the absolute epitome of culinarianism. Of course, I have a deep set admiration for butchers, bakers (less so for candle stick makers), cheese mongers and the myriad of other ‘mongers’ you care to mention, but, for me, a delicatessen trumps them all.

In a deli you can be absolutely sure that each and every item in there is worthy of its place. You just know that there is not a single item on the shelves or in the fridge that is freeloading and hanging on to the coattails of its counterparts. Every slice of salami, every wedge of cheese, every loaf of bread deserves to be there and has been hand chosen after the owner has tasted, tested and compared hundreds of other contenders.



In a deli, quality is king. The delicatessen owner knows that his or her reputation hangs by the sheerest gossamer thread and as such they have to adopt a perfectionist’s attitude. To be fair, if they weren’t utterly passionate about charcuterie and cheese and sourdough bread, they probably wouldn’t have opened a deli in the first place and as such take extreme pleasure in stocking only the finest produce from the best suppliers.

As one who enjoys talking about food to any who care to reciprocate, I know that a suitable conversation can be virtually guaranteed in an independent deli. Within seconds of a smiled greeting, the conversation will almost invariably turn to seasonality or provenance or the benefits of raw milk cheeses over the pasteurised variety.

And they know so much. It’s all very well knowing the vague area from which a specific air dried ham originates but knowing the name of the farmer’s secret illicit lover? I’d fully expect them to be able to tell me the particular grass that a particular sheep has feasted on to make milk for a particular cheese but knowing the shepherd’s mother’s favourite wine? Wowee.

OK, OK, maybe I exaggerate slightly, but only slightly. Seriously, these are the places to go if you need any culinary advice at all. Not only will they be able to sell you the ideal cold cuts to serve as a light lunch in June but also the right pickles and wine to go with them. They’ll be able to put together a cheeseboard of such complexity and excellence that you’ll doubtless be rendered speechless by its sheer perfection. And you’ll be able to pick up some suitably artisan oatcakes to go with the cheese.

This isn’t about showing off, or one-upmanship. It’s about approaching food in the same manner as you would art or music or repairing a car. It’s great to fumble around by yourself for a while but sometimes it’s best to reign in the services of an expert, someone who does this for a living because it is what they love and is what they are fucking good at (please excuse the expletive but I really do feel very passionately about this).

There are a few notable delis that I try to frequent when time, location and budget allow. La Fromagerie in London I’ve written about before, ditto the Cheshire Smokehouse. The Cambridge Cheese Co. is now my closest and certainly the best that I know of for miles. Finally, there is Barbakan, just south of Manchester city centre which we paid a visit to a couple of days ago.



As well as some of their famous bread we picked up some Polish kabanos, a small packet of chorizos and a healthy chunk of Italian lardo, cured pig back fat from Tuscany.

Most exciting, though, was the presence of this season’s first Vacherin Mont D’Or, in its distinctive round, wooden box, a sure, and tasty, sign that we are truly into autumn. This seasonal cheese is produced on the Swiss-French border using only milk from Montbéliard and Simmentaler breeds who graze on the lush summer grass of Franche-Comté. It is a real treat and I try to buy at least two or three during the winter months for special occasions. Using the well-known adage ‘if it grows together, it goes together’ as a point of reference, you could do a lot worse than cracking open a bottle of soft Burgundy to go with it. Hardly the healthiest way to end a meal but certainly one that should bring warmth and smiles to any cold and miserable winter night.

japannese cheese cake

Gak ngerti kenapa namanya "Japannese Cheese Cake", mungkin karena asalnya memang dari negara Sakura, Japan. Bikinnya memang perlu perhatian extra..

Bahannya:

* ayak dan campur 50 gr tepung terigu serba guna, 50 gr tepung maizena

* 60 gr mentega tawar

* 250 grm cream cheese, biarkan pada suhu ruangan

* 120 ml whip cream

* 1 butir telur

* 2 sdt kulit jeruk lemon parut

* 5 putih telur
* 1/8 sdt garam

* 125 gr gula pasir halus

* 1 sdt air jeruk lemon

Topping : 2 sdm selai apricot + 2 sdm air

Cara membuatnya :

Siapkan loyang bulat, alasi kertas roti, olesin mentega, pasang oven dengan suhu 150 derajat celcius. Campurkan mentega, whip cream dalam wadah ( lebih baik di -tim dalam mangkuk tahan panas). Masukan campuran tepung, aduk rata, masukkan kuning telur dan 1 butir telur, kulit jeruk lemon, aduk rata, sisihkan.

Kocok putih telur hingga berbusa, masukkan gula dan air jeruk lemon sedikit demi sedikit sambil terus dikocok sampat berbentuk soft peak.

Tuang adonan putih telur ke adonan cream cheese, aduk rata. Lalu tuang campuran ini ke dalam sisa adonan putih telur. Aduk rata, lalu tuang ke dalam loyang (panggang selama 75 menit sampai matang dan permukaan kue matang, berwarna keemasan). Keluarkan dari oven, biarkan dingin dahulu, baru kemudian lepaskan cake dari loyang, terakhir oleskan kue dengan selai aprikot dan air.

Hidangkan..

Rasanya yummy banget, cream cheese nya terasa lembut n wangi lemon serta selai aprikot terasa segar dan menggugah selera. Hehehee.. cobain deh yah biar gak penasaran

Selamat mencoba yah..

pizza hut

Makanan yang satu ini memang udah umum, namanya PIZZA HUT

Resepnya ada 2 bagian bahan..

Bahan roti :

tepung roti 280 gr, gula 1 sendok, susu bubuk 1 sendok, fermipan 2 sendok kecil, mentega 15 gr, air hangat 180ml, garam 1 sendok kecil, 1 butir telur

Cara membuat roti :

ayak tepung, tambahkan garam + fermipan, masukkan air hangat, mentega dan telur, garam, ulenin sampai kalis (krg lebih 15 menit) sampai mengembang, lalu giling adonan sesuai bentuk loyang, olesin loyang dengan mentega, taruh adonan di dalam loyang.

Bahan saus dan isinya :

bawang bombai, sosis, smoked chicken, pasta tomat, oregano, basil, paprika, whip cream, keju mozarella

Cara buat saus n isinya :

tumis bawang bombai, masukkan sosis, smoked chicken, dan bahan lainnya seperti disebutkan diatas, hingga mengental.

Lalu taruh saus dan isian diatas adonan roti pizza yang telah diolesin mentega permukaannya, masukkan keju mozarella diatasnya.

Masukkan kedalam oven selama 20 menit dengan suhu 200 derajat.