brioboy

especially the cuddling afterwards.... Also, apalled that the prisoner was able to manipulate the legal system to get two cheeseburgers and had the temerity to try for a third. At my office (across from the White House) management distributed little dust masks to be worn "in the event of an emergency" and a map of which conference room in which to huddle. My friend Al gave me a pack of Marlboro's and a bottle of Stoli to use with the mask but after reading this thread I think I better throw in a can of fois gras. At the risk of soundin self-indulgent, what other non-perishables do you think I should consider?

The carmelized top of a creme brulee, the heart of an artichoke swathed in butter and sea salt, and the boundary between crisp and still sweaty julienned fennel and leeks that have been slowly baked on a cookie sheet for an hour.... uhhhhhh. And if you are Anthony Bourdain in the Moroccan desert, to follow this thread's invocation of guidance by the locals, the privates of a young pit roasted lamb. I'll take his word for it.

Marie Anne Cantin (12 Rue De Champ de Mars in the 7th) will vacuum pack your raw milk unpasturised cheese aged less than 60 days (that's practically all they sell) so that no beagle will bark. The proof to their superior packing came when $70 of various high-pong cheeses were checked in my baggage (to get the lower temperature) and then BA lost the bag for two days. You can imagine my dread. But not a whiff permeated the packaging until, in my mindless hope (and greed) I cut the bag to see if anything was salvageable. Two days on the tarmac in spring had not been kind. Now I just get the little St. Marcellin's at duty free (three euros and you don't have to pay for that stupid crock) and they are perfect after the seven or hours of travel - but this post is making me reconsider mail order.

Only ten days - ten glorious days - in Morocco earlier this month and only one of them in Fes. But I had seen the posts here (and elsewhere) about Maison Bleu and so blew off what was said to be the very good food at the Riad we were staying at and made a reservation. I'm lucky in that I have a generous expense account here in Washington D.C. and food is obviously a passion if I'm posting here. And we ate well in Morocco - not quite up to Bourdain's adventure with lamb testicles documented in "A Cook's Tour" (we didn't have his time or budget) - with delight and surprise everywhere. But Maison Bleu is a cut above. All the traditional components of a typically overwhelming Moroccan multi-course feast are present but each taken out to the refined extreme of that course leaving me at least with that feeling of a lightbulb going off in your head when you eat a beetroot that has been properly baked and spiced or some other familiar food presented at its highest quality and your moth goes "so THAT'S what chicken is supposed to taste like." You know the sensation. But these guys do it with pretty much every single course. The lamb is so tender it feel immoral and perfectly spiced. The vegetables are explosively fresh and also spiced with restraint and care. The Bastilla is a florid exhibition of the pastry chef's skill with perfectly baked wafers cascading out from sweet cream and rosewater (?) desert filling instead of wrapped around as in the more usual pigeon pie. But it isn't Nouvelle Moroccan - the boss called it "going backwards - Mama cooking." The sensory overload was compounded by the Gnawa players working the room with such fun energy that one was momentarily distracted from the food. It was an embarassment of riches; luxury for the soul. There's going to be a cookbook but attempting this at home would be futile. Stop reading this and go.

Admittedly a while since this post began but after eating there for lunch today I feel obliged to put out a general caution; although late in the shift and the restaurant almost empty the (friendly) service was curiously slow, the tapas bland (with the exception of quite good grilled sardines) and the sole saving grace a cheerful sangria. The coup de grace was the constant sound - even over the blare of Gypsy King retreads on the stereo - of the bartender preparing juice for tonight's sangria in a strange medieval piledriver torture device. "So what (BLAM, BLAM) would you recommend (BLAM! BLAM!) as the best fish tapas (BLAM! BLAM!) given that you don't have (BLAM!) any baccalao on the menu? (BLAM! BLAM!)." All through lunch. She's probably still at it.

Would it be considered heresy to use a Simac (or similar) electric pasta making machine? I have made noodles with such a device and good lord they weren't half bad - which should be the case for $200. Any special considerations for making sheet pasta with this kind of device? I will now run from this forum before others start throwing bits of dried up dough at me.

You bastard.

With children I've found any overt discussion of tablemanners is an immediate invitation to disobey and feign putting feet on table, eating with fingers etc. Cuteness wears off quickly. Also, at dinner with my parents as a young man trying to be freethinking and show an adventurous mind about gastronomy I praised the wonderful stinky french cheese I had just discovered (epoisses de bourgogne) as having that part of the odor of one's own farts that is perversely pleasurable. Won't try that again.

Ages ago I lived around the corner on Q Street and the neighbors called it "Dangerway" because - as legend had it - this was the only Safeway in the chain that had ever been closed by the inspector for health violations. Then we moved to Logan Circle and shopped at the Spanish market which made us long for Dangerway (although they always had the most amazing fresh cilantro and yucca). Now I live in Montgomery County (another urban pioneer bites the dust) and give my money to Whole Paycheck.

Oh yeahhhhh! Lunch at the bar at Kinkaids. Mmmmm. Every time I eat upstairs in that awful office space converted into a dining room (I swear a photocopier wouldn't look out of place) I wish I was at the intimate bar space downstairs getting good food hustled to me by wisecraking barmen. The squid with polenta sent me back to my kitchen for days to work out how to recreate it (add semolina to the corn meal) and the oysters, no surprise, are wonderful. Bliss. Also, for haute barfood, you can't beat Johnny's Halfshell which I imagine was the inspiration for Palena's offering a top notch hotdog in a linen tablecloth-type setting (I know, I know, neither of them have linen tablecloths but you get the drift).

Ah, ya got me. Ben's even has electric lights. In the end it's strictly for tenderfoot wannabes I guess. Touche.

Primative? You want primative? I got your primative right heah. Ben's Whole Hog BBQ 7422 Old Centreville Rd. Manassas, VA 20111 Phone: 703-331-5980 Styrofoam plates and an open buffet crammed up next to the bandstand - you just about have to get up on stage with whatever enthusiastic amateurs are playing that night to be able to get to the veg and meat. Brisket is good good good but the pulled pork ended a search a friend and I had conducted through DC for the acme of that viand. Best in the city I concur is Rocklands although Capital Q in Chinatown is v. tasty if you don't mind the Hall of Shame photos of every troglodite politician Texas has graced us with grinning down at you while you try to maintain an appetite.

Diced and added to an equal weight of sugar, figs make an amazing ice cream with the standard recipe for an electric ice cream maker.