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Megan Kathleen

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Everything posted by Megan Kathleen

  1. What fun! I'm so glad Henry and I went last night. Thanks to Pedro for organizing and hosting the dinner (and for "weathering" the associated stress so well). I'll leave the details to Luigi. The food, the wines, and most of all the company and conversation were well-enjoyed. Hope to see everyone again soon!
  2. I've got your "empowerment talk" right here. I home-cook like whoa- I even have a little project-diary blog about it- and I'm not repressed on any level or in any way dominated by my (male) partner. I'm also an aggressive, workaholic overachiever. Until recently, Henry and I worked opposite schedules, and I still cooked a lot. Now I'm back to cooking almost every day. This is my choice; it is my passion and my gift to the people in my life. For the most part, the ideas in the excerpted article are poison! Sure, there's a half-hearted attempt by the writer to redeem herself and a strategic dropping of some Michael Pollan ideas at the end, but the net result of my having read the thing was aggravation. I'm evolved, sexy and creative, both in and outside of my own estimation, and I'm not going to sit for some wack reporter telling me otherwise. One doesn't need a "third-wave feminist" agenda to know BS when one sees it. That's just one of a few petty, catty swipes in this article. Negativity sells newspapers (and credit cards, and other things), plain and simple, and there's no basis in reality for these notions. Who's anachronistic now? This is 2008. And talking trash about "the rise of foodie culture" is so last season. As far as "being able to cook" goes, let's remember the point of the fine feature film Ratatouille: "Anyone can cook." It comes from the heart, and indeed it means more than ever in our era of intense scheduling and eating on the go. I do not need a man to determine my merit in the kitchen any more than I need a man to put and keep me there. I don't need a glint in my eye, as I know how to season my food, and I don't want to be "a relic" anyway. What an insult. PS. Anne, you're awesome. Cooking is an act of love, don't ever apologize for it!
  3. Small menu; I get the sense it changes frequently. I had a rad roasted sweetbreads and lentils dish with frisee when I was there, and a killer lamb porterhouse. Not exotic by any means, but conscientious, well-informed food with a pleasantly refined creativity and technical strength. That's what I like. And it does meet your definition of cozy, in my estimation. And, hey, it's okay to be picky! I, too, have a hard time deciding where to eat, especially when I'm choosing for other people. I feel like I can explain what I want, but I know it might take a while, so I usually end up walking around and counting on knowing it when I see it. Not an option in freakin' freezin' February. I dug Central Kitchen. I know it's been around for a while and might be old news to Boston heads, but I wanted more or less what you do and my friend the super-waiter got it right.
  4. I'm not a local, so my $0.02 might be in fact worth less than that , but how about Central Kitchen? It's on Mass Ave., right off the T at Central Square (Cambridge). Last time I was in town, I went there with a friend who, like me, works in the restaurant business and another couple; we had a great time. The wine list is, IMHO, thoughtful and reasonably priced, as is the menu. "Adventurous" is kind of subjective, but I was more than pleased; the food was creative without being overly aspirational, which to me suggests focus and diligence. As far as the "cozy" factor, I felt a genuinely warm, positive vibe in there. I plan to go back next time I'm up that way, and I recommend it without hesitation.
  5. I recently quit the same way Toby has- Chantix (it works) and behavior modification. It's been right around four months. My general attitude toward life has improved as a result; whether this will have a lasting effect on my palate remains to be seen. I haven't noticed much of a change in my own experience of "restaurant food." It's been (and stayed) like this: whatever it is I'm eating, I like my food to taste like itself. Some things just need more salt than others toward that end. I have no problem tasting salt in a dish, but it does frustrate me when the discretion required to properly season one or two components of a plate isn't realized, especially in an upmarket place. Habitual, aggressive-defensive oversalting is a problem, however. It remains far more worrisome to me than either chronic undersalting or unwitting/overenthusiastic oversalting is. I know it when I taste it, as I expect most of us do. I'll stay out of the realm of conjecture, as it (demonstrably) may or may not have to do with cigarette smoking, and merely say I'm glad I've encountered it infrequently in my professional experience, as the accompanying contentiousness (in 100% of the cases I've observed) is no good for nobody.
  6. I'm the only person who cooks in my home kitchen, aside from the occasional snackmaking that goes on when I'm at work. Sparing unnecessary expenses is a big part of how I challenge myself as a cook. It's awesome: for example, I like buying AOC butter that costs an astronomical amount of money since I decided to forgo the silicone hand mitts. Here are the professional tools that I use at home and elsewhere, most of which were gifts from loved ones, all of which have made cooking much more efficient and fun for me: This addition is overdue: a big, heavy chef's knife for versatility and for cutting through bones and the like. The point upthread about cleavers is well-taken, and I have not found that I can do everything I want to with a santoku. I also need a good, professional bread knife. My cheap, two-piece bread knife scares me. I just haven't found the right knives for my purposes at the right prices yet. Not that I've been looking as hard as I should be. As pans go, I have a 10" or so cast iron (for deep-frying, sauteing, baking, frittata-ing, roasting a chicken, everything), a sheet pan, two saucepans, two stock pots and a big, old, very-heavy-bottomed wide and shallow stock pot from which I stripped the handles and use as a rondeau. My wish list here is limited to an omelette pan, a Le Creuset Dutch oven and one of those rectangular cast-iron pieces that sits on two burners on the stovetop, ideally one that has a grill on one of its sides. Got some other tools that I consider invaluable: Microplane grater (and spare blades), cheese plane, chinois, tamis, Silpats (which changed my life), a ton of wooden spoons, big tongs, little tongs, big whisks, little whisks, rolling pin, electric hand mixer, fish turner, assorted metal bowls, plastic spatulas for baking, immersion blender. That's seriously it. And it still sounds like a lot to me! I'd love a mandoline, but I get by. That being said, there is so much in the way of awesome stuff out there. If only I thought I'd ever use any of it. I consider myself lucky I'm not much of a gearhead by nature. I will say Williams-Sonoma and Crate and Barrel catalogs make great bathroom reading/daydream fodder, though.
  7. Guilty as charged. I'm a lot of things; doctrinaire and puritanical are not among them. As far as knowing too much about how it's produced goes, one can't forget that countless man-hours and tons of money go to the continual development and optimization of the fast food tractor beam. No one is safe. I can resist it for the most part for a reason I'll get to in a minute, but every now and again McDonald's sucks me in for a sausage biscuit and two hashbrowns. It's especially tempting if I'm up visiting my family and feeling nostalgic for this treat from my childhood. What makes it the worst is the extent to which I feel like a hypocrite when I wash it down with coffee from the travel mug I fill as many as 4 times a day, after balling up the staggering amount of trash that had swaddled this insidious, sneaky little pleasure and stowing it anonymously in the nearest can. The worst is when all this happens while I'm tuning in to the headlines on the public radio, you know, because I care so much about the world. Booooo. Every time is the last time. Until it happens again. The sausage always disappoints me; it's mealy, greasy (go fig) and gross, never as good as I remember it. What's up with those milky, opaque chunks that are hard to chew? And the tiny red spots? Is that paprika? Hmmmm. All this, but I eat it anyway. The biscuits rule. I wish I could just get those with my hashbrowns. My own breakfast Extra Value Meal: Carbs Two Ways. Every time I eat this food, I feel like my entire digestive system is having a seizure. Can one build up one's tolerance to this stuff by eating it more frequently? Not that I'm planning on it; I'd be better off eating it on the toilet as it is.
  8. Ah, I am reminded of a certain storefront joint by the name of Peking Inn. (Guess one can work up an appetite checkin' out the scantily-clad hipsters upstairs.) Sandy, you are too funny. The Ack-uh-mee: perfect.
  9. My buddy has a dog named Kuma.. he says it means "bear" in Japanese. I'll hasten to inform him of the.. other meaning. A few favorites from Philly: Way out on Lancaster Ave. going toward Overbrook, there was/is a restaurant called "Let's Wok Fried Chicken and Chinese Food." I think there was/is another on Girard Avenue toward the river. (Though I suspect these are all over, they make me laugh every time. Their fried chicken's pretty good, too.) Henry claims to have passed by a certain "Kuk Il" Korean barbecue somewhere in North Philly. His slant: "If they get sick from their own food, there's no way I'm eating there." There's a cafe called "Ants Pants" 'round here as well, which for me conjures up ancient memories of picnics gone awry, though the community is assured that it's Australian slang for "top notch"/"hip"/"cool." Every time I bike by, I miss "Fat Daddy's," a short-lived spot in my neighborhood.
  10. Six of us shared a big pot pie on Saturday night. We served it with a big green salad, and it met unanimous approval. One of my friends was confused; having misread the box, he thought it was a quail pot pie. I suspect I could eat a small one on my own. Chase the dogs out, pop that little thing in the oven, fire it up 'till it's bubbly, crack open a brew and chill. We like their chicken sausages, too. Next on my list: hand pies. (Suddenly, the bag of pretzels on my desk looks so sad.) Yes, road trip to Griggstown. I, too, would be happy to drive; I can fit four others in my ride with plenty of room for the goods.
  11. Can do, easy! Naturally, I can't be sure if Twenty Manning is particularly suited to a "man" dinner, but it's in the name. Got a few special menus for you to look at, too. PM/email me for more info.
  12. Yep. I drafted this big long manifesto about what I think about all that, then I decided to spare you all. Viva la backspace. As a lifer in the business, I think that the institution of tipping is fractured and dysfunctional for many reasons, not a few of which have been laid out already. The way I see it, either restaurants must start maintaining standards of service from the top down, as some have by incorporating a service charge into each check, or they will continue to pass responsibility for that onto their guests, perpetuating all the problems folks have elaborated on upthread. Tipping is, by its very nature, discretionary. A guest should never feel obligated or be compelled to tip. Counting on guests' generosity to pick up management's slack is one poor incentive for the staff to meet, let alone to exceed, expectations of service. What an insult: to the guest, to the server, the chef, to everybody. Practically speaking, it might be to one's "advantage" in the short run to "hide" one's income by working for tips, and to the "benefit" of a company not to pay its staff, but transparency and excellence in service- that which, along with food, makes a restaurant last- don't come from an irresponsible, hands-off business and management style that encourages petty hustling, low morale, and confusion about the role of the guests. I try to look at the bright side, though, by doing the best job I know how to do because I want to, and by rewarding my similarly-disposed brethren and sistren in the business when I encounter them: I tip HUGE at bars, especially if I stay for a while. At restaurants where I am or am hoping to become a regular, I tip 25 to 30 percent. They appreciate me- I appreciate them. I tip marginally on take-out, but never when I get my own coffee. I tip the change if my travel coffee mug is filled. My experience in coffee bars has shown me that jingle adds up and should not be thrown in the trash. (Besides, isn't that illegal?) I tip a dollar for a specialty coffee drink, three if it's free. I tip massively on pizza delivery; my dogs, though harmless, sound off to strangers. If I receive a comp while dining in a restaurant, I tip handsomely (25 to 30 percent) on the original check. Do not, under any circumstances, "auto-grat" my check. I will freak out. When it comes to buffets, I, like Bourdain, prefer to be on the serving side of them. If you're a jerk, you get stiffed.
  13. Friends, that shot is seared onto my brain. I was raised in a supermarket- my dad was a store director in a few different places around this area while my sister and I were coming up- and I've seen some gnarly stuff. Nothing on the order of pee pee pretzels, though. That is next level; if ever I encounter its equal, I do not want to know. Yeah, man. It's not that bad in there, especially in light of some of those tales from the past. It's a big job to keep such a busy place clean! It's just that it's.. grubby in a lot of places, and the tables are often dirty. It bums me out when I go to pack my purchases up in my bike bag at 5pm on a weekday before riding home and I can't find a clean table to sit at. With the slick new RTM marketing campaign on and all, I'd like to see them step it up a little. But I eat boogie moneyfinger samosas, so it's safe to say I'm not that worried about it.
  14. Paw paws.. as I said a while back, I'm into them, too. To thwart the hard-to-eat aspect, Sam advised me to try peeling them and squeezing the fruit through cheesecloth- the stones are left behind and most of the good stuff comes through. If my imagination didn't deceive me last time, Nanee's Kitchen is now offering a salt lassi. I dig the cardamom one, so I can't wait to try it! I am also pleased that the rice and dal side is available there once again, as it is IMHO one of the best quick snacks in the market. When I'm trying to figure out what I want to make for dinner and I'm too hungry to shop straight, it's just the thing. I missed it so when it went away, and I hope its comeback will aid me in my quest to resist their incredible samosas at least two-thirds of the time. (So far, it is not going very well.) I got a fat basket of figs from OK Lee on Monday for not a lot of money. They don't have the pedigree the Fair Food ones do, but they rocked in the tart with Bee Natural's orange blossom honey that I made during the lame Eagles game.
  15. My dear friend Amanda and I had a lovely evening at Chick's this past Friday. I could not agree more with the assessments everyone else has posted here! It was my first time meeting Ms. Katie, and I was a little shy introducing myself at first, as I'd heard so much here about her talents. Once I bucked up and said hello, a night's delightful acquaintance ensued. We tried quite a range of offerings, including the Rhuby Daiquiri of legend. Subtle, tasty, refreshing. I liked it a lot, but I must say the Corpse Reviver No. 2 rocked my world. I can't wait to get back there... We would've gone to the cocktail dinner last night if Henry and I hadn't found a big, sweet old stray dog in the street and taken him in. (But that's a story for another time.) I hope those who attended tell us all about it! By the time Amanda and I had passed over dessert in favor of a round of Salty Pomeranians, two other eGullet luminaries had come in to snack and drink. Katie introduced us all, and we had a grand old time at the bar, talking about our neighborhoods and how cool it is to be a fan of food and friends here in the city of grub-berly love. After saying goodnight to Amanda and Katie, we three decamped to Amada for a glass of wine and some more conversation. I biked all the way home in a light rain, smiling. What a night. Thank you, everyone. Side note: to my surprise, I woke up Saturday morning feeling GREAT. Now I know the difference being in the care of an awesome bartender... er, bartendrix makes!
  16. Oh boy. I think I'll have to go pick some up for the weekend, since it's going to be hot.
  17. After much ado- I apologize for the delay- my review: A memoir of life in and around Thomas Keller's Per Se, Phoebe Damrosch's first book, Service Included, is a delight. It's a celebration of trueness to self and unorthodox decision-making, a tasting menu of anecdotes and life philosophy from a vibrant and fearless personality who is evidently equally talented as a server and a writer. Colorful and self-effacing throughout the book, Ms. Damrosch begins her story in an admittedly dysfunctional restaurant in arguably the greatest restaurant city in the world, working her way up from humble beginnings after earning the terminal degree in the field of creative writing from Sarah Lawrence College. "I was posing as an artist to justify my work as a waiter," she says on the first page, laying the groundwork for a tightly constructed and enjoyable read tinged with wryness and playful irony. The book is filled to overflowing with details of the author's life as a young, enthusiastic lover of food and culture in New York City, most notably the chronicle of a deep and lasting love affair from its squishy inception. The gentleman in question, to whom the book is dedicated, was in the midst of the dissolution of a long-term relationship with another Per Se staff member at the time. Indeed, things get personal enough to threaten the reader's interest from time to time; for the most part, Ms. Damrosch's technical mastery- in the presence of skillfully applied server sleight-of-hand- manages to save the day. Consistently witty and exacting comments about regulars, coworkers and critics at the restaurant liven the narrative. Among the most memorable scenes in the book are those that occur outside of the restaurant: the author and her coworkers enter the Manhattan night in search of bone marrow, a search for a storied (and nonexistent) single-cow artisanal cheese invites a joyful rationalization of living outside of one's means. The author's spirited recollections of her work, first as backserver and then as a captain at Per Se, provide valuable insights from the world of service for veterans and civilians alike. Food may be Ms. Damrosch's lens on the human experience, but her keen critical eye, awareness of craft, and joie de vivre in Service Included suggest a promising future in writing.
  18. Man, for real. And GLO, you totally know me. I swear I'm not an uptight person, perhaps just born in the wrong time period! I could certainly use to yell out my window a little more frequently than I do. As far as locking my door goes, I've got these beautiful bad dogs (Gracie and Little Guy, both rescues- see profile) that FREAK OUT whenever someone's standing at the door waiting to be let in, even if it's Henry or me; in order to limit the barking, we leave it unlocked when "the four of us" are home. (Of course, we lock it twice when we're away!) Mostly, only members of our small group of tight-knit friends (who are cool with the dogs, and sometimes bring their own, both dogs and wine) come to visit. They do a fine job of both waiting patiently for and eating the dinner scraps, providing company, entertainment and affection, "beating it" when told to, and deterring door-to-door proselytizers. If Goofus and Gallant don't resonate, I may suggest them to my wayward friend as models for etiquette. Lilija, if I did not love my friend as much as I do, I wouldn't have the courage to stand up to his manipulation. It's really a struggle, and as annoying as he is to me at times, I try to remind myself that he's probably in a lot more pain than I can understand, deep inside himself. Food's supposed to be this great reconciler, this thing we can all come together and share over, and I hope I can stay calm and eventually get through to him instead of cutting him off. We'll see.
  19. Disclaimer: Though I, too, was raised not to gripe (and fail miserably at this as an adult!) I have enjoyed reading everyone's dinner guest complaints. I am glad indeed that we who cook for others have a sympathetic and welcoming place in which to vent! Now, I must share, for I have a friend much like Lilija's friend. He's an artist who lives in the neighborhood, and is... let's not mince words... basically a ward of my circle of friends. Some give more than others, and believe me, there is much to be done. My personal slant on him is that people baby him, which in turn encourages him to be manipulative, and he'll never make significant progress until he starts consistently playing by the rules of basic interpersonal relationships. He brings nothing to the (physical) table but an expectation to be fed whatever's cooking. He'll just walk right in and sit down at my table, any time he sees fit. Never an offer to help, never lifting a finger even to wash his own dish. On more than one occasion, he's walked right into my house and opened the fridge. Unacceptable. Yes, he's got more than his fair share of problems, but I'm so sick of his rudeness that I no longer go out of my way to accommodate him. If he does come by, I try to avoid serving food, even if that means holding up my dinner guests until I can manipulate the conversation enough to encourage him to skedaddle. This is no small task. In the event that he is invited to stay for dinner, he's the epitome of ungratefulness. He'll ask "how much longer?" and the like. A few years ago, he walked right in to a Thanksgiving feast that even the many hands on deck could not turn into light work- naturally, right at the pre-turnout crunch- and said "Where are the spoons?" This is the stuff of legend among my friends. On another occasion, we all were having coffee and conversation over one of my homemade apple pies. After eating entirely too much for a situation in which we were all sharing together: "This is good, but I wanted a cherry pie." I didn't think I had to say it, but pie is for everybody. It is ROUTINE for this gentleman to come in, sit down, and after the usual niceties, ask me what I am cooking tonight. Let me say I would not have written this if I thought he would care a lick that I wrote something negative about him in a public forum. He's simply impervious to feedback of any kind. It's like he only sees happy faces who can think of nothing other than pleasing him; reality has no resonance. I have gotten impatient with him in the past, which I deeply regret. His reaction to even the slightest criticism is like that of a small child who is encountering a difficulty in life for the first time, although I know full well he's been dealing with the ramifications of his shoddy manners for a long while, and not just with me. I just wish I could show him- without words- what it means to be a gracious host and the importance of a guest responding in kind. I can't seem to separate his oblivious carelessness from his conscious choices to be manipulative anymore. It is infuriating.
  20. Mmmm.. ginger beer. Love it. It reminds me of living in Austin, hanging out playing dominoes at the Spider House. Had I been of age to purchase "real" beer at the time, I may never have discovered the pleasures of ginger beer! I drink it a lot, usually buying Reed's because it is relatively cheap and readily available around here. The range of flavors is nice, too. At times, a megadose of ginger is lost on me; the option of lighter body with less astringent tingle without compromising the ginger taste is nice. I've recently tried Natural Brew a few times; I find it to be pretty weak. It tastes stale and muted to me. Sometimes I bring a few bottles of ginger beer to parties when I don't feel like drinking alcohol. Sometimes I have one here in the restaurant's office around 3pm. (There's always at least one in the fridge.) Ever made a ginger beer float? I do that when I'm feeling particularly decadent. I have yet to try it with the Reed's ginger ice cream.
  21. Benjamin, holdin' it down! You are clearly a pro. Pow! My anti-littering speech is one among many that I would never dream of giving to a guest. You can only see my face as I say things like that if you're buying me a beer after work! What your colleague did with the condom was the only acceptable thing to do in that situation, and completely hilarious to boot! If all of us were that amazing, there wouldn't be misunderstandings on this thread. Can we get back to the point? I'll start: -To clarify, yes, eskay. Repulsive as it is to the imagination, people do this. I think the process goes something like this: "I must be rid of [this object] NOW. I don't see a trashcan. I think I'll just drop it on the floor." Finally, the rationalization: "someone else will pick it up." Why not just hand it to one of the several Someone Elses who are working? -The verbal tip, and its questions that linger like a stale fart. "Everything was great? Why only 10%?" I myself do not experience this with any regularity, which I chalk up to having been fortunate enough to pass most of my career in pretty good houses thus far. It's still pretty confounding. -Putting feet up on chairs, taking shoes off, etc. -Perching one's heiney on the end of chairs is one thing, but that which the server vernacular for "perching" refers to is another: placing one's belongings on adjacent tables. The inverse of perching- "I need a fork, so I think I'll take it from the next table over"- is curious, as well. It's clearly better for business, and for everyone, if we the (restaurant) people strive for a happy symbiosis between guests and staff instead of settling for the complex, multivariable low-self-esteem vibe. And when- despite our best efforts- that vibe persists, we can sip the schadenfreude from either side of the bar. When I deign to complain about guest behavior, I do so for a laugh and for a laugh only. One of the many joys of being a server is watching all the funny two-leggers do their thing and kidding myself about somehow being an exception, if only for a moment. Holly, it's been this eGullet neophyte's happy observation that you are right on. You seem to be a patient, rational and understanding sort. Way more so than I am, even; when I enter a place and see no clear tables and no one bussing, I leave.
  22. There's a word for your buddy's problem: aboulomania, the condition of pathological indecisiveness! It's fine with me if someone (whether a dining companion or a guest) takes a long time to decide what they want, as long as they are open to collaboration (or suggestion) and happy with what they ultimately decide upon. Sometimes I take forever, too, even in places where I know the menu. At this point in my career, the capacity to suspend disbelief is as valuable a part of my arsenal as is my food and wine knowledge. One thing, yet, makes me swoll: improper disposal of TRASH (on the part of the guest) in the restaurant. I love catching, out of the corner of my eye, a guest (by which I mean a grown adult, a potential payer of the check) making his or her finest attempt to be stealthy about this matter. Birthday card envelopes, paper bags from the wine shop, little wrappers from candies, sodden and soapy paper towels in the bathroom, even expired gum: don't be shy- I'll throw it out for you. It'd be my pleasure, really. I'm not being sarcastic. Just don't try to hide it from me, because I see you, and I note your lack of respect for your environment. I can only imagine how little respect you have for me. It's high time littering INSIDE became cause for shaming the way littering outside tends to be.
  23. It's been my experience that a couple of beers works just as well as sitting down to eat after a long night at work, and that a post-service meal can even be detrimental: if I eat, I'll hit the wall, and then I'll have fitful, full-belly sleep. Instead, if I pace myself through a couple of nice, refreshing brew-tas, I'll get enough calories down the gullet to stay up while I wind down, complete with a swell little buzz. Maximum marginal return.
  24. Dear Chef, As just one of so many folks in the field who have been amazed and inspired by your work, I wish you the best as you meet (and beat, no doubt!) this new challenge. May the mysteries of love and the powers of science work their magic for you, your family and friends in this trying time. Take comfort in the support and care of your loved ones. You are in my heart, as you are in all who have been touched by your creativity, ambition and generosity of spirit. As we take joy in your success, we pull for you in your time of difficulty. In hope, MK
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