Glorious Food "To Go"

[Carrot Top]

Lately, as I wander through the streets of my middle-sized medium-sophisticate level town, I feel a growing impatience.

We have no "gourmet" shops, but for the sections of the "finer" grocery stores (who, it seems to me, sell the same things they sold in the 1970's but with a bit of cilantro snipped on top or chipotle tossed in or peanut sauce stirred into the recipes).

My mind switches to images of streets in Florence, with wide open windows drawing one to look inside the high-ceilinged dimmed rooms where shelves and trays of lovely warm, alive, tasty foods sit waiting to be bitten into.

Then it runs to Paris. The sidewalk is closer and more narrow. The window of the shop gleams with a sharp engaging pull like the toss of the head from a smiling shiny-haired woman, or like an engaging grin from a man walking a friendly floppy dog. Bright and crowded inside, the foods neater, more precise, lined up from the top of the window to the bottom with but a tiny angle of vision allowed into the rest of the shop.

Vienna follows, always with the smell of good coffee everywhere, with undertones of burnt sugar and newspapers.

I want these shops, here.

And of course they are not here. Not in this middle-sized, medium-sophisticate town. When a "gourmet shop" is to be found (they do open, only to die a slow sad death within about nine months here), the offerings seem to be cloned from whatever they are offering in the supermarket, and my boredom with the same-ness of it all rises, along with my ire.

Today, I am going to start a shop in my mind. Perhaps later I'll make some of things, and pretend that I had the good luck to have someone else cook them for me.

My shop will be of the Florence-style. Large windows, things a bit sprawly. Warm, perfection underlying the imperfection theatrically displayed.

I would have huge artichokes, stuffed, toppling over sideways. A gratin of zucchini and tomatoes in a heavily herbed bechamel, no cheese on top. A potato casserole with cream interspersed with diced hot peppers sending heat through the whole.

A lemon-veal loaf, soft and light, with spicy mustard, cornichons, and sweet chutney triangulating it on the platter.

What dishes would you serve in the shop of this style that you might imagine as perfect for yourself? What are you hungry for?

I will read it and weep.

Edited October 12, 2006 by Carrot Top (log)

[EllenC]

Karen - I love your writing. Can I come visit your shop? I think my contribution would be layers and layers of fillo with sauteed spinach, carmelized onions, mushrooms and just a hint of homemade ricotta. Very crisp and flaky on top. We don't have anything "gourmet" here either. **Sigh**

[srhcb]

My shop would need to have Dave, the now retired, former rodeo bullriding, one-eyed butcher with his left-handed knives that looked like medieval Moorish weapons.

I'd have a couple high school or college kids to help him with the heavy lifting and and wrapping. And there would be a bar stool behind the meat case for Dave, who was rather short and known to be quite at home in bars, to perch on while he tells me the latest non-PC off-color joke.

SB (still rainin' {actually, it's snowin'} still dreamin' - J Hendrix)

[Carrot Top]

Karen - I love your writing.  Can I come visit your shop?  I think my contribution would be layers and layers of fillo with sauteed spinach, carmelized onions, mushrooms and just a hint of homemade ricotta.  Very crisp and flaky on top.  We don't have anything "gourmet" here either.  **Sigh**

←

I love your contribution, Ellen. Yum.

As far as writing goes, I highly recommend it as an activity to take up. It has one great advantage over all other ways to waste time: I've never needed to buy new clothes to do it in (unlike every single other thing in life I can think of).

Edited October 12, 2006 by Carrot Top (log)

[Carrot Top]

My shop would need to have Dave, the now retired, former rodeo bullriding, one-eyed butcher with his left-handed knives that looked like medieval Moorish weapons.

SB (still rainin' {actually, it's snowin'} still dreamin' - J Hendrix)

←

Is he edible?

(No, you don't have to answer that. )

....................................................................................

Can't believe it's snowing there.

I'll have to think of something warming to make in this shop for your weather. Tomorrow morning.

KRB (always happy to have you expand the theme, SB )

[srhcb]

My shop would need to have Dave, the now retired, former rodeo bullriding, one-eyed butcher with his left-handed knives that looked like medieval Moorish weapons.

SB (still rainin' {actually, it's snowin'} still dreamin' - J Hendrix)

←

Is he edible?

Probably tough as leather. He'd have to be stewed, which would suit him just fine. And I'd definitely pass on the liver.

Can't believe it's snowing there.

I'll have to think of something warming to make in this shop for your weather. Tomorrow morning.

KRB (always happy to have you expand the theme, SB  )

←

Actually our best bet for first snow on the ground is within a week of October 11th, so this year it was right on the button. It will probably (ne: hopefully) melt this wekend, and then we'll have more on and off until permanent cover in about a month. It's not so bad.

SB (always glad to be expansive)

Edited October 13, 2006 by srhcb (log)

[racheld]

Little buttery roasted chickens, always warm, with crispy, salty skin.

Bread-and-butter pudding studded with amaretto-soaked dried cherries, just like the one I baked for supper tonight.

Ever-fresh, just-steamed green peas, gleaming with butter.

Fresh Tagliatelle in a delicate tomato sauce with fresh basil.

Vacherins and Pavlovas (lemon for me) and Sachertortes and Croquembouche for two.

Raclette with ever-melty cheese and tiny red-skinned potatoes.

Jalapeno/cheese cornbread muffins made by Miss Annie Mae's recipe.

My Daughter's focaccia with olive oil, paper-thin tomatoes and onions, and seasalt.

Croques Monseiur et Madame, with Gruyere or Fontina and thin, salty ham, just like we made in the fireplace of our first home.

The Banana Ice Cream made on lazy Sunday afternoons when my children were small and still eager to turn the churn handle.

Grandmother's Creamy Tomato Soup.

Baby red potato salad with my Mom's homemade lime pickles, vidalias and fresh-from-the-hen eggs.

Pots of pinto beans with great hunks of pink baked ham, simmered to impart equal tender creaminess to beans and ham alike.

Platters and platters of our garden tomatoes, sliced and layered with basil and a drizzle each of Ligurian and Balsamic. Or with salt and dabs of Blue Plate mayo.

Chris' long-cooked pulled pork, with tender pinkness imparted after overnight on the coals, and bits of crispy skin to punctuate the softness.

Chris' smoked turkey breast on corn muffins with cranberry mayo.

Miss Lucille's coconut cake, made with the deep golden yolks of eggs fresh from her henhouse---Seven minute frosting with the whites whipped to near-divinity stage, and coconut grated ten minutes ago.

Cool salads of mixed greens, with a tart vinaigrette and skillet-toasted buttery croutons.

Lo mein salad, with sesame dressing, slivers of shiny snow peas, tiny rings of scallion green, and slender white enoki threads.

Plum Nuts Ice Cream, made by Sealtest long ago, and discontinued for some arcane reason---the Goblin Market fare I'd like to taste again.

Any and everything from Lucy Vanel's Kitchen blog, with Commentary.

My Mammaw's iced tea, in the big old heavy frosty goblets.

Edited October 13, 2006 by racheld (log)

[Carrot Top]

Wooooo-eee, Rachel!

I think I just got religion.

.................................................................

My fourteen year old daughter just looked over at me and is laughing. She says I look like a really happy cat that just got some cream.

I need to read this, over and over and over again.

Thank you.

[Carrot Top]

The sun has just barely risen as the young man walks up the quiet street. He is ready to go to work, for just around the corner and with a short walk is Rachel's shop. . .already he's had a wonderful huge cup of mocha and several excellent things to warm his tummy and set his spirit right. It just so happens that this young fellow is a relative of the infamous Dave the One-Eyed Butcher. He holds several of the family traits, so his mind is now filling, as he walks, with tales of virtuosity touched with valor (and just-so-barely-shaded with virtue), that he can tell as soon as some others arrive at the shop.

The quiet cool dark room is not the same for long when he arrives. Soon the large brick wood-fired oven starts to shine its glow, the popping of the wood judiciously reminding him that soon it will be time to place the goat that has been marinating in olive oil, orange juice, garlic oregano and savory things, onto the spit, as he does each morning. It will cook, turning, through the early hours, sending out an aroma that calls anyone from the street into the shop, mouths watering with anticipation.

There will be sweet potatoes stuffed with collards and bacon.

A lovely warm pot of Welsh Rabbit with the merest touch of cherry heering added at the end, with fat sourdough toast "soldiers" to dip or cover at will.

Cippoline agrodolce, gleaming and cute, rather look as if they were winking at you.

That starts the day, but for some wild mushrooms sauteed then doused with a short bit of cream.

Edited October 13, 2006 by Carrot Top (log)

[Carrot Top]

Probably tough as leather.  He'd have to be stewed, which would suit him just fine.  And I'd definitely pass on the liver.

←

Darkness has now fallen in the city of the Glorious Food to Go shop. The time had long past since the store had been closed and shuttered to passers-by. It had been a usual day but Dave's nephew Randy had remained late at the shop, alone in the kitchen under a single panel of flourescent light, preparing a dish he'd been thinking of all day. The pan clattered too-loudly against the stainless steel table as he pulled it off the fire and tore the end off a loaf of bread to eat it with, to sop up all the last little bits. He loved this dish. Somehow, it reminded him of Uncle Dave.

Calves Liver in Mustard Sauce

...............................................

1 lb. calf's liver, cut into 1/4" slices

Flour, seasoned with salt and pepper

1/4 C clarifed butter

1/4 C dry white wine

1/4 C brown stock

1/3 C minced shallot

1 tomato (peeled, seeded, minced)

1/4 tsp. dry tarragon leaf

1/3 C heavy cream

5 tsp. Dijon mustard

Dredge liver in flour then saute in butter quickly. Remove liver to side plate while keeping warm during the deglazing of the pan with wine, stock, shallot, tomato, tarragon. Add cream, boil till thick and reduced. Stir in mustard - pour sauce over liver. Devour.

Randy thought fondly of Uncle Dave as he quickly ate, finishing the plate by wiping the last drops of hot sauce from it with his fingers. Nobody, no, nobody, would ever say that again about his uncles liver after they tasted *this* recipe. Even pickled liver would taste good with this sauce.

Edited October 14, 2006 by Carrot Top (log)

[Carrot Top]

A brisk cold wind and an over-strong scent of perfume blew in the door of the Glorious shop, along with Paulette, glowing in the morning's bright sunshine.

Randy was prepping vegetables side-by-side with Jorge. Their eyes, as everyone's eyes did when Paulette appeared, went first to her shoes. The red open-toed sparkly four inch heels certainly commanded attention, sticking out from under her tight jeans. Then their eyes went up to her hair, which was an intended red as it flew out sideways in happy spiral curls in a style immortalized in Zap comic-books - but the black roots when she pulled off her purple Russian-style fur cap shaded a different truth of the matter. Finally, the eyes rested on her chest displayed in a low-cut polyester blouse that peeped out from the open puffy winter jacket. Paulette didn't notice their eyes, she was used to it. She smiled, and her big blue eyes full of canny innocence implored everyone else smile whether they wanted to or not.

Randy only smiled briefly, and Jorge frowned.

"Paulette, what are you doing here?" Randy asked. "I thought you got another job after you got fired."

Paulette continued to sweep into the room, carrying a white enamel dish which she placed carefully down on the counter near the oven. "Randy, darlin'!" she drawled, "I'm not staying long. Just pop this into the oven for me, will you? And when Chef Nerak gets in, pull it out and give it to her to eat. Tell her it's a peace offering."

Randy sighed. "Won't do you any good, Paulette. You're trouble. She won't hire you back."

Paulette smiled her glowing smile with her shiny red lipstick intact. "You'll see, honey." She turned and whooshed back out the door, leaving the eyes to glance at what the eyes always glanced at on Paulette - that bottom that seemed to be permanently ensconsced in the jeans so tight.

"Hasta nunca!" Jorge muttered.

"Wonder what that pudding thing is. . " Randy slowly intoned.

La Chomeur Paulette

..........................................

Preheat oven to 350 F.

Blend together 2 C firmly packed light brown sugar and 1 C milk, then add 3 Tbs. cold butter in tiny bits, all in a 1 Qt. ceramic baking dish.

In a separate bowl mix 1 lightly beaten egg with 1/2 C milk, 3 Tbs. sugar, and 2 T melted butter. Sift 1 C flour with 1 tsp. baking powder onto this egg mixture and beat well. Stir in 1 tsp. vanilla.

Pour over mixture in ceramic baking dish gently, spread carefully level.

Bake 45 minutes or till top is puffed and golden. Portion out, serve warm with sauce from the bottom of the dish spooned over top, along with a pouring of heavy cream.

"I wonder if Chef Nerak will like it. Maybe she'll hire Paulette back." Jorge sighed as he lifted the pudding into the oven. "Chef can be kind of flaky sometimes."

Edited October 14, 2006 by Carrot Top (log)

[Lori in PA]

More, more!

[Carrot Top]

..................................................

Jorge slammed his Chinese cleaver through the bloody saddle of venison that lay on the butcher block before him with a vengenance. "There's something wrong with that chick!" he said loudly to anyone that wanted to listen. "I won't work here if she comes back!"

"Something right about that girl, too, if you wanna look at it that way." Wesley the dishwasher walked past Jorge and Randy with a rack of clean pots and pans, giving each of them a leering wink and a sweet wiggle of his behind as he passed.

"Man, let me make the soup today." Jorge looked over at Randy. "There's something I gotta do."

"Sucking up to the boss, dude?" Randy laughed. "Yeah, okay, go for it. Just put down that cleaver - you look like you might do a ninja move and go postal any second now. But then again, you never liked Paulette because she took Lori's job when she left to get hitched. You thought Lori ruled the earth, the sun, and the moon."

"Nee", (everyone called Chef Nerak "Nee" for she preferred it that way. The term "Chef" was never invoked unless it was in one of those rare moments when her temper had risen over something done wrong. In those moments, they had learned that to say "Chef" would make her blink her eyes in surprise then gather together her dignity and temper in the same moment.) "Nee is going to love me." Jorge said, his dark eyebrows pulling together in concentration. "You'll see. She'll love me after this soup."

Jorge's Soup

.......................................

2 heads Boston lettuce

1 lb ground veal

4 Tbs. finely chopped onion

1 clove garlic, minced

1/4 tsp. nutmeg

1 lightly beaten egg

Salt and Pepper to taste

1 Qt. stock, preferably veal and chicken

1/4 C parsley, minced

1/2 C parmesan, shaved

Wash and separate lettuces into leaves. Blend together veal, onion, garlic, nutmeg, egg, salt and pepper. Shape into 1" balls and roll lettuce leaves around to make small packets. Simmer very gently in stock for ten minutes.

Serve in shallow bowls sprinkled with chopped parsley and shaved parmesan cheese.

Add a whole egg to poach in the broth before serving, if you wish. Jorge did.

"I put magic in this soup." Jorge lifted a spoonful to his lips to taste his finished product.

"Yeah, sure, dude. Just as long as you didn't put anything else wierd in it!" Randy hooted.

A noise was heard behind them, and Nee appeared.

Edited October 14, 2006 by Carrot Top (log)

[Velma]

I miss the little individual desserts from Dallmayr's in Munich I miss the apple strudel in Vienna... If I could only get on a plane right now, I could be there by morning! I really loved this post because my whole vision of food and how we eat in this country changed when I started traveling overseas. It was an eye-opener for sure and not a good one. I began to see all those mass produced grocery store desserts in a whole new light and it gave me a determination to become a better baker. Yes, this thread really strikes a chord with me. Great topic!

[Carrot Top]

I miss the little individual desserts from Dallmayr's in Munich   I miss the apple strudel in Vienna... If I could only get on a plane right now, I could be there by morning! 

←

Reading this made me sigh deeply, Velma. Ah, I'd love to be even a little mouse in those shops!

[Velma]

I miss the little individual desserts from Dallmayr's in Munich   I miss the apple strudel in Vienna... If I could only get on a plane right now, I could be there by morning! 

←

Reading this made me sigh deeply, Velma. Ah, I'd love to be even a little mouse in those shops!

←

This is decidely off topic but speaking of mice and rats, have you heard about this new animated movie coming next summer? For some reason, it strikes a chord with me-I feel his pain! This sounds like a must see movie for a food lover like me.

http://www.apple.com/trailers/disney/ratatouille/

[srhcb]

... a little mouse in those shops! 

←

Mise en place?

SB (on topic)

[Carrot Top]

This sounds like a must see movie for a food lover like me.

http://www.apple.com/trailers/disney/ratatouille/

←

This sounds like it will really be fun to see. Reminds me of an old New Yorker cartoon - a fat tabby cat has brought in a large mouse to the living room where his mistress stands, looking down at the dead mouse in distress. The cat looks up at her and says "Make rattatouille." A classic.

[Carrot Top]

Mise en place?

←

Yeah, okay. Maybe Dave the One-Eyed Butcher can whip up something. I'll tell him to start looking through his recipes.

[srhcb]

Mise en place?

←

Yeah, okay. Maybe Dave the One-Eyed Butcher can whip up something. I'll tell him to start looking through his recipes.

←

I don't know if Dave could do a ratatouille, (his last name is Beratto), but maybe a nice stufato del mouse?

SB

[Carrot Top]

In her hands Nee held a flat pink cake box. Gold lettered script sprawled across the top. It said "Velma".

Behind Nee (as usual, they rarely went anywhere without each other) was Dave the One-Eyed Butcher. As Nee held out the box towards Jorge and Randy, Dave stuck out his tongue, crossed his one eye (which gave him an appealing Scottish terrier look) towards his nose, and pretended he was going to grab Nee around the middle in a huge bear hug.

"Where did this come from, guys?" she asked. "Look at it! It's gorgeous!" Opening the box, she showed them what was inside. A cake, or rather a torte. . .gleaming in its dark chocolate dress, a slice had been cut to show the layers inside. Dense cake-y chocolate sparkled with almond bits. Rich sour cherries. A thin light blanket of almond paste, then the dark rich cover of chocolate all over it.

"I think Ellen brought that by when she stopped by to check next weeks schedule." Randy reached out to take the box, looking more closely inside.

"AAaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiIIIIIgh!!!!" Nee suddenly screamed and Dave screamed along with her. "Look at the front door! There's a huge mouse looking in at us!"

Jorge shook his head in disdain. "That's not a mouse. That's a guinea pig. Some kid must have left his cage open. Cute little critters. I'll go see what he wants." He walked with assurance towards the door.

Torte with Chocolate and Cherries

..............................................................

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.

Butter a 9 or 10 inch springform pan and dust with breadcrumbs.

Drain a 24 oz. jar of sour cherries well.

Melt 6 oz. sweet chocolate.

Blend together 12 Tbs. soft butter and 2/3 C sugar till creamy.

Add 2 eggs and beat well.

Add 1 tsp. vanilla extract and 1/2 tsp. almond extract.

Stir in melted chocolate.

Add 1/2 C finely ground almonds, 2/3 C flour, and 1 more egg. Pour into pan, top with cherries, and smooth. Bake 50 to 60 minutes, remove, cool.

Meanwhile roll out 8 oz. almond paste into circle to fit torte. Place on top when cooled.

Glaze with 1/2 C heavy cream, 2 tsp. instant espresso, and 8 oz. dark chocolate melted together.

[srhcb]

* whew *

I was afraid you were going to offer up a guinea pig recipe!

SB (fond of the little critters)(but would have had to use the cavy gravy line)

[Carrot Top]

I was afraid you were going to offer up a guinea pig recipe!

←

Now darlin' why would you ever think that?!

.....................................................................................

Jorge opened the front door gently, and the guinea pig retreated slightly but remained in the entranceway, its little whiskers quivering, eyes rapidly blinking. The orange and white fur looked shiny. He was a healthy little fellow. Slowly, Jorge bent double and started to make tiny chuck-chuck noises in his throat, looking directly into the face of the rodent. Its nose wiggled, pushing forward towards Jorge, and it started to move towards him. Lowering himself all the way to the floor, Jorge suddenly reached out and grabbed the guinea pig by its tail and rose, as it dangled from his fist squeaking a tiny protest.

"Ah! Nice boy!" Jorge reassured it. "I used to keep guinea pigs."

As he stood there holding the animal with everyone's startled eyes mesmerized on the unusual scene, a very long, very white, very shiny limousine pulled up in front of the store.

"Oh, no", said Nee. "It's him."

"Jesus, no!", breathed Randy.

"Want me to get my cleaver, Nee?", snarled Dave.

Before the chauffeur could come around to open the door, it had been opened by the passenger. From inside the lap of luxury rose Kelsey Snidedoodle, the city's most famous restaurant and food critic. He was large, dark, well-padded. He had been called Mesphistopheles Incarnate by some, and was well-loved by many others in the popular press.

"What have we here?!", he boomed with a large hideous smile. "Local food sourcing! I love it! How are you going to cook it, Nee?"

Dave's Winter Soup with Short Ribs (or Guinea Pig)

.............................................................................

2 lbs. beef short ribs (or equal weight guinea pig chunks)

1 C diced onion

3 C chopped carrots

4 cloves garlic, minced

Bay leaf, thyme, paprika

Toss all together and roast in preheated 450 degree F oven for 20 minutes.

Remove to large pot, add 2 Qts. water, 1 small head cabbage (shredded), salt, and Tabasco to taste. Bring to boil and simmer one and a half hours.

1/4 C parsley

3 Tbs. lemon juice

3 Tbs. sugar

1 lb rinsed sauerkraut

Add to soup, simmer uncovered one hour. Remove meat from bones and return to pot.

Serve with a dollop of sour cream on top.

Edited October 15, 2006 by Carrot Top (log)

[racheld]

I watched that Tony B thing last night---was OK with the coca-chewing, slightly unnerved by the drinking of that fermented spit, but when they started on the guinea pig dinner---I had to cover my eyes, and STILL heard two frantic little whistles.

You just stop that right now!! I'm still fragile.

rachel, tottering away

[Carrot Top]

but when they started on the guinea pig dinner---I had to cover my eyes, and STILL heard two frantic little whistles.

←

Ah, Rachel. I never watch those shows. Too real for me.

I'm just playin' Pirate. It's fun to swashbuckle.

Lookee up the thread a bit and re-read all the lovely things to eat at Rachel's shop. You'll feel good right soon.