An Effing Foodie

Prune Restaurant, East Village, NYC

 

Like Franny's, Prune is one of those restaurants with a cult following and an almost mythic reputation that belies its modest appearance.

And like the nutjobs that will wait patiently for the privilege to stuff their craws at Franny's, the nutjobs huddled outside of tiny, perpetually-packed Prune are totally in the right.

I'd read a piece by the chef and owner, Gabrielle Hamilton, back when I first moved here in 2001; I loved her no-bullsh*t sensibility and tone, her fearless menu items of then-unfashionable marrow bones, deviled eggs, and Triscuits topped with sardines. 

Problem was, everyone else seemed to dig this, too, and I'm not one who enjoys the notion of jockeying with Chelsea Clinton for a seat at brunch.

So, years later, after the trend-eaters trailed off in pursuit of newer New York Times raves, I was wandering around 1st and 1st and remembered my dream deferred.  After all, I've got no problem jockeying for tables with true devotees.  This is my new-old favorite spot to go toe-to-toe with trusted, serious eaters.

I truly heart the staff here.  Recently my friend Susan (AKA Soft-Spoken Feisty Lady) and I poked our heads through draft-reducing door drapes, and asked as sweetly as we could if they were able to accommodate a couple of hungry knockabouts. 

Caravane Camelbert: Camel-Milk Cheese in NYC!

You know you want some.

One particularly drunken, lactose-loaded night, my friend Heathie and I mused on all the cheeses we've yet to try, and tip-toed right into the fanciful: Seal cheese!  Pig cheese!  Camel cheese!

Turns out, some fanciful wishes are more easily fulfilled than you'd think.  Camel cheese has hit our shores, people!

The cheese, known to some admirers as Camelbert, has had a difficult time clearing regulatory hurdles in the European Union. But with the help of Gary Guthrie, an American importer, it has received a green light here. About 100 pounds of Caravane will be available in New York beginning this week at some Garden of Eden stores, Sahadi's, Stinky Bklyn, Zabar's and Todaro Brothers.

--PERVAIZ SHALLWANI, NYT

Camelbert is in the style of its conceit, camembert, with a bloomy-rind and a rich, creamy center.  At $30 a pound, it's a bit of a splurge, but if you can swing it, swap it for brie on your next cheese plate, and cross off another milk-bearing animal in your ongoing cheese conquest.

Holy Jameson Cupcakes, Batman!

I hope everyone had a rainbow St. Paddy's Day, and weren't hurting too badly on Tuesday...

(You've never really lived until you've heaved in the office.)

I wish I'd heard about this BEFORE St. Paddy's, but Babycakes--the celebrated vegan bakery down in the LES--makes cupcakes spiked with Jameson Whiskey in honor of the Irish!  Thanks to my fabu friend Cin (AKA The Office Alpha Asian) I was a lucky recipient of such a cupcake:

Isn't she a beaut'?

The frosting is cream cheese-y cloak for the very moist, discernibly boozy crumb of the cupcakes; as with all of Babycakes treaties, it was IMPOSSIBLE to discern that it was vegan.

Hushed whispers in the background: It's black magic! WITCHERY, I tell you!

As you've probably gathered by now, I'm not a lady who would take the omission of dairy very lightly, particularly when concerning baked goods.  But trust me, these babies could hold their own against any in the onslaught of sugary indie cupcakes.

Unfortunately, the Jameson cupcakes are not part of the regular Babycakes lineup, but I'm told that if you are super-savvy, you can order them in advance for a special occasion (just give the gals at least 3 days notice).

And if you're feeling a little less savvy, just trot on down and get yourself a box of the regulars: carrot, red velvet, chocolate and vanilla, all available in spelt or gluten-free (Dear Lord, there's a phrase I'd never thought I'd be typing).

La Isla Cuban Restaurant: Get Thee to Hoboken!

There are few things more satisfying than a well-run lunch counter...

...so when it's a well-run Cuban lunch counter, well, that's just gravy.

Enter La Isla, in all likelihood the best reason to ever find yourself in Hobo.

Unsurprisingly, La Isla was a biweekly craving for my Bombshell Foodie Friend, who recently jumped the NJ ship for greener pastures in Brooklyn.  We were on our way to Ikea to furnish said greener pastures when she got a gleam in her eye and proposed a detour.

There was a bustling lunch crowd, but we managed to snag a couple of counter stools, where we were mere inches from the well-oiled assembly line of folks ladling black beans, molding rounded cones of annatto-tinted rice, and pressing Cuban after Cuban in a mighty panini iron.

We inhaled deeply, rolled up our sleeves, pulled back our hair, and ordered off the daily specials menu--Bombshell opted for the albondigas (Cuban meatballs in tomato sauce, pictured just above) with black rice and plantains, and I answered the siren song of Masitas de Puerco (hunks of pork deep-fried in lard, title picture) with yellow rice and plantains. 

Food Politics: Gimme a Foodie Candidate!

I'm not as politically conscious as some of my closest friends.  It may have had to do with growing up in Hawaii, where political awareness is kind of depressing, as it was clear that national politics had very little to do with anyone's immediate situation in the islands.

Local politicians did little to improve my opinion of government, as the largely Democratic old guard in Hawaii has repeatedly demonstrated itself incapable of actual innovation or positive action of any kind.

Politics, it's all a sh*tshow.  This isn't to say I'm entirely cynical when it comes to people.  I have tremendous faith in the competence and compassion in individuals, which I also believe has to do with growing up in Hawaii, having worked in food service, and loving food the way I do. 

Let me explain.  People rarely fight for things that they aren't directly influenced by, and there are few experiences that are as immediate and direct as eating.  I'm not talking about making the rounds on the good 'ol campaign trail, shaking hands and being photographed eating flapjacks at the obligatory diners and 'cue joints. (Though I do believe that's as close as most politicians get to eating real food.)  I am talking about someone who takes a bite of rib, and takes the time to think, "Hey, this pork tastes just pork ribs used to when I was kid!  I wonder where the kitchen gets its pork from?  I wonder why ALL ribs don't taste like this anymore!"

This tends to be the kind of person I trust.

Anytime anyone becomes divorced from what they put in their body, regardless of occupation, it becomes a problem.  And it's unfortunate that politicians, who actually have the influence to improve foodways and distribution, farm policies, and small businesses that are the heart of food culture, are among the folks most likely to eat as refuelers.

But EF, you shallow sap, how could you think this matters?  With healthcare, war, social security and immigration to worry about, food is the last that politician should worry about!  But here's the thing--food is the heart of everything. 

LambBurger! LambBurger! (with Mint and Cumin)

My Mister originates from the Land Down Under; so it was no real surprise that in the course of dating, lamb has become the primary red meat for our meals for two.  (No worries, I get my cow fixes in when he's a-travelin'.)  Most of the time, this just means seared chops marinated in olive oil, crushed garlic cloves, and lots of bruised rosemary.

But as we were wandering the fluorescent hall of meat at our local Stop-and-Shop, I spied ground lamb hiding between the pre-formed turkey patties and mounds of ground chuck.  Hmmmm....

For whatever reason, my homemade hamburger attempts have never been anything to write home about.  Methinks this has something to do with my love of char--alas, I'm in a perpetually grill-less state.  But these LambBurgers came out really nicely, considering they were sans cow + sans direct flame.