An Effing Foodie

These Are a Few of My Faaavorite Things: Enchanted Pork, Szechuan Gourmet, NYC

You read right! This is MAGIC pork, people...I stayed at a soul-crushing job months longer than I should have, for the sake of lunchtime proximity to Szechuan Gourmet's Enchanted Pork.

I stand by my decision.

Ed Levine and Midtown Lunch have weighed in on Enchanted Pork, but my co-cubical prisoners can testify that I was drowning my sorrows in piggy spiciness LONG before it was on the blogger radar.

Conjuring porcine magic involves wok-seared leeks, blistered green chilis, and thin strips of fat-ribboned side meat (think bacon), the whole brought together by a goodly dose of red chili oil.  Every mouthful is an eye-opening blend of rich, porky heat, best tempered with rice.

At lunch, Enchanted Pork is a screaming deal at $6.95, and if you eat-in, you get respectably vinegary hot-and-sour soup, too.  For those unwilling to deal with the lunch mob, SG does old-fashioned delivery AND Seamless Web.  The same dish is a little more expensive at night ($11.95), but the portions are bigger, and it's a mere pittance to eat your beast in peace. 

LeftoverMania: Power to the Pantry!

Arrgh, sorry for the absentee blogger crap, folks!  I'm in the midst of a bit of food-related ennui.  The inevitable amusing side effect: Playing with the more mundane rotating residents of my friggy.

Observe the cornered foodie, spinning her wheels at home.

Exhibit #1: Rice Vermicelli with Sliced Lamb and Mint
(AKA Instant Noodles with Leftover Chops and Frozen Veggies)

Elements (per bowl):

• 1 package instant rice vermicelli, preferably onion-flavored
• 1 leftover medium rare lamb chop, thinly sliced
• 1/4 cup frozen corn kernels
• 1/4 cup frozen whole-leaf spinach
• 1 sprig fresh mint, chopped
• Shichimi togarashi pepper to taste

In my defense: The super-salty onion-flavored soup stood up well to the gaminess of the lamb, whose medium-rare state gently wandered over to medium-well whilst bathing in its sodium bath (not unlike pho!).  Corn brought sweetness to the party, spinach (washed and frozen by moi!) helped to alleviate my vegetable guilt, and the mint was a welcome illusion of freshness.

Verdict: No one is too good for instant noodles.  Drink lots 'o' water to avoid sodium shock.

Exhibit #2: Pea and Shittake Risotto with Soft-Poached Egg and Pecorino
(AKA Reincarnated Chinese Takeout Rice Jook with Frozen Peas and Dried Mushrooms)

Elements (per bowl):

• 1/2 carton leftover Chinese takeout rice
• 1/2 (14-oz) can chicken broth
• 1/4 cup frozen peas
• 1/4 cup dried, sliced shittake mushrooms
• 1 egg (cage-free and vegetarian, please!)
• 1-2 TBSP. butter
• Pecorino, freshly grated, to taste
• Kosher salt and black pepper, freshly cracked, to taste
• Chili-spiked sesame oil to taste

In my defense: This was actually more like Asian rice porridge than risotto, except for the shot in the arm it gets with the butter and cheese.  The bubbly, broth-sucking napalm is an ideal medium for reconstituting hard white rice and dried mushrooms, thawing frozen peas, and poaching an egg to an appealing ooziness in no time.  Pepper and chili oil help to give an edge to all this richness.

Verdict: Don't think the Asians at large or the Italians would be eager to claim this porridge puppy, but that's fine by me and my well-warmed belly.

Heavy Lifting: McCain "Family" Recipes Fliched from the Food Network

Ooooh!  Cindy McCain is in trou-ble!

Okay, maybe not so much Cindy McCain as a half-assed intern that did a piss-poor job of plagiarizing recipes, says HuffPo.

About a half dozen recipes, including ones from FoodTV's femme heavyweights Rachel Ray and Giada De Laurentiis, were copied with the barest tweaks and posted on the McCain Campaign Site as (wait for it) "McCain Family Recipes".

HuffPo's side-by-side screen shot comparison of the recipes:

• Ahi Tuna with Napa Cabbage Slaw
• Passion Fruit Mousse
• Farfalle Pasta with Turkey Sausage, Peas and Mushrooms

Ho, lord.  Where do I even BEGIN? 

1. When did people get SO RETARDED at plagiarizing???  Listen all you lazy, innovation-lacking momos out there: It takes VERY LITTLE effort to reword and change a recipe so that you can't be caught for plagiarizing.  Substitutions, bitches!
2. Great-great-Grandma McCain was rich in passion fruit, napa cabbage, ahi tuna and turkey sausage, was she?
3. When do you suspect the wife of the Republican Presidential Candidate was last home, much less cooking?  Why not just post her method for reshingling a roof, or her secret tricks for getting rid of lime stains???

Treats for Grown-Ups: Apricot and Pistachio Nougat Roll-Ups

I'm finding as I get older, my sweet tooth keeps diminishing in size, and I'm more prone to favor the savor. (Vegemite-enriched Cup-of-Soup with Saltines, anyone?)

Somewhere in my mid-twenties, I mutated from someone with an ice-cream eating disorder into a quesophile; I stopped seeking out cake at gatherings (and gatherings solely for the sake of cake); I won't drink cola unless there's a bunch of Jack in it.

So when I recently brought a friend from Hawaii to the sweets counter at Dean & Deluca, I wasn't really on the lookout for personal pleasure.  But amid the heaps of prettily-wrapped premium confections, these little fellas caught my eye:

Cheery, no?  The packaging wasn't particularly informative--they were labeled as "bulk miscellaneous candy", with no ingredients or names for the product / producers / distributors.  (Um, is that legal?)  But it was pretty clear that it was nougat studded with pistachios, wrapped with a fruit puree that was likely apricot or orange.

People, if you see these, snatch them up immediately!  The nougat was feather-light yet gooey-sweet, ingeniously counterbalanced by acidity of the fat, toothsome apricot band of fruit roll-up in every bite.  They're not cheap--$6.66 for 6 individually wrapped 2-inch pinwheels (the DEVIL'S CANDY!)--but you could do a lot worse in D&D's hallowed halls.

If you're allergic to stone fruit or just plain don't like apricots, they sell the nougat on its own, too. 

Alas, they are not available online, and I can't vouch that they're at every D&D location, but they were definitely at Madison and 85th--so get yourself a bag, and wander through Central Park all hopped up on sugar and springtime.  

Scariest. Recipes. EVER. (AKA Spampocalypse)

As a long-term Gmail user, my favorite quirk was the customized Google ads generated by the context of your email.

So when I wrote to my gal-friends, the ads in the margins read something like this:

• "He's Just Not That Into You: Buy NOW on Amazon.com!"
• "Don't Quit Now: 10 Surefire Ways to Win Back Your Man."
• "Are the Stars Aligned for Romance?  Get Your Love Astrology Charted TODAY."

Just one more way overzealous commerce can teach us not to take ourselves so friggen seriously.

Google has since started screening the ads a little more, so they're WAY more PC now (BOOOO!), but I really used to enjoy the little streaming Spam recipes I used to get when I was cleaning out my Spam folder.  Check out this little gem:

Gingered Spam Salad
  Categories: Salads, Go-withs, Misc.
       Yield: 1 Serving

• 1 cn Spam, sliced matchstick size
• 1/4 c  Finely chopped ginger root
• 1 ea Small red onion, finely choppe
• 1/2 ts Garlic powder
• 1/4 c  Freshly squeezed lime juice
• Zest of 1 lime
• 1/2 ts Oriental dried chili powder
• 1/4 c  Chopped cilantro leaves
• 8 ea Cherry tomatoes
• Thai bird peppers and cilantro sprigs to garnish

Combine all ingredients in a sealed glass or plastic container to marinate. Refrigerate at least two hours or preferably overnight. Stir or shake occasionally to evenly coat.  One hour before serving, stir in cilantro. Serve on a bed of torn lettuce of your choice. Garnish with quartered cherry tomatoes, Thai bird peppers and cilantro sprigs.
   ~- Typos courtesy of Wesley Pitts 5/12/95

First off: Dude, I like Spam as proudly as the next Hawaiian, but Spam SALAD?  As in cold, marinated, shredded Spam?  That's commitment!  Imagine the trial and error involved in creating this recipe.  Shudder.

Second: Did anyone clock that this recipe serves one?  Cold, shredded Spam for one.  It's the saddest effing thing I've ever seen.  Never before has there been a more apt or poignant food metaphor for loneliness.