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Monthly Archive for September, 2009
Page 4 of 5
So BG and I spent the weekend out in Bridgehampton, getting some much-needed sun and relaxation. While out there, I usually stick to grilling up some fresh fare and lazing around. July 4ths 12-hour smoked pork shoulder was pretty hard to beat.
July 4th Smoked Shoulder
However, this time around I had a craving some a little scene and a little ground beef. My last burger at a restaurant had been DBGB and the “burger” from Mantao really wasn’t cutting it for me. I also wanted to experience the day scene at Bobby Van’s in Bridgehamton. Call it my inner 60 year old.
So BG and I prepared physically by going for a nice walk around town. Walking by BV’s early on, the scene was pretty dead- only a few busboys walked around setting up tables and stuff. It was pretty much like every other Hamptons hangout by morning light: totally unimpressive.
Later, after soaking in some sun, we headed back. I was starving so I had a Blue Moon as my pre-appetizer. Then I settled into a huge salad with blue cheese, walnuts, and roasted golden beets. Note the order in which I listed the ingredients. The plate had more blue cheese than I knew what to do with (and survive, at least). But that was ok, I saved half, like the conscientious eater I am, and waited for the main event.
When the burger showed up, I was instantly a little bit disappointed. Whoever had made it did let it rest, but they let it rest a bit too long– some of the cheese had already congealed on top and had hardened a little bit. I was mildly disappointed with this, since I like my cheese gooey and my crust crunchy. This was not the case. Not sure if it was an off day or what, but I was let down. The flavor was good, so I knew that the meat was a quality blend and the seasonings were correct. I usually wouldn’t think to send something back, and I thought about it for a second, but couldn’t do it. I’d say that if you all head out to Bobby Van’s for lunch in Bridgehampton, do yourself a favor and order it rare– it’ll probably come medium.
Despite this, I still did manage to finish every last bite…
Bobby Van's Burger
NB: the fries are excellent– nice crunch and the perfect amount to prevent you from feeling like a fat kid.
4 out of 7 cows.
Bobby Van’s Main St., BridgehamptonA quick anecdote on the power of word of mouth, aka, I don’t think the kracker is an actual doctor.
A few months back, while pregnant with my soon to come cousin, my aunt decided to go ahead and develop gestational diabetes. While this in general is a pain in the ass (as she said, it “forces me to eat healthy but without any of the weight loss benefits”), it has had an unexpected effect on the sales of a certain gestational-diabetes-friendly product, Dr. Kracker’s Crackers.
Now, I don’t think that Dr. Kracker really exists, and if he does, he should change his name, because he’s a racist (and he might be related to uncle kracker, but I digress). In any case, the Dr. Kracker story starts in the German plains, where he was inspired by their flatbreads and blah blah blah. Net net, the crackers are made with whole grains and are diabetic-friendly.
In any case, my aunt brought these cookies to her own baby shower, much to the delight of all of her guests. The krackers were instantly a hit. I had a couple myself, and they are pretty good, but I have not actively sought them out. The BG, on the other hand, is a different story. She was so taken aback by these crackers that she began a crusade to find them. After several failed attempts, she finally found them at a certain branch of the Whole Foods monolith. She took them home to her apartment, where she co-habitates with her mother.Her mother was so overtaken by Kracker, MD, that she, too, became mildly obsessed with them. To demonstrate the degree to which she has become entirely infatuated with these crackers—she eats around five different food items. This is now one of them. The Kracker has taken over exactly 20% of her normal food intake. That is a brand manager’s wet dream.
And the chain continues—after finding the crakers, BG writes on my aunt’s facebook wall, “I found the Kracker!” not trying to be racially insensitive, of course. A random girl responds to the BG, “I don’t even know you, but I love them, too!”
The kracker gets around.
And the chain continues—on a weekend trip to BG’s grandmother’s house, BG’s mom brings a box of the crackers. Dr. Kracker comes in with his suave Doctor-game and sweeps BG-ma off her feet. Game, set, match, Kracker. She is obsessed with them now, too. I saw her take out no fewer than 10 boxes from her traveling bag last night. While visiting BG-ma’s house, BG’s aunt comes over and samples the dcotor’s goods. What happens? She hates them and spits out her first bite.
Just kidding. She becomes obsessed, too. Sensing a theme here?
I can only imagine that this is but one of many similar stories across the US. Never underestimate the power of word of mouth. It is a true marketing tool.
Di Fara on a lazy afternoon
BG and I are out in Los Hamptones for the long weekend, so today we decided to treat ourselves to a long overdue return visit to Di Fara pizza out in Midwood, Brooklyn. To take you back to our first jaunt out to the faraway land of minivans and Orthodox Jews…
It was December 2008, and BG and I were returning from a weekend out in the Hamptons. We had never been to Di Fara, but both of us had heard extensive things about it and figured it would be a good time to try. After a less than convenient detour from the parkway, we made it happen.
Or so we thought.
We walked in to a crowded and hot pizza place. Nothing there was really striking in any way. I saw Dom DeMarco making the pies, which was kinda cool, but it wasn’t helping cut through the masses of people in the tiny cramped space. We waited in line for a bit, and when we finally got to the front, it seemed like the worst was over. We placed our order- one regular pie. That was pretty easy.
Then we waited.
And waited.
And waited some more. It was painful watching Dom make the pies, spread the sauce, spread the cheese, pour the oil, put a little more sauce on a spot he missed, re-shape the dough a little bit, add a little bit more cheese, check another pie in the oven, turn a different pie around, check that first pie again, take out a square pie, put it back into the oven, talk to his daughter, go back to the pie he was forming, check the pies in the oven again, burn one and throw it away, go back to forming the pie, and so forth. You get the idea.
At this point, it had probably been about 10 minutes (I’m pretty impatient). In my mind, that was 10 minutes too long. We asked a girl who was sitting alone how long she had been waiting.
“I’ve been here since about 5.45.”
It was 8.15pm. At that moment, I knew that I had two choices: risk waiting for 2 hours, or get the hell out of dodge and score myself some pizza elsewhere. My hunger, which was an 8.73 out of 10, told me to do the latter. In a flurry of expletives, I stormed out onto the street and into my powder blue rental Chevy Aveo. I laid some tracks out in front of Di Fara, just for good measure, vowing never to return.
Ok, the Aveo didn’t really lay any tracks, but it was powder blue and I did vow to never return.
“Screw that place, NO pizza can be worth waiting 2 hours for,” is what I had to say about that. I thought about getting a kosher slice at Pizza Time, which is right down the block, but that wasn’t doing it for me either.
Having pizza on the brain, we headed out to Staten Island to get some pizza at Denino’s, which actually holds a special place in my heart because my grandparents used to take me there. They also happen to have phenomenal thin crust pizza and great fried calamari. My mom doesn’t like it for some reason, but she’s the only unhappy customer I’ve ever heard of.
Satiated after my sausage pie at Denino’s, I repeated my vow to never return to Di Fara. I had some choice words for that place. I was still fuming a bit, and I told BG I was done with it. You hear me? Done.
Well, done until yesterday.
You see, when I say I’m “done with a place,” that is really my code for, “I’m really angry that I didn’t get to try that place but I will return on my own terms and when I damn well feel like it.” That time happened to be yesterday. I knew that if we got there as they open for lunch, we were assured to get a pie within 20 minutes. 20 minutes for me was tolerable.
So, we packed up the car for the weekend and headed out to Midwood. The feelings of anger started to bubble within me along with flashbacks of that ill-fated December night as I pulled a louie on Avenue J. “If I have to wait more than 20 minutes, I am outta there.” And my hunger was an 8.74 out of 10. That’s right, I was HUNGRIER than the first time.
Avenue J was bumpin. This made me even more frustrated. I was going to have to circle to find a parking spot for this place? We pulled up to the corner and I dropped off BG in front. Her mission was simple: one regular pie and one special pie. My mission was more complex: find a parking space within a reasonable distance.
Parking the car actually ended up being pretty easy. Apologies for any false sense of drama there. I didn’t mean to edit the blog like this is an episode of Whale Wars or something.
As I was walking to the place, I get a message on my blackberry: “They’re doing a shoot in here for something.
What did that mean? Could we not get pizza? Should I start the car? Has Dom DeMarco outwitted me again? He’s an old man and I’m a cunning young advertising executive with charm and style to spare, there was no way this was happening again.
I arrived to find that the “shoot” consisted of a dude with a camera with a fancy remote light flashbox. The “something” ended up being a “project for myself,” which I think is a fancy term for “being unemployed and bored.”
The order was in, now it was just a waiting game. The place is a lot nicer during the day, actually. Dom’s daughter was very friendly, and even Dom himself was cracking a few smiles and laughing a bit. A young father with his two daughters was videotaping them eat slices of pizza, probably ruining the whole experience for them (“Take a bite. No, not too big, just a little bite, look at the camera.” Also, just a side note—do people still call it “videotaping?” No one really has videotapes anymore. I originally wrote “filming them eat slices of pizza,” but that has a dirty old man connotation to it that I don’t feel right about in the context of two little girls.) I imagined them on some sort of father-daughter trip across the US, eating at all of the famous pizza places. Sounds like a fun trip. But they were probably just from West Orange, New Jersey.
Finally, after about 20 minutes, it was our turn. Our regular pie came out first. It was pretty beautiful. I mean, it looked like this:
Di Fara Regular Pie
The carefully crafted crust and hand-shorn basil and liberally-applied olive oil looks a lot better when it’s applied to your pie. Of course MY pie should be perfect, it’s just all of THEIR pies that should be done quickly. I let the pie rest for a few minutes before diving in, because I knew that this time would be key to its optimal consumption point, much like letting a steak rest after it’s been cooked.
In the meantime, our special pie came. It, too, demonstrated great artistry. Although it was a bit greasy, it was still pretty to look at. Since we got them to go, Dom gave us a few extra basil leaves on the side, just for good measure. Maybe the old man isn’t such a bad guy, after all. He’s just an artisan who happens to make a product a lot of people like. I just wish he could make it a bit faster.
Di Fara Special Pie
I then took the first bite of the regular pie. What hit me first was the olive oil. It hit me on the chin, actually. This pie has a lot of oil going on. The crust was perfect—firm yet with slight doughiness on the top, and all coated in oil. If you don’t like olive oil, don’t get this pie. It was Alan Richman’s main complaint about it, and I can understand it, actually. After the crust and oil, there is a delicate tomato sauce, which tastes as simple as roasted tomatoes with maybe a hint of sugar. The mozzarella was unremarkable, but clearly fresh, and that was about it. What hit me most was the pecorino romano—the pungent saltiness coated my mouth and gave the pie an earthy nutty quality that I found to be the most satisfying. I finished off a slice in about three bites, but that pecorino kept calling back to me. Even now I can still taste it.
I would write about the special pie but I’m tired. It was good. Next time, two regular pies. And yes, there will be a next time. 20 minutes, you got that, Dom?
6.5 out of 7 cows.
Di Fara 1624 Avenue J, Midwood, BrooklynSo burgergal’s dad took me and a couple of friends to de-virginize us as to the ways of the momofuku ssam bar bo ssam. In case you haven’t heard of it, it is basically a giant hunk of pork rubbed with salt and brown sugar slow roasted until the outside is crispy and inside is a tender pork fat explosion.
But before the main event, I’ll set the stage. I snuck out of the office a bit early to make the 6.30pm seating, and hopped on the 6 train down to union square. Walking east on 13th street, I crossed 3rd avenue and was met by a beautiful smell.
No, not roasted pork, but powdered donuts. I didn’t know where the smell was coming from, but I suspected that it was the momofuku milk bar. But it wasn’t! I still find it hard to believe that someone was making donuts in their apartment and then covering them with powdered sugar, but I am going to hold out hope. At that point, I knew that it was going to be a solid night.
I walked into momofuku ssam, and I must have had the look of a pork-driven lunatic, because as soon as I stepped in the door, the host asked me as though he knew the answer, “you’re here for the bo ssam?” I was indeed.
Once the full battalion of troops had arrived, we started with a few innocent appetizers, you know, just to get the palates cleansed and ready for a PORK FAT EXPLOSION. Let me see if I can recall what we had:
– Seasonal pickles: pretty unmemorable, but the green tomatoes were good
– hawthorne valley buttermilk: this was pretty unique; it was a solidified buttermilk block in an apple dashi with pinenuts. Very sour, like plain yogurt.
– hamachi: very tasty cured hamachi tuna
– Uni: it had been a while since I had had sea urchin, and I forgot how much I enjoy it. And these sea urchin were friggin tasty. They had just a touch of ocean, but otherwise were smooth like silk. They made me think about the episode of Tony Bourdain’s show where Eric Ripert prepared pasta with sea urchin, which looked delicious. It goes a bit against my desire to eat local, because I think they come from Santa Barbara.
– Scallops: Seared to perfection, buttery smooth.
After all of that food, you would think that we would have been done. But oh no, we had not even started. The main event arrived, like a golden brown hunk of goodness. And did I mention it is seven pounds, bone out? I’m pretty certain Momo uses Bev Eggleston’s pork products, since they are used for other dishes there, so it can be eaten in clean conscience.
The bo ssam arrives with a dozen oysters and a slew of kim chi and other sauces, and a bunch of butter lettuce. The man who brought me this treasure trove instructed us to take the first bite with no sauce, only pork and an oyster. I did just that. I never thought that this pairing would work, but did it go down nicely. I then stuffed my face with more pork for the next hour, until it was just a mass of semi-congealed fat and meat.
At some point towards the end, it looks like this:
You see that salty sweet crust? You see that tender pork flesh? Imagine it in your stomach. I don’t have to, because it was already there. You know it.
Momofuku Ssam Bar 2nd Avenue and 13th StreetAlso, it’s farmer’s market day! Since I’m heading out to Long Island this weekend, I was pretty restrained, but I did buy a few items:
– Shishito peppers– Yuno’s Farm, which has actually changed names to Loni’s farm
– Ground cherries– also at Yuno’s. I could write a whole post about these little guys. They are great, get some.
– Seven grain bread and chocolate chip cookies and an almond croissant (which didn’t make it alive out of the market)– not just rugelach
– Chocolate Hazelnut AND pistachio ice cream from Ronnybrook Farm. I chatted up my girl at the stand and got a special discount today, so i’m pretty stoked. I will definitely be making some chipwiches this weekend.
Anyway, that’s all I’ve got for today. A bo ssam post will be coming shortly– stay tuned. And yes, it was awesome. They always say, “things that grow together go together,” so I’m fairly convinced that oysters live in pig shit.
