Talula's Table "Pop-Up" at Washington Square

Thanks to some quick action on Lauren's part, we were able to score an opening-night reservation for the three night only Talula's Table "pop-up" event. Orchestrated by restaurant behemoth Stephen Starr, this is the first in a proposed series of events that would bring experimental and new-to-Philly chefs into the underutilized space that was once Washington Square. The lure of being able to experience the wildly acclaimed cooking of Talula's Table without a year-long wait for reservations (and an hour's drive out to Kennett Square) made this a no-brainer, and we were suitably impressed with the experience.

Aimee Olexy is the brains behind Talula's. I give her enormous respect for being a part of the original Django on Fourth Street, which was perhaps the first BYO in Philly to really hit the sweet spot of innovation, really fine execution, and a moderate price point. From what I gather, at Talula's, the focus is shifted a bit more to the farm-to-table idea, which is a natural given its location in mushroom capital Kennett Square. There were reminders of this pastoral setting in the antique farm implements scattered about the high-ceilinged Washington Square space, and in the small potted vegetables placed on each table (a tiny brussels sprout plant for us; we resisted sampling a leaf).

Rather than the multi-course, prix-fixe model of Talula's, this menu was set up with five courses, each with three or four selections, all priced and served a la carte. To start, I had the eggplant soup. It was somewhat reminiscent of a thinned-out baba ghanouj (without the tahini and garlic), though with an additional celery flavor. It was garnished with tiny "frites" of eggplant and some crumbles of Purple Haze goat cheese, which added a lovely creamy component to the experience. Lauren had the mushroom soup, which was rich without being overtly creamy, like "cream of mushroom soup without the cream". This was garnished with a bone marrow fritter. (Little breaded and fried garnishes were a recurring theme.)

Then ... we waited. There was quite a long delay between our first and second courses, but hey, it was the first night in a new kitchen, so we understood. Our very knowledgable and enthusiastic waitress offered us another gougere while we waited and worked on our drinks (a glass of Grenache for Lauren; a "pickled martini" for me; this was simply a chilled glass of Belvedere garnished with a skewer of two homemade pickles). We also got a visit from the sommelier, who recommended a glass of an Austrian red (St. Laurent) to go with Lauren's main course.

Finally, the second course arrived. Lauren was thrilled to see fried squash blossoms on the menu. ("Picked yesterday!", fawned our waitress.) Unlike the typical preparation, these were not stuffed with cheese or anything else, for that matter: simply small, crisp blossoms, very lightly fried and served with green tomato ketchup. I had the chicken sausage with "oozy cheese", mustard and assorted pickles. The sausage was gloriously aromatic with smoke, but overall, I would say the course was pleasant enough, though a bit inessential for both of us.

For the mains: creamy risotto made with aged cheddar, topped with braised beef cheeks and gremolata. The beef was amazingly beefy-tasting, if a little salty for me, but the combination of that with the creamy risotto and fresh-tasting gremolata was awesome. We switched midway though, so I had the second half of Lauren's sous vide duck breast, served with a fresh cherry sauce and a duck confit "tater tot". The duck, being cooked the way it was, retained a lot more of its fat than if it had been traditionally seared or roasted, but it was tender and delicious, with little specks of salt on the surface that made for tiny explosions of flavor in the mouth. The cherry sauce was nice and not too sweet, and the tater tot tasted uncannily like the "real deal" in a way that was almost too authentic. Overall we were very pleased with the entrees.

Next up was "Cheese 301", a course that we shared. This was two-bite portions of seven or so cheeses served with sparse accompaniments (candied nuts, a fruit paste) that cascaded like a spectrum down the side of the plate. Some outstanding cheeses in here with really big flavors, like the Truffle Tremor, the Cabot Clothbound and a very sweet and creamy gorgonzola, all served at the perfect temperature. The course came with a card asking us about our "desert island" cheese, how we like to eat our cheese and what our favorite milk is.

We shared a dessert as well, the salted chocolate-caramel shortbread bar. If you go, GET THIS. Unbelievably creamy caramel and rich chocolate, set off by just the right amount of salt, and some bitterness from the cacao nibs sprinkled on the caramel whipped cream that was served alongside. Absolutely magical.

With tip this all came out to just over $100 each, but it was worth it. It was a great idea, apparently a huge success (booked solid in two days), and hopefully a harbinger of more to come. Mr. Starr himself was floating around tables, and I overheard something about a Greek-themed "pop-up" next on the agenda. Unless he lands Zeus himself, it might be hard to top the Talula's experience.

Mother's Day 2010

OK, so we haven't posted in a while, and it's now closer to Father's Day than it is to Mother's Day. In any event, here's the belated report on what we made for our annual culinary extravaganza.

Gravlax with whole-wheat blini

Not too much new here; it's the same simple gravlax recipe from last year, plus some tasty little whole-wheat blini to serve them on.

Torte d'omelette

This idea came from watching an old black-and-white episode of Julia Child where she discussed the proper way to make an omelette. As part of a show, she made this seldom-seen dish, which is nothing more than a stack of plain egg omelets with some piperade between the layers. The piperade was made with roasted tomatoes, bell peppers, and leeks. We added some goat cheese between some of the layers as well. Making that many omelets and stacking them without ripping them was a little nerve-racking, but we got the job done.

Smoked potato and duck confit hash

For some reason I had this crazy idea that I should smoke some potatoes. So I got a bunch of the baby Yukon Golds, rigged up a makeshift stovetop smoker out of two aluminum pans, covered the whole thing with foil and let them smoke up for an hour or so. Ultimately, not too much smoke flavor was imparted into the dish, but the duck sure was tasty, and rendering the duck fat for the confit means duck cracklins for the cook.

Spring vegetables in prosecco beurre blanc

This ended up a bit disappointing. After blanching asparagus, peas, and carrots so that they achieved Technicolor brilliance, once they were reheated in the sauce, everything went a little gray. It still tasted OK but was a little lacking in punch.

What was for dessert? I will let Lauren tell you all about that ...

Walk Against Hunger with I'll Eat You

Time out for a little PSA: sad to say, while we're here sharing recipes or nitpicking a new fancy restaurant to death, a staggering number of people face the prospect of simply not having enough food at all. In a place as rich as ours, it's a crime that anyone should have to go hungry, so please join us in supporting the Greater Philadelphia Coalition Against Hunger with their Walk Against Hunger event on Saturday, April 10.

If you're interested in walking, why not join us in Team I'll Eat You? Just click the link to register. Or, make a donation – every little bit helps. Participants and donors will have our hearty and eternal thanks, not to mention the knowledge that they will be helping a few more people pull up a seat at our region's communal dinner table.

(as a side note, apologies for active.com; it really is a pretty terrible and hard-to-figure-out site, and the registration doesn't seem to work properly in Safari. Boo-urns.)

Jambalaya

Emeril. It seems as though the man has come under a good deal of ridicule over the years – the catch phrases, the live show with the fawning audience who responded in Pavlovian fashion at the very mention of "pork fat" and "gaaaaaaaaaaalic", and of course the very, very ill-advised NBC sitcom. But I'm not ashamed to admit that I learned a hell of a lot about cooking from the man.

Back in the early days of Food Network, before its invasion by the nightmarish likes of Sandra Lee and Guy "Fee-eDRD-i", the show was The Essence of Emeril, and it was just the man himself, a simple white tile background, an occasionally misbehaving electric range, and the food. Far from the manic caricature he became, indiscriminately dumping bowl after bowl of pre-prepped ingredients into saucepans between exchanging banter with Elmo, the Emeril of the Essence days was a very informative host, entertaining yet mostly sedate, and he got a lot of important concepts across. Like seasoning both sides of whatever you're cooking so "both sides taste good". Getting your pans hot and not moving things once you put them in. Building layers of flavor with the use of things like the "trinity" of onion, bell pepper and celery. Making a roux from blonde to chocolate brown. It all really clicked.

So just as Emeril was something of a TV-watching staple in my formative years, so too were his recipes part of our family's dinner rotation. We had a few of his cookbooks, and always had a batch of his "essence" seasoning blend on hand, ready to sprinkle on anything and everything. Once in a while, it was crawfish étoufée on a Saturday night, but usually it was Emeril's jambalaya. And I'll be damned if it hadn't been at least seven years since I made it, so I threw a batch together the other day.

This was made a little easier because someone at Emeril Inc. had sent a little care package to I'll Eat You some time back. It included some Emeril-brand chicken stock and a few bottles of the vaunted Essence, all pre-mixed and ready to sprinkle. Once you have the Essence, the rest is easy, and here's how it goes:

Jambalaya

A smallish batch, recreated from memory from one of Emeril's cookbooks

1/2 lb. chicken (preferably thigh meat, I was stuck with breasts)

1 or 2 links andouille sausage (kielbasa works in a pinch)

1/2 lb. shrimp, shells off

1 1/2 C. rice (long grain white is best)

1 green pepper

1 medium onion

2 stalks celery (omitted from this batch because Lauren doesn't like it)

1 large clove gaaaaaaalic

The Essence - if you don't have this, here's a recipe

A few bay leaves

2-3 plum tomatoes, or small can of diced tomatoes

Worcestershire sauce

Hot sauce

Chicken stock

Cut the chicken into chunks and sprinkle liberally with Essence (shout "Bam!" as you do this). Get a large, deep pan hot and add a tablespoon or two of olive oil. While you're browning the chicken thoroughly, dice the onions, peppers and celery, and cut the sausage into small chunks. Once chicken is browned, add vegetables and andouille; reduce heat to medium and cook until vegetables soften.

Add the garlic and rice, then stir around for a minute or two. Add bay leaves, tomatoes, a few dashes each of Worcestershire and hot sauce, and add enough chicken stock to completely cover the rice. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat to a simmer and cover. Read through script of proposed sitcom pilot; reject it.

Cook for about 15 minutes, stirring occasionally. If it's getting too dry in there and the rice is sticking to the bottom, add a little more stock. When the rice is almost cooked, add the shrimp and re-cover. Cook for another 5-7 minutes or until the shrimp is pink and opaque. Serve with a Turbo Dog or the beverage of your choice.

Review: Amis

So after the much-lauded Vetri and Osteria, here's Marc Vetri's third restaurant in town, Amis, located a little off the beaten path on 13th Street near Pine. The concept this time is Roman small plates, served in an atmosphere that is rather more raucous and industrial than Vetri's other two joints. It's a welcome idea, and Vetri is just the guy to pull it off, but we left just a bit disappointed with the execution.

Though the setting is intentionally rougher around the edges, it's still comfortable and inviting. Touches of wood like the attractive multi-toned tables brighten up the dark concrete and metal vibe. I've heard some complaints about the noise level, but for us, it was not so loud that conversation was a struggle.

As is typical in a small plates restaurant, we were a little unsure of the ordering strategy. Our waitress validated our hypothesis that we should order two or three things from each side of the menu. The left side is smaller stuff: bruschette, salumi, cheeses, and other antipasti. The right is pastas and more traditionally "main dish" items.

It was hard not to be intrigued by the mortadella mousse, so that was the bruschetta we ordered. It delivered on its promise: it tasted just like the big round deli meat, but in a creamy, whipped-up form, a bowl of fluffy pink topped with a pretty superfluous drizzle of olive oil. I would have preferred more, thinner toasts alongside it rather than the two thick slabs we got – thinner toast would provide more surface area for topping with the mousse, not to mention making it easier to bite through.

Next, the artichokes. They are fried, small; the entire thing is edible. The browned outer leaves taste almost like potato chips and are just as addictive and delectable. The inner portion of the artichoke is tasty, if a little greasy.

Our third "left side" dish was the sweetbreads. These are small nuggets, breaded with crushed almond, fried, and served with a fennel marmalade. The sweetbreads had great flavor, and the marmalade worked wonderfully as a counterpoint to the, again, somewhat greasy fried items.

On to the right side – we got two pastas, the tonnarelli “cacio e pepe” and the gnocchi with oxtail ragu, and the mixed seafood grill. First, the gnocchi, which were not the typical small potato-based dumplings: they were large, semolina-based, and very, very light, which is just as well because the oxtail ragu on top of them was quite rich. There was a welcome black-peppery zing to the tonnarelli, but they seemed over-sauced to me, leaving a puddle of greasy cheese residue at the bottom of the plate. The mixed seafood grill of swordfish, skate, shrimp, scallops, and squid (brought to you by the letter S, incidentally) was pleasant enough, served with a few small slices of grilled polenta and fresh lemon.

Perhaps you have noted a theme. I have no aversion to fat as an ingredient, or to fried foods, or to nature's fattier fish or meats. In isolation, or possibly as part of a meal that included fresher counterpoints, most of what we had was very good. But the cumulative effect of eating one oil-sodden dish after another was unpleasant. I thought we maybe just happened to order things that tended towards the slippery side, but reviewing the menu again, it doesn't seem like we had a lot of latitude for escaping the lipid onslaught. Even the seafood grill could have used a lighter hand from the oil can. I know that something called mortadella mousse is going to be fatty, but how about, say, a little arugula salad on the side? Or more use of things like the fennel marmalade with the sweetbreads, which woke up the palette a bit and cut through the fried flavor?

Desserts looked pretty good, but with our mouths still somewhat slicked, we took a pass for this visit. Service was decent, though a different pacing of the dishes would have been nice: our first three dishes came out at the same time, and then the second three dishes came out at the same time. Since the second three were all hot, this meant that the last dish we ate was cold by the time we got around to eating it. A more fluid pacing like Amada's would have been nice here, as would have been an option for a tasting menu to make ordering a little simpler.

I would love to give Amis another chance. It could have been what we ordered, or perhaps it was an off night. Maybe with the coming of the spring, some brighter flavors will make their way onto the menu. What I am hoping is that the over-larding of the food is not deliberate, a cynical ploy to appeal to our baser culinary instincts. Fat is an invaluable and irreplaceable tool – to carry flavors, to provide texture, to impart its own flavor – but too much of a good thing becomes unpleasant pretty quickly.

Sweet Potato Tacos

Here at I'll Eat You, we're not too proud to shamelessly rip off a delicious dish we've had elsewhere. So when we had the sweet potato tacos at Honest Tom's Taco Shop (when their mobile taqueria rolled into our neighborhood for Blocktoberfest a few months ago), we knew we had to recreate these cheap and cheerful morsels at home.

Really, they couldn't be easier. Get yourself a few sweet potatoes. Peel and dice them. I start them in the microwave in a covered dish with a little bit of water, just long enough so they begin to soften.

While the sweet potatoes are getting nuked, juice half a lime in a bowl and add some diced avocado, grape tomatoes, garlic and/or scallions, maybe a little cayenne and oregano, salt and pepper. You can mush it up guacamole-style if you like, or leave the avocado chunky-style as we've done here.

When the potatoes are soft, after about 4 or 5 minutes depending on your microwave, get a pan real hot and add a little bit of oil. Drain the sweet potatoes and add to the pan. You want them to get a little charred around the edges, so make sure the pan is large enough that they're all in a single layer. After the edges have browned a bit, toss them around. When the sweet potatoes are almost charred all around and cooked through, add some chili powder, salt and pepper.

Grab some soft tortillas (either flour or corn), throw on some sweet potatoes and top with the avocado mixture. If you want to get fancy, add some fresh cilantro, maybe some goat cheese, or spice things up with some hot sauce (I used some piri-piri on the above specimen). Fold it up and enjoy!

Aside from being pretty healthful, these are also ridiculously cheap to make, and any leftover sweet potatoes make a fine side dish. So thanks, Honest Tom, for inspiring this entry into our dinner rotation.

French Family Dinner at Bistrot La Minette

In the interest of full disclosure, let us inform you that we were invited to dine as guests of Bistrot La Minette by the restaurant's PR agency, Breslow Partners. This differs from our usual practice of picking up the check ourselves, or at least mooching off of relatives, so be advised that the following is not to be read as one of our typical reviews.

Back in July, our attempt to dine at Bistrot La Minette for our anniversary was thwarted by a Bastille Day party. We never did get a chance to make it out there for dinner, so we were pleasantly surprised when Lauren got an email a few weeks ago inviting us to have dinner there as guests of the restaurant. So that's how we found ourselves seated in the private salon at the Bistrot on one pleasant December evening, surrounded by local writers far more qualified than ourselves, ready to enjoy a traditional French family dinner.

We were greeted by John Woolsey, father of executive chef Peter Woolsey and part owner and business manager (not to mention the carpenter who built the salon's long dining table out of old joists found in the basement of the building). A native of Wisconsin, it was with a Midwestern reserved sense of pride that John told the group about his son's impressive culinary pedigree: working at the Waldorf-Astoria early in his career, studying pastry at Le Cordon Bleu and completing a stage at a three-Michelin-star restaurant in France before returning to Philadelphia and working at restaurants owned by Stephen Starr and Georges Perrier.

As the story continued over a glass or two of the house pinot noir, it became clear that the decision to open the restaurant was just the start of another journey. John's tale of secret municipal regulations, utilities foul-ups, and the challenges of dealing with centuries-old Philadelphia structures was enough to give any potential restaurateur pause. The flip side of this was the delight evident in the tales of planning the interior and acquiring all the right fixtures and décor to give the dining room an authentically French flair. (However, we were treated to the shocking revelation that some of the pieces are not French at all, but rather Belgian – at least we were assured that they came from the French-speaking part of the country.)

We then met the chef himself. Tall, bearded and bespectacled, Peter struck as us completely lacking in the ego and bombast one might expect from an experienced and successful chef. Perhaps his quiet confidence came from him being squarely in his element: aside from all the training he acquired in France, he also met his wife there. By adopting the traditions of her family as his own, it sounds like he's not just cooking French food, he's living it. The meal we were about to experience, he explained, would be as close as possible to sitting around the table with a French family.

After the introduction, the meal began, all served family-style which added to the sense of conviviality around the table. We started with some hors d'œuvre: crisp-shelled gougères, very clean-tasting salmon rillettes served on endive leaves, black olive tapenade on croutons, and small poached button mushrooms, which had a hard-to-place bitter note to them.

Next up, some heartier appetizers, including a pork terrine with soft bits of liver in the middle, served on a tasty slice of toasted homemade brioche. Served with the traditional accompaniments of mustard and cornichons, the terrine was delicious, but I feel as though its flavor would have come out a bit more if it were served a little warmer. An endive, pear and fennel salad with Roquefort and a lentil salad studded with some huge lardons rounded out this course.

The main course was the undisputed heavy-hitter of homestyle French cuisine, boeuf Bourguignon. This was a great rendition, with the beef falling-apart tender. Alongside the beef was a huge dish of gratin Dauphinois, a creamy, if slightly salty, dish of nicely tender potatoes crowned with a dark golden crust. Perhaps the most surprising dish of the night was the haricots verts, a simple dish of green beans cooked with tomato and onion – but the beans, rather than being served just barely cooked and crisp, were cooked within an inch of their lives. Rather than being unappealingly mushy, they were in fact sumptuous, and the beans maintained their green color thanks to some proper blanching before being cooked down. The butter added at the end didn't hurt, either.

Despite the rather tremendous amount and variety of food we had eaten so far, no proper French meal would be complete without a cheese course, this one composed of Comte and a soft blue-veined cheese, served with homemade baguettes and a refreshing green salad.

To finish, the quintessential rustic French dessert, tarte tatin. The crust on this upside-down caramelized apple tart was a little doughy for my taste, but the caramel ice cream served with it (homemade, of course) was uniquely delicious.

As Chef Peter popped in periodically throughout the meal, we had a chance to talk a little about his approach with the restaurant. Unlike a lot of contemporary places that are keen to reinvent and deconstruct, Woolsey's philosophy is to simply execute classic dishes well in keeping with the mold of a traditional French bistro(t). Catering to an American audience, though, means making portions a little bigger and dropping some of the offal-based dishes from the repertoire. It's a bit of a catch-22, because I for one would love to see what Woolsey can do with some more exotic ingredients, but it just doesn't pay to keep them on the menu if diners are scared off by them.

He also talked about his approach to sourcing ingredients, preferring to buy in small quantities to ensure freshness, even if this drives some of his purveyors batty. And he makes an effort to buy local ingredients, but only if they're in season and "if they're good", which is refreshingly pragmatic in the face of some restaurants' local-at-all-costs dogmatism.

With the arrival of some chocolate truffles, the meal was over, and it was quite an experience. In addition to enjoying some great food, we had a unique opportunity to really get some of the inside story on the restaurant business. Considering Bistrot La Minette's success so far, it was a great case study. Now that we've had the family-style treatment, we'll be sure to return for a more typical dining-out experience – though we'll be sure to schedule around any French national holidays.

Apple Cider Donuts

We jumped on the donut making bandwagon right after Halloween. After reading about apple cider donuts on food blogs everywhere, I scoured the city looking for them. Our planned apple picking excursion would have been a great place to find them; alas it was rained out until apple season ended. The Reading Terminal Harvest festival seemed like a sure bet: there was an amish stand selling fresh donuts, but only of the yeast variety. I couldn't take it anymore. One Sunday after a very long wait for a mediocre brunch, my friend Bridget and I decided we were going to adjourn to my kitchen for a donut making session.

I'll take a glazed cake donut over the yeasty kind any day (although I admit a hot krispy kreme is the exception to this rule). Cake donuts also have the advantage of being faster to make, as there is no proofing time needed. I've seen (and made) recipes that call for a long chill of the dough, but this one only needs a short 20 minute rest in the fridge.

This recipe calls for shortening rather then oil or butter, about which Smitten Kitchen made an excellent point: since this fat is solid at room temperature, it makes the end product less greasy feeling and tasting. I would love to try these glazed- we finished ours with cinnamon and sugar (which really is nothing to complain about).

Paul insisted on photographing these next to a roaring fire- I guess to make it seem cozy and fall like.

Apple Cider Donuts

1 cup apple cider

3 1/2 cups flour, plus additional for the work surface
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/8 teaspoon ground nutmeg
4 tablespoons (1/2 stick or 2 ounces) butter, at room temperature
1 cup granulated sugar
2 large eggs
1/2 cup buttermilk
Vegetable oil or shortening (see my explanation in the post) for frying

In a saucepan over medium or medium-low heat, gently reduce the apple cider to about 1/4 cup, 20 to 30 minutes. Set aside to cool.

Meanwhile, in a bowl, combine the flour, baking powder and soda, cinnamon, salt and nutmeg. Set aside.

Using an electric mixer on medium speed (with the paddle attachment, if using a standing mixer) beat the butter and granulated sugar until the mixture is smooth. Add the eggs, one at a time, and continue to beat until the eggs are completely incorporated. Use a spatula to scrape down the sides of the bowl occasionally. Reduce the speed to low and gradually add the reduced apple cider and the buttermilk, mixing just until combined. Add the flour mixture and continue to mix just until the dough comes together.

Line two baking sheets with parchment or wax paper and sprinkle them generously with flour. Turn the dough onto one of the sheets and sprinkle the top with flour. Flatten the dough with your hands until it is about 1/2 inch thick. Use more flour if the dough is still wet. Transfer the dough to the freezer until it is slightly hardened, about 20 minutes. Pull the dough out of the freezer. Using two concentric round cutters, cut out doughnut shapes. Place the cut doughnuts and doughnut holes onto the second sheet pan. Refrigerate the doughnuts for 20 to 30 minutes. (You may re-roll the scraps of dough, refrigerate them briefly and cut additional doughnuts from the dough.)

Add enough oil or shortening to a deep-sided pan to measure a depth of about 3 inches. Attach a candy thermometer to the side of the pan and heat over medium heat until the oil reaches 350°F*. Have ready a plate lined with several thicknesses of paper towels.

Carefully add a few doughnuts to the oil, being careful not to crowd the pan, and fry until golden brown, about 60 seconds. Turn the doughnuts over and fry until the other side is golden, 30 to 60 seconds. Drain on paper towels for a minute after the doughnuts are fried. After allowing excess oil to drain, place doughnuts into a plastic or paper bag in which you have placed cinnamon sugar. Shake gently, remove, eat.

TWD: Rosy Poached Pear and Pistachio Tart

It's my week to choose the recipe for Tuesdays with Dorie! I hope everyone who baked along with me this week liked the results as much as we did! I picked this recipe for the pretty picture and the chance to make poached pears. After I got started though, I realized this was a pretty detailed recipe, so double props to those who stuck out the whole tart even after all that thanksgiving desert. (I was pretty excited about pistachio pastry cream though!)

Here is the recipe, found on page 370 of Baking, From my home to yours, by Dorie Greenspan

Ingredients:

For the Pastry Cream:

2/3 c shelled pistachios

7 Tablespoons suga

1 1/3 cups whole milk

4 large egg yolks

3 Tablespoons cornstarch, sifted

3/4 teaspoon vanilla extract

1/4 teaspoon almond extract

2 tablespoons cold unsalted butter, cut into 4 pieces

1/4 cup sour cream, if you do not strain nuts from pastry cream

For the Poached Pears:

3 cups fruity red wine (shiraz, syrah, zinfandel)

zest of one orange, cut into long strips

zest on one lemon, cut into long strips

3/4 cup sugar

5 ripe but firm medium pears

small lemon wedge

For the Caramelized pistachios:

3 tablespoons sugar

2 tablespoons water

1/2 c shelled pistachios

For the Sauce (optional)

poaching syrup from pears

2 tablespoons honey

1 9 inch tart shell made with Sweet Tart Dough (or any pastry) fully baked

To Make the Pastry Cream:

Put the pistachios and 3 tablespoons of sugar in a food processor and process until the nuts are finely ground, about one minute. Turn the nuts into a medium heavy bottom saucepan, add the milk, and bring to a boil.

While the milk is heating, whisk together the remaining 4 tablespoons of sugar, the yolks and the cornstarch in a bowl. WHen well blended, whisk in the vanilla and almond extracts. Whisking constantly, drizzle in one quarter of the hot milk to temper, or warm the yolks so they don't cook. Add the remaining milk in a steady stream. Pour mixture back into the saucepan, put the pan on medium heat, and, whisking energetically, bring to a boil. Boil, whisking, for 1 minute, then remove the pan from the heat.

You can scrape the pastry cream int a clean bowl, in which case it won't be smooth, or if you want smooth cream, press the cream through a strainer, leaving the nuts behind; I usually leave the nuts in. Peice by Piee, stir the butter into the pastry cream.

Scrape the cream into a container, pres apiece of plastic wrap directly against the cream's surface, cover and refrigerate for at lest 4 hours, up to 4 days.

To Poach the Pears:

Put the wine, citrus zests and sugar into a large narrow pot, one that will hold the pears snugly, and bring to a boil.

Peel the pears and immediately rub them with lemon to keep them from darkening. Reduce the heat under the pot so that the wine simmers gently and lower the pears into the pot. Cut a circle of parchment or wax paper to fit inside the pot and press the paper against the tops of the pears, Partially cover the pot and simmer, turning the pears if needed so they are evenly colored by the poaching liquid, for about 30 minuted or until tender. test the pears by poking them with the point of a paring knife. Remove pan from the heat.

Transfer the pears to a heat proof bowl and pour over the poaching syrup; cool to room temperature. These can be covered and kept in the refrigerator of up to 3 days.

To Caramelize the Pistachios:

Place a piece of parchment or a silicone mat on the counter near your stove. Put the sugar and water in a small non stick skillet or saucepan over medium high heat and stir with a wooden spoon to dissolve the sugar. Bring to a boil and cook without stirring until the sugar has reached an amber colored caramel. Add the nuts and stir without p until the sugar becomes a dark caramel color and coats the nuts. Turn the nuts onto the parchment or baking mat and spread as best you can.

When the nuts are cool, chop them coarsely. Keep in a cool dry place till needed.

To Make the Optional Sauce

30 minuted before assembling the tart, remove pears from the poaching syrup. Put the syrup in a saucepan and bring to a boil. Add the hone and boil until the syrup is thick enough to coat a metal spoon. Pour into a container and chill until needed.

To Assemble the Tart

Cut the pears lengthwise in half, scoop out the cores and trim the stems and center veins as needed. Place pears cut side down on a triple thickness of paper towels. Cover with another triple thickness of paper towels and pat dry. Leave them between the paper towels until the excess liquid is absorbed, changing paper towels if needed. When the pears are dry, cut each pear lengthwise into 4 to 6 slices.

If you did not strain the nuts from the pastry cream, mix in 1/4 cup of sour cream to thin it a little. Spread the pastry cream in the baked tart shell (you may have some left over). Top the pastry cream with the pear slices, arranging in slightly overlapping concentric circles. Scatter the caramelized pistachios over the tart and serve with wine sauce, if desired. The tart can be covered and kept in the refrigerator for up to 4 hours.

Review: Brauhaus Schmitz

Why is it that Germans have this reputation of being cold, unfriendly, and warlike?

[Watches the History Channel for 5 minutes.]

Oh. Well, there's all that. But everyone I talk to who's been to Germany raves about the warmth and good spirit of the people they encounter. Some say Germans even actually like to have fun! To investigate, we went to Philly's own outpost of all things Teutonic, the semi-recently-opened Brauhaus Schmitz, on the occasion of our half-German friend's birthday.

Not having ever been to an authentic German beer hall, I can't speak to the space's authenticity, but it certainly rings true enough. Simple, noisy, lots of wood, waitresses wearing dirndls (think St. Pauli Girl's getup). And as a nice touch, a large rendering of the Reinheitsgebot, or beer purity law, hangs as a helpful reminder about what beer ought to be made of (barley, water, and hops – they weren't aware of yeast's existence back then in 1516).

Though a lot has changed in the almost 500 intervening years, the fact that "beer is good" has remained constant, and in this respect the Brauhaus does not disappoint. There are twenty selections on draught, most of them German (the house beer is Stoudt's Gold from right here in PA, which is at least German-style), and the menu provides very helpful descriptions to help you make your decision. What's more, there is an array of comical vessels out of which you may choose to drink your beer: the beer garden-style one-liter "giant glass mug"; the one-liter "boot", or the two-liter "giant boot". The boots are quite popular, so get there early if you want to make a fool of yourself, though be advised that according to our waitress, the two-liter boot is meant to be shared and passed around the table as a sort of drinking game. I went for a one-liter of the Warsteiner which proved adequate for the night's drinking needs.

Now, the food. The sense I get is that German beer-hall food is something that you need to deal with on its own terms. Don't expect a great deal of sophistication, subtlety, or culinary artistry. Do expect a giant slab of meat, which may or may not have been ground up and forced into a tube, served with a side of vegetables that have either been fried, pickled, made into some sort of dumpling, or all of the above.

In this context, the food at Brauhaus is quite good. Ingredients are fresh and preparations are well-executed. And portions certainly are ample, which justifies the hovering-around-$20 price for the entrees. This time out I had the cotoletta alla milanese Wiener Schnitzel, which of course is a veal cutlet, pounded flat, breaded and fried and served with a squeeze of lemon. The breading was nice and the cutlet was tasty, though I wish it had been pounded out a little more thoroughly and evenly, as there were some undercooked spots here and there. Lauren had the sauerbraten, the slow-cooked beef pot roast that's first marinated in vinegar. It was deliciously fall-aparty and flavorful from the marinade and sauce.

Our birthday friend ordered the star of the menu, in my opinion: the Schweinshaxe, which quite literally is the "swine hock" it would sound like it is. It's rotisserie-roasted until the meat is meltingly tender and the skin on the outside becomes gloriously crackly. And its size will present a challenge to even the most ardent pork-lover.

On a previous trip to the Brauhaus, I had tried a few of the sausages, which while tasty are not especially noteworthy. The Nürnberger Bratwurst is homemade, and the Bauernwurst is somewhat interesting as it is made of smoked beef and pork.

Not to be overlooked are the two sides that you get to choose to go along with your entree. The red cabbage is probably my favorite, sweet and tangy with vinegar and aromatic with spice. The Spätzle is quite good as well, as these little egg dumplings manage to be light even as they swim in melted butter. A taste of the sauerkraut was surprising in its smokey note and unlike anything you've ever put on a hot dog, and the fun-to-say Kartoffelpuffer (potato pancakes) were better than any of the pre-fab monstrosities I've had at delis around here.

Good food, good beer, good friends – some combination of those valuable things and the relaxed atmosphere at the Brauhaus leads to having fun. Maybe part of it is the simplicity and honesty of the food; somehow not having to worry about high-precision, high-concept cooking results in a laid-back meal. Whatever the case, Brauhaus Schmitz is worth a shot.

Foodbuzz Festival!

At the beginning of November, we attended the First Annual Food Blogger Festival in San Francisco, hosted by Foodbuzz.

Foodbuzz planned a great weekend for us and 248 of our fellow bloggers, starting with a cocktail party overlooking the city on Friday night. We were happy to sip cocktails and meet up with fellow Philly bloggers E from Foodaphilia and Jess from Fries With That Shake. Everyone headed over to the Ferry Building (which now houses an array of specialty food purveyors – think the Reading Terminal, on a slightly smaller scale) for a street food fair, featuring delicious, tiny Hog Island oysters, mini cupcakes from Mission Minis, and, best of all, fantastic, heavenly roast pork sandwiches from Roli Roti.

(Dissenting note on the pork sandwich from P: while the rotisserie pork was nicely cooked, and the crispy skin was excellent, the porky flavor was overwhelmed by the sweet onion marmalade and fussy micro-herb salad on the sandwich. It certainly didn't have that juicy, down and dirty feel of a South Philly-type roast pork sandwich, which I would take any day of the week.)

On Saturday mornings, the Ferry Building is surrounded by a huge and colorful farmers' market. Besides the fruits and veggies, there were all sorts of specialty vendors around, so L picked up some rose-flavored sugar while we waited for the morning session to begin.

Up on the second floor of the Ferry Building, overlooking the bustling stalls, Foodbuzz held a talk and tasting from Sue, one of the founders of Cowgirl Creamery. We learned a lot about the history of the cheesemakers as Sue walked us through a tasting of four cheeses, from a fresh and raw fromage blanc to an aged Asiago-like hard cheese that's under development. The "Inverness", a cylindrical soft cheese covered in a white rind, was our tasting favorite. We were told that the "Mount Tam" we tasted was meant to be in the style of a Saint Andre, but given the Tam's odd bouncy texture, for my money I'd opt for the creamy Saint Andre. Still, it was an interesting talk, and big props to the Cowgirls for helping to advance the cause of cheesemaking in the USA.

After the cheese talk, a short walk over to the Metreon took us to the Tasting Pavilion, which was set up more or less like a trade show. Purveyors of everything from wine to chocolate to popcorn to something called "Oregon Dukkah" were at their tables, handing out samples and bestowing us blog-smiths with piles of swag. The array of products represented was remarkable, even if a good number of them were the kinds of things you'd receive as a gift and stow away in your cupboard indefinitely.

Unfortunately, other plans got in the way, and that was the last event of the weekend we were able to attend. But thanks to Foodbuzz and everyone who participated for having us all out. It was a great chance to meet some new people, eat some new foods, and get lightly hammered on beer samples without paying a dime.

But you know, there is something overblown about all the local, sustainable, artisan, small-batch bombast of Bay Area food culture, where adjectives outnumber nouns on menus and store signs, and the last vestiges of the pioneering gold-rush spirit that founded the place have been lightly toasted and folded into a quinoa salad. Eating while respecting nature is doubtless a noble goal, but when purveyors beat you over the head with it, it comes off as little more than marketing hype, or worse yet, overcompensation for less-than-skillfully prepared products. I guess it's all a consequence of rediscovering traditional means of production through a twenty-first century lens. With the benefit of time, hopefully those that survive will attain the same state of effortless grace as those who have been doing it all along.

Review: Honey's Sit N' Eat

My aversion to brunch has been well documented, so I'm not going to go into another thought-provoking, erudite and entertaining rant here. But no review of Honey's Stand 'n Wait Honey's Sit 'n Eat would be complete without a mention of the fact that our party of four spent somewhere between 45 minutes and an hour (including a trip to Silk City to see if the wait was any shorter) waiting for a table in the chilly November morn. So it had better be damn good.

Damn good? Well, good-ish. Our hopes were high at the outset because sitting down at a table was a relief, and the coffee was good (but $2.50 a cup? Come on. Way too much for a place like this, and "bottomless" is not a nicety, it's a basic human right at a place like this, so touting the cup's bottomlessness on the menu doesn't impress me. Anyway...). The fried green tomatoes we ordered to start were very promising: breaded with cayenne-spiked cornmeal, crisply fried and not greasy, served with a homemade ranch sauce that worked nicely with the flavors and textures of the tomato.

But then our mains arrived and the table was flooded in a sea of meh. The pastrami portion of my pastrami and eggs was pretty good, and I did enjoy the green-pepper-laden home fries, but the over-easy eggs were limp and watery, and the rye toast was barely toasted at all. The egg portion of our friend's omelette was overcooked, and the contraption suffered from the too-many-wet-ingredients syndrome that spells disaster for any egg dish. The "latkes" were some kind of weird, triangular, gray-in-the-middle potato mess that was not all that enjoyable. Lauren's "enfrijoladas" was a pseudo-Mexican pile of stuff with some very rubbery scrambled eggs at the center.

Brother, it just ain't worth it. Not the time, not the money (it was something like $70 for the four of us to have breakfast). Not the bearded beady-eyed hipsters, not the guy that calls out when your table is ready who acts like he would rather be anywhere else in the world. If you can switch your senses off and pretend that the experience is going to be everything you wanted it to be, you can enjoy it. Otherwise it's hard to justify when you can stay home and make yourself a nice omelette for a fraction of the cost and about 2% of the time.

On the plus side: once seated, our service was very friendly and pretty attentive. Otherwise there is not much to recommend this place over your typical diner-style breakfast joint. For not a hell of a lot more money, go have brunch at Parc and get food prepared with much more care, in a less hectic atmosphere, and be in and out by the time you would have been seated at a place like this. Until places like this can deliver and the word brunch is no longer spelled with the letters H-Y-P-E in this town, I am abstaining.