For all you Muffaletta Freaks—

At the Ferry Building my heart jumped a bit when I saw the big red sign for Boccalone—Chef Chris Cosentino's foray into the Salumeria arts. But, my heart actually started racing when I read the word "MUFFALETTA" under the words "HOT PANINO." (So much for my three mile run and healthy lunch!) The last muffalettas to enter my system had been in New Orleans this past April (served warm and cold), so I had high expectations. I get mad muffaletta cravings, too. I even lodged a grievance at Bi-Rite when they took their cold muffaletta off the deli menu.

For a hot, pressed version, Boccalone's done good. And, I'm kindof a freak about Italian meats. (having spent formative years in an Italian 'hood in Long Island). Boccalone's muffaletta meat was sliced pretty thin, almost shaved, and the three or four minutes under the hot press really brought out the flavour...and the tenderness. The mortadella (with bright green pistachios) was my favorite. Melt in your mouth. And, the Boccalone salame while not my favorite local salami cold was delectable warmed. Oiliness was a slight issue, but the bread wasn't soggy or unpleasant. Not sure what kind of cheese they put in there and another tablespoon of house-made (from house-cured) olive spread (or more piquant spread? what else is in the mix?) would 've given it that Deep South kick. Overall, Boccalone's warm, cured meat is the star. I will return...

I've written a "Ferry Plaza Frugal" list on Yelp.com, but at $8 a pop for a 6-7 inch sub (they don't use a round loaf—wtf?—Neither did Bi-rite or Cafe Amelie) this doesn't make the cut.

Perhaps, I should make another list... Ferry Plaza Treats... or FP Good Eats... or just plain Eat-here-even-if-high-food-costs-suck... Alas, we pay the price for our passions...

Should we make our own muffalettas? A generous slick of aged olive spread spiked with vinegary red peppers, melt in your mouth meats cut thin and piled tall and a few earthy slices of provolone inside a semi-soft, slightly sweet large round muffaletta loaf.

Do you have a muffaletta story? Tell me.

Eat well~

Spice-E

Eat. Drink. Vegas.

Fall leaves at the Bellagio...bellissimo!

You don't have to hit it big to eat well in Vegas. With increased fare-friendly access to short-stay travelers, and a cozy desert climate on a city filled with hotel deals, Las Vegas has become an bullseye for the food-centric. Skip the obvious hotspots for now like Sensi, Michael Mina or the high-end Bellagio buffet. In fact, you can even eat on the (relative) cheap. Here are my Top 5 discoveries and ticked-off Vegas Must-Try's... all of them right on the Strip:

5. Nathan's in the Luxor Food Court: Newsflash! New Yorker's you can go home again—in Sin City. Chili dog, limp crinkle fries and an assortment of watered-down sodas in monster sizes. Since the bloated-latter-day-Elvis-look is expected for a weekend of high-rollin', make this your first stop. It's a great warm-up if you plan to drop bigger bucks on a more special meal!

4. Nothing puts the polish on post-modern Vegas like celebrity chefdom. Bobby Flay wins more of my respect at his Mesa Grill brunch. Spicy scrambled eggs seem cliché until you taste: Golden, velvet folds laced with butter and crisp jalepeños. Served with black pepper biscuits and a side of chewy, salty parmesan grits (blessed with big, bad Bobby Love, we spied him at a back table watching the game!). The superfly touch was the white peach margarita. WORD. Definitely try this at home. Try several.

3. Despite my own recent frozen treat-making frenzies, the multitude of gelaterias in the malls, food strips and hotels makes it impossible not to try at least one—even if it is $5 a cup. Lemon and watermelon sorbetti at Cafe Gelato in the Bellagio was a much needed late night snack after a solitary stroll up and down this uber-renowned strip!

2. When adult Disneyfication got me down, I transported myself at Mon Ami Gabi with rude waiters, rare steak, light, crispy frites and crusty warm baguette. This is the way to eat entrecote saignant, snails and sinful frisee and bacon salade.The refreshing 'Frangria' a French wine inspired was a nice girly-booze touch. I wish I'd room for the Apple Tarte Tatin and Bananas Foster Crepe. Or, went back in the a.m. for the waffles and...oui, oui... blueberry French toast!

1. Jean Philippe Patisserie ("the JPP"). Extravagant yet incredibly simple. I had to go twice. Pushing through the hordes checking-in for an off-peak week at Bellagio, the JPP is tucked in the Spa Tower just beyond the botanical garden (under renovation as of this writing). It's the patisserie for anyone who's ever obsessed over quality ingredients. Check out the rice crispy tree and lush chocolate fountain; sandwiches, salads and pastries vie for attention like works of modern art. The standouts for me were Banana toffee crunch gelato and King crab salad served with fresh mango, papaya and a lemon vinaigrette! They even sell their own peanut butter, honey and jams! With its opulent glass flora and the Clooney-Pitt connection, Bellagio is prime Vegas. And, now, there's another reason to go. Pictures don't even do it justice, the Jean Philippe Patisserie needs to be experienced. If I never go again, at least I've gone.

Old Vegas Lives. But, don't eat there.
(please click pic to enlarge)

Foodies Protest the end of Summer...

... with Ice Cream!

When you're born in summer (like me!), ice cream and frozen treats are in your Top 5. In fact in my family, it's not a birthday cake unless it's ice cream cake. (Mine had a crab piped on it.) Sooo, recently…

I've become obsessed. And, reading David Lebovitz’ The Perfect Scoop isn't helping. Lebovitz is an enabler. And, my sister is the pusher…

It all started with the gift of ice cream machine. In July, an innocent little package arrived from my sister for my birthday. It sat in the box for over a month until I bought David’s book, and I started off making some gelato…

NOW, I go out of my way to buy organic heavy cream and obsess over cacao content. I arrange my schedule to account for canister freezing and custard chilling times. I catch myself at work wondering things like, How do you really clean a fine mesh sieve? (Seriously, does anyone know?)

But, after early forays into gianduja gelato, blueberry and vanilla frozen yogurts and Vietnamese coffee ice cream, I still wasn’t completely satisfied. Despite all the straining, stirring and sweating, there was something missing. To feel like an ice-cream-making success, I needed to reach a point where obsession became taste revelation…French-style Chocolate Ice Cream is it. For Lebovitz’ recipe, I turned to my all-time favorite California chocolatiers: Scharffen Berger semisweet 60% & bittersweet 72% and Guittard dutch-process cocoa. (My kind of summer triple-play.) The results were surprising yet when you think about it obvious. Creamy, custardy, soft yet dense, California-style intense chocolate flavor... fruity acidity and that dark choco bite...trademark Scharffen Berger. (Made lickable!) Devour with waffle cookies.

Here's some Frozen Fun Trivia...Straight from Spicy's Archives:

The first time I had gelato? Circa 1991 in NY's West Village at Rocco's—Italian pistachio with a lacey millefiori cookie. Favorite Italian ice flavor? Rainbow. (Old school. There's one called Blue Hawaii that’s captured my niece's generation.) Best Sorbet I've ever had? Pear-Chardonnay at Gelato Classico in SF's North Beach. Most unusual ice cream I've ever tasted? Bubblegum. I think it’s disgusting. Most unusual ice cream I've ever heard of? American Cheese! (A highlight from kuya’s trip to the PI.) What kind of ice cream I'm making tomorrow? Guinness Milk Chocolate.

Have you been making ice cream, too? (Or, sorbet? Or, a dish of slushy granita?) Let's share some favorite recipes...Please leave a comment for the Spicy Browngirl...

(Look! We're holding ice cream cones!)
(actually, i think we're eating frozen bananas)

other photos (from top down):
Triple-Cali-Chocolate Ice Cream, Spicy's 9th Birthday Cake from Carvel,
Vanilla frozen yogurt made with Straus Yogurt and served with Frog Hollow Farm Peaches,
Rocco's on Bleecker, NYC

Sawsawan!

If everyone had the same taste...

...there would only be one flavor.

Sometimes, I get homesick for loud brownfolk. Homesick for a world where aunties arrive, competing for loudest entrance to a room. A world where the dining room seems to tilt as one more pot of pancit noodles or another platter of plantain fritters is added to the table.

(we get excited about karaoke; we are, afterall, ASIAN)

When I can't fly back home to my NY, I head straight down to SoCal where my "California" cousins have been calling San Diego home for over 30 years. Of course, when we get together, there is plenty of eating going on. Witness the edible carnage at a lazy Sunday afternoon bbq in Temecula...

(we get excited about meat marbling, too)

But, for the brown and down, meat—beef, fish or pig!—is not officially eaten in Filipino homes until a bowl of sawsawan is prepared. Loaded with salt, tang and kick, the sawsawan is essentially a condiment. Yet, so much more. Think of it as a dipping sauce that makes use of all those tiny bowls that come with a full dinnerware set. And, you thought those were for ice cream! Well, think again.

(this was an enormous bowl of sawsawan made by my cousin's husband who does the equivalent of "keeping kosher" by "preserving pinoy." Romel's sawsawan is composed of chopped fresh tomato, white onion, jalapeños—seeds included, pickled peppers, probably a couple whole garlic cloves, lemon juice, vinegar and soy sauce.)

Sawsawan, usually a "sour accompaniment," is delicious with any grilled, broiled, baked or fried meat. It can be as simple as a bowl of patis. Or, a side of soy sauce, calamansi juice and a few dry red chilies. How 'bout a small dish of bagoong with chopped green mangoes?

With warm, steamed white rice and a meat of choice, sawsawan makes a meal more personal. Perhaps, you're partaking in a host family's favorite sawsawan. Maybe, your little dipping bowl transports a solitary meal to a place called Home. If you want to get REAL, eat with your hands*: Squish together mounds of meat and rice, dip and enjoy. A friend once wrote that her perfect lover would relish the scent of patis on her fingers and seek out her vinegar kiss.

Sawsawan. Flavor. Try it.

(it's guaranteed to empty your rice pot!)

*Kamayan: "Eat with your hands"

More Strawberries (Happy Bastille Day!).

Today at work I had a fried chicken craving. I announced it to the first person I saw in the hallway, but he couldn't help me. Then, I told Julie. And, she was glad to bend my ear:

"Bakesale Betty's," she said. "They have chicken sandwiches, and they only have one kind. But, it's really, really good. Don't tell anyone you're going. You'll be buying sandwiches for the whole office!"

She went on to passionately described the coleslaw-stuffed, fried chicken on a roll concoction at Betty's.

This is what I lovelovelove about the Bay Area. It's what brought me here. Eighty percent of the nations produce grown an hour away, and nearly everyone's everyday passion for food. I used to think that I tended to gravitate toward "foodies" or whatever people who stock four different kinds of paprika like to call themselves, but after ten plus years in the Bay, I know I can't get through even the simplest meal—pizza, a bagel, a packet of oatmeal even—without hearing some kind of strong opinion about food.

Transplant or local, like a rite of passage, nearly everyone in the Bay has had an artichoke, knows what aioli is (and how to make it!) and can tell you the difference between wild and farm-raised. Food crazy is in the air, the water, the food. The whole, organic food. Whether you happened upon your food passion as a waiter or a food snob or both, we love our food. Especially, OUR food. Bay Area food. Which brings me back to Bakesale Betty's...

The drive from Emeryville was a little under ten minutes (with the speed bumps). As I pulled up to 50th and Telegraph, I could already see the line about twenty deep at the door. Magically, a parking spot opened. Then, I fell in line noting the lunch crowd hunched over bare ironing boards serving as cafe tables.

(all pictures courtesy of my fellow yelpers)

Almost immediately, someone filed behind me, assessed the waiting line and muttered with conviction.

"It's so worth it," he said to himself. "So worth it."

"Yeah, there's a wait," I said stating the obvious.

"Have you ever been here before?" he asked.

"No. This is my first time."

"Really? Wow."

He thought I was a tourist.

"Where are you from?"

I explained the fried chicken craving. It's so worth it, he said again. And, he went on to passionately describe his morning ritual of Betty's pear-ginger scone, coffee and a fried chicken sandwich—he saves it for a few hours until lunchtime—that he eats at work in Martinez.

"You drove here from Martinez?" I asked.

He said yes. Then, he said, Is that far? But, he didn't seem to mind. Especially, if it meant he could get Betty's fried chicken sandwich in his stomach. Passion. For food.

The line moved fairly quickly, and before I knew it I was wide-eyed inside the shop. A mound of ginger cookies and a whole pie brimming with berries welcomed me like a grand dames on silver stands. The air buzzed with the yammering, hustling staff—about a dozen people including Betty clad in her signature blue wig!—assembling and stuffing pastry boxes and filling and calling out orders. The air was just slightly sugary.

I ordered two chicken sandwiches, a ginger cookie and a strawberry shortcake (yet another craving I've had since strawberry season went into full swing). The single-file line pressed through the door with ravenous eyes.

Just beyond the glass partition where the staff made sandwiches, it was a tremendous scene. Not one but two (3 gallon cap.) metal bowls stacked with freshly fried chicken breasts, a third bowl heaped with an even fresher cabbage slaw flecked with vibrant pickled red onions and hands, very fast hands, inserting chicken and slaw, chicken and slaw into a delicate yet substantial torpedo roll.

(the chicken sandwich is $7.75; they also have chicken pot pie and sometimes egg salad sandwiches, I hear)

The price for such a great lunch spot tip was getting a fried chicken sandwich for Julie, too. But it was a pleasure in itself to watch her eat the damn thing in about fifty-five seconds.

"You saved my life," she said. "This is the only thing I eat fast. Uh, well, this and In-n-Out."

The chicken was incredibly moist, and the slaw was laced with sweet (champagne?) vinegar dressing instead of traditional mayo. Bakesale Betty's quenched the fried chicken fiend in me, for sure. Or, for now. I even got to try a delicious "bakesale" good—the strawberry shortcake.

Betty's famous shortcake mounds, layered in sugared strawberries and a heap of dense, whipped cream sure was tasty. But, I wouldn't say it surpassed my friend Anne's strawberry shortcake— Anne employs the big guns: thick strawberry puree, irish-secret-recipe shortcakes the size of your head, creamy light dollops—

But, I wouldn't want to get into every little detail from cream to crumb though. I wouldn't want you to think I was a food-obsessed, crazy, FTW, all-passionate Bay Area foodie.

It gets cold here (in May!). Then, we roast things.

But. first, another quick trip to NOLA*...

Southern Strawberries Juleps!

- crushed ice
- strawberry pureé
- Southern Bourbon, like Knob Creek
- simply syrup
- mint
-water

Juleps are deceptively simple: Muddle mint (but not too much), a few strawberry slices and tsp sugar, 2 tsp still water. Add a handful of crushed ice, strawberry pureé, simple syrup and bourbon, to taste. Cut with still water as needed. Garnish with mint and fresh strawberry slices. A smooth, sweet taste of sun-drenched Southern goodness. Positively enjoyable!

IT GETS COLD HERE. THEN, WE ROAST THINGS:
More comfort food from the chilly city by the Bay

... with Ella Bella Farm Provence Sea Salt.

The micro-climate known as the San Francisco Bay Area has many surprises like eighty-five-degree beach weekends in April while March's lions still extend their paws into Spring. Long-lines at ice cream shops in February. Cashmere, denim and Uggs in May!

When the sun disappears and the skies threaten rain, I roast chicken legs in my heavy iron skillet. Aromatics and herbs that hint at summer and spring and a simple gravy (roasted root veggies, light stock hit with an immersion blender) to warm the bones. Pan-roasting chicken is all about the sear. Start off with fresh, free-range birds and make sure to give it some good brown color before it goes into the oven.


For a more hand-held affair, smoke up the house with an indoor grill. Beef-n-Brie sliders on toasted Ciabatta bread unites local grains & artisan bakers, humanely-handled beef and French brie.

(You can even add caramelized shallot!)

NO FRIES NEEDED!

So, what else do you do when the weather runs cold in the Bay Area?
Turn on the heat and cuddle up to that stack of magazines by the bed. Open up the "off-limits" bottle of Cabernet Franc, and shop for cookbooks online. You can even don your favorite pashmina and walk off (up steps, stairs and hills of SF) all that gooey brie.

Still hungry? How about another not-so-heart-healthy cold-weather snack?

Roasted Asparagus and Crimini Mushroom Dressing
with Toasted Double-Cream Gouda on Levain Bread

(Look delish? Send me a comment and I'll tell all: technique & recipe!)

*Check out my previous posts and pics from New Orleans.

Always,

Cooking with E Luv.

"Do you know what it means to Miss New Orleans?"*

Here I am again. Decatur Street.
Always my first stop in the Quarter.
Licking my white-sugar-coated-cafe-au-lait lips.
Inhaling the Mississippi at night.
It begins.

Eight years have passed since my last trip to New Orleans. My Uncle Sidney's not up in the loft at his store. That same trumpeter doesn't stand on the corner of the Square anymore.*

I can't help but wonder who's left and who's stayed (despite all the documentaries about it!). All I want is to throw money around because I can't help build houses. And, stay...

I'm eating my beignet. But, I still miss New Orleans.


*(with a nod to Jazz great Louis Armstrong.)

*(Uncle Sidney has been displaced to a condo in Gainesville; I still miss that trumpet.)