Last night I decided to treat myself to a solo dinner. I grabbed the book I'm currently reading (Ruth Reichl's Comfort Me With Apples), stuffed it into my bag and walked the 20 minutes it takes to get to the Ace Hotel. My plans to sit at the bar at Clyde Common were sidetracked, however, when I got to Kenny and Zuke's. Located at SW 11th and Stark, on the opposite side of the Ace from Clyde Common, I've walked by Kenny and Zuke's many a time with the intention of visiting for lunch, and truth be told I read a recent review of the place in last week's Willamette Week. WWeek had mentioned K&Z's dinner as "Portland's best-kept secret," and being Sunday night at 8:30pm, the traffic was light. The sight of matzo ball soup on the menu pasted on the window was all it took for me to step in the front door from the chill outside.
The waiter walked me to a two-top, and I took the seat with my back to the door. I ordered a glass of tempranillo (I'm kicking myself for not writing down what it was because it was excellent), and after careful deliberation I picked the pot roast sandwich, subbed mashed potatoes for fries and added a bowl of chicken soup with matzo balls to start. While waiting for my soup, I pulled out my book and continued reading Ruth Reichl's account of her affair with... wait for it... Colman Andrews. As in Saveur Magazine's editor-in-chief Colman Andrews. It's a foodie's version of US Weekly, I'm telling ya.
The soup was homey and hearty, with savory bits of onion and veg swimming in the mostly-clear broth. The sandwich was served open-faced and slathered in a tomato-based gravy, with full cloves of garlic and chunks of stewed tomato swimming over a ridiculous stack of thick-sliced, perfectly fatty pot roast. All on house-baked rye bread, might I mention. Ugh. Is there such a thing as too much deliciousness?
I devoured what I could and asked for a to-go box for what remained of my massive plate of pot roast. I was in the mood for something sweet, so I got up to look at the baked goods in the display case. I chatted with the guy behind the counter, who told me "Everything is terrible" with a laugh. He casually pointed out the cheesecake in the fridge behind him, which immediately caught my attention. Cheesecake it was.
Now, I am and have always been somewhat lactose intolerant. By "somewhat" I mean I can usually have a cup of yogurt with no problem, and ice cream is hit-or-miss: sometimes my body rebels, sometimes it doesn't. If I were smart, I'd avoid all dairy, but what fun would that be? My plans last night were to eat half of the huge slice of cheesecake and save the rest for later.
Unfortunately no one warned me exactly how retardedly delicious Kenny and Zuke's cheesecake is, and I gobbled down the entire thing before I realized what I had done. The guy from behind the counter came over to check on me, and while I raved about the cheesecake, further chatting revealed that he was Michael Zusman, a food writer for the Oregonian and that many of the bread recipes at Kenny and Zuke's belong to him. I envy anyone whose paid job it is to write about food, and he kindly offered to take a look at ye humble blog (Hi Michael!).
A little tipsy from the wine, I gathered my things and left, but not before my super-friendly waiter had invited me out with him and the rest of the K&Z's staff to go to Touche for a service industry party. I told him I'd think about it and headed back to my apartment...
Which, upon entering, my lactose-intolerant intestinal tract threw a fit and I spent the next 45 minutes between the bathroom and huddled under the covers in my bed suffering cold sweats. Blasted cheesecake! No Touche for me. Sorry waiter!
The saddest part of this all is I'll never learn: I'm definitely making my way back to Kenny and Zuke's for the cheesecake (and the rest of the menu). Yessir, I am definitely willing to suffer for cheesecake that good.
(Sorry no photos--left the camera at home. Next time!)
Monday, February 11, 2008
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Waiting and moving forward
I've just spent way too many hours reading the archives of my new favorite blog, Waiter Rant. The author is a perfectly snarky veteran New York City waiter, in the process of finishing his first book based entirely on his waiting experiences. I have to say his writing hits really close to home for me, and for the past few hours I've been swimming in uncomfortable memories from my table-waiting and hostessing days. It's been quite some time since I though about my very first day waiting tables for the all-you-can-eat Sunday brunch fatties at my aunt's old restaurant in Gastonia, NC, right after which I called my mom and cried for half an hour.
Yet I just can't stop reading. It's masochism, really. I've always maintained that every single person should try their hand at a customer service job, only if for just a day. It'll change your whole view on consumerism, manners and the public in general.
Speaking of which, I've been thinking about getting a part-time job hostessing or waiting tables again, as (big news!) I've secured my place in the spring entry date for the Culinary Arts Diploma at Oregon Culinary Institute. I'm really, ridiculously excited about it because I've been toying with the idea for much too long and I figure that three years from now, I'd be thinking 'Why didn't I go three years ago when it was perfect timing and I had the chance?' There are benefits to having no mortgage, pets, significant other or car payment after all. And besides, despite the drippy weather and overcast skies I'm kind of in love with Portland at the moment. It's nice.
A glass of Oregon's own Adelsheim Rose at the delicious Clyde Common
Yet I just can't stop reading. It's masochism, really. I've always maintained that every single person should try their hand at a customer service job, only if for just a day. It'll change your whole view on consumerism, manners and the public in general.
Speaking of which, I've been thinking about getting a part-time job hostessing or waiting tables again, as (big news!) I've secured my place in the spring entry date for the Culinary Arts Diploma at Oregon Culinary Institute. I'm really, ridiculously excited about it because I've been toying with the idea for much too long and I figure that three years from now, I'd be thinking 'Why didn't I go three years ago when it was perfect timing and I had the chance?' There are benefits to having no mortgage, pets, significant other or car payment after all. And besides, despite the drippy weather and overcast skies I'm kind of in love with Portland at the moment. It's nice.
A glass of Oregon's own Adelsheim Rose at the delicious Clyde Common
Friday, December 14, 2007
Portland relocation nation
Last week I hauled three large bags and shipped eight boxes via UPS to my new pad in Portland, Oregon. Here I am, in a lovely apartment downtown, feeling "metropolitan" for the first time in what feels like years. It's briskly cold and gray outside, but I'm kind of in love with the city again.
This is my third (!!) beginning in Portland, the last two being in early 2002 and summer 2003 respectively. Saying that still sounds shocking. What will I do differently this time around?
Well, for starters, I've already made it a point to try to get out as much as possible. I'm determined that the winter isn't going to slow me down, and even though I'm having difficulty convincing some of my friends to come out of hibernation, I'm making an effort to be comfortable with going to movies, shows and meals on my own, not to mention living by myself. There's something to said for being able to enjoy something solo.
I live in an area of Portland that is easily accessible to most anything in Portland proper. My building is straddled by the eastbound and westbound MAX trains, and I can't say enough about the bus system. Many Portland residents would agree that not having to rely on a car is one of the best things about this city, and I must say it does feel truly freeing.
With this freedom to roam comes what feels like an obligation to explore. I'm well overdue for a new Hungry Cupboard-related discussion, and the harriedness of moving and unpacking and shopping for the household basics is leaving me a little drained these days. But I've already ventured to some of the nearby eateries, and I'm just going to call it now: My neighborhood is pretty much awesome.
Right before I got to Portland, I spend a week and a half in sunny Los Angeles. Part of any trip to LA for me involves partaking in many a libation and eating like a monster, and this one was no different. My easy access to excellent pho, banh mi, ramen and tacos in LA has left me simply craving these foods in Portland. It's going to take a few more bus trips to find the goods to satisfy these cravings, but a little hunting around Citysearch, Yelp and Portland food blogs has resulted in a handy (and growing) list of places to try out. Pho Hung, Binh Minh, Pho Oregon and a slew of food carts downtown top the list right now.
My only honest worry and serious doubt is finding a Portland ramen shop worthy of remembrance. I'll venture to Beaverton or Gresham if I have to, but the ramen pickings seem slim... any suggestions appreciated.
The hunt begins!
Monday, November 05, 2007
More than one way to skin a squash
I've always been one to follow instructions. I was a teacher's pet in grade school, and the one time I got caught in the 5th grade for bathroom graffiti, I felt absolutely awful and cried for hours. Naturally, this tendency to stick to the rules extended to a lot of my daily practices, cooking included.
I'm a HUGE fan of cookbooks, and read them the way that pruny beach ladies devour romance novels. It has taken years of practice to veer from recipes and tweak them to my tastes. I found myself improvising more while living in LA, when I didn't feel like trekking through traffic to the grocery store and/or money was tight. I made do with onions vs. leeks, chicken vs. cornish hen, packaged vs. fresh, depending on the recipe of course.
But any good kitchen girl (or boy) improvises every now and then, especially if we're feeling particularly frisky.
Early in my surgery recovery mode last year, I couldn't do much but read books with pictures and big font. A family friend lent me the brilliant Julia and Jacques: Cooking at Home. The legendary Julia Child and Jacques Pepin collaborated on collecting a variety of classic French dishes and techniques, and variations on those techniques. The book is set up to read like three books: the left side of each page is Julia's opinion, the right side is Jacques', and in the center are the recipes themselves. They each have their own "best" ways of doing things, and take light-hearted jabs at each other's techniques. It was interesting to realize that even these two culinary powerhouses don't agree on a lot of things. There really is no single right or wrong way to roast a chicken or season mashed potatoes or bake a gateau or construct a tart.
Julia and Jacques ultimately recognize that even they aren't the be-all, end-all authorities on a genre of cooking that they'd seemingly mastered. Talk about eye-opening. I have to remind myself constantly that, like anything, cooking is ultimately subjective. People do things or like things because it's what they know, it's what they've done for years, it's how they grew up, it's just their taste. I think Olive Garden is putrid, but it's a favorite restaurant for so many others. I avoid margarine like the plague, but it's all that some people know.
I find that keeping subjectivity in mind is really freeing; it's like giving myself permission to play. Something as simple as a butternut squash soup becomes a playground for color and palate. The coriander and nutmeg gave it a gentle kick, but I was looking for something to complete it. When I opened the cupboard to start sniffing around, a bottle of white truffle oil that my mom brought back from Seattle was staring back at me. Just a drizzle of the oil, and it was the kind of soup that made me wanna say, "got-damn!" It's the perfect savory winter treat and travels well, Thermos-style.
To accompany this, I made a sandwich of roasted pork tenderloin, Jarlsberg, mixed greens, sliced pear and tomatoes from the garden on sourdough; and roasted okra (a brilliant recipe from the Gourmet Cookbook). It was a good day. It's November and the tomato plant is still growing like crazy. It's been a weird year for produce, and I think we have global warming to thank for that.
A note: Pureed soups are an excellent arena in which to experiment; this is the perfect example of "fool-proof", as it's ultimately a mix of whatever you think tastes great in whatever consistency you find appealing. It's all about you.
Here's my take:
Butternut Squash Soup with White Truffle Oil
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 tablespoon butter
2 medium onions, chopped
3 carrots, peeled and chopped
1 leek, sliced (white part only)
1 butternut squash, peeled and cut into small chunks
3-4 cups chicken broth (or water), more if needed
1 teaspoon coriander
salt & white pepper to taste
a few gratings of nutmeg
fresh parsley
1-2 teaspoons of white truffle oil to taste
Heat olive oil and butter in a big pot over medium-low heat. Add onions, carrots and leek and cook until onions are soft and golden brown, about 8-10 minutes. Stir in butternut squash and coriander, cooking for another minute or two. Pour in chicken broth or water, enough to cover the squash. Bring to a boil, cover the pot, turn the heat to low and simmer until the squash and carrots are nice and tender, about 20 minutes.
Take the pot off the heat and puree the soup, either in batches in a conventional blender, or (carefully) with a hand blender. It would be wise to wear an apron at this point so as not to get soup on your brand new T-shirt. Add more liquid if you think the soup is too thick.
Season with salt and white pepper, grate in a bit of fresh nutmeg and stir. Add truffle oil by the quarter-teaspoon to taste, stirring and tasting after each addition. Good truffle oil is extremely concentrated and it takes very little to flavor the entire pot. Serve each bowl with a generous pinch of chopped parsley.
Another note: If you don't have truffle oil handy, I imagine that one could add a handful of crimini mushrooms to the veggie saute. Alternately, the more savory and pungent shiitake might be worth a whirl.
I'm a HUGE fan of cookbooks, and read them the way that pruny beach ladies devour romance novels. It has taken years of practice to veer from recipes and tweak them to my tastes. I found myself improvising more while living in LA, when I didn't feel like trekking through traffic to the grocery store and/or money was tight. I made do with onions vs. leeks, chicken vs. cornish hen, packaged vs. fresh, depending on the recipe of course.
But any good kitchen girl (or boy) improvises every now and then, especially if we're feeling particularly frisky.
Early in my surgery recovery mode last year, I couldn't do much but read books with pictures and big font. A family friend lent me the brilliant Julia and Jacques: Cooking at Home. The legendary Julia Child and Jacques Pepin collaborated on collecting a variety of classic French dishes and techniques, and variations on those techniques. The book is set up to read like three books: the left side of each page is Julia's opinion, the right side is Jacques', and in the center are the recipes themselves. They each have their own "best" ways of doing things, and take light-hearted jabs at each other's techniques. It was interesting to realize that even these two culinary powerhouses don't agree on a lot of things. There really is no single right or wrong way to roast a chicken or season mashed potatoes or bake a gateau or construct a tart.
Julia and Jacques ultimately recognize that even they aren't the be-all, end-all authorities on a genre of cooking that they'd seemingly mastered. Talk about eye-opening. I have to remind myself constantly that, like anything, cooking is ultimately subjective. People do things or like things because it's what they know, it's what they've done for years, it's how they grew up, it's just their taste. I think Olive Garden is putrid, but it's a favorite restaurant for so many others. I avoid margarine like the plague, but it's all that some people know.
I find that keeping subjectivity in mind is really freeing; it's like giving myself permission to play. Something as simple as a butternut squash soup becomes a playground for color and palate. The coriander and nutmeg gave it a gentle kick, but I was looking for something to complete it. When I opened the cupboard to start sniffing around, a bottle of white truffle oil that my mom brought back from Seattle was staring back at me. Just a drizzle of the oil, and it was the kind of soup that made me wanna say, "got-damn!" It's the perfect savory winter treat and travels well, Thermos-style.
To accompany this, I made a sandwich of roasted pork tenderloin, Jarlsberg, mixed greens, sliced pear and tomatoes from the garden on sourdough; and roasted okra (a brilliant recipe from the Gourmet Cookbook). It was a good day. It's November and the tomato plant is still growing like crazy. It's been a weird year for produce, and I think we have global warming to thank for that.
A note: Pureed soups are an excellent arena in which to experiment; this is the perfect example of "fool-proof", as it's ultimately a mix of whatever you think tastes great in whatever consistency you find appealing. It's all about you.
Here's my take:
Butternut Squash Soup with White Truffle Oil
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 tablespoon butter
2 medium onions, chopped
3 carrots, peeled and chopped
1 leek, sliced (white part only)
1 butternut squash, peeled and cut into small chunks
3-4 cups chicken broth (or water), more if needed
1 teaspoon coriander
salt & white pepper to taste
a few gratings of nutmeg
fresh parsley
1-2 teaspoons of white truffle oil to taste
Heat olive oil and butter in a big pot over medium-low heat. Add onions, carrots and leek and cook until onions are soft and golden brown, about 8-10 minutes. Stir in butternut squash and coriander, cooking for another minute or two. Pour in chicken broth or water, enough to cover the squash. Bring to a boil, cover the pot, turn the heat to low and simmer until the squash and carrots are nice and tender, about 20 minutes.
Take the pot off the heat and puree the soup, either in batches in a conventional blender, or (carefully) with a hand blender. It would be wise to wear an apron at this point so as not to get soup on your brand new T-shirt. Add more liquid if you think the soup is too thick.
Season with salt and white pepper, grate in a bit of fresh nutmeg and stir. Add truffle oil by the quarter-teaspoon to taste, stirring and tasting after each addition. Good truffle oil is extremely concentrated and it takes very little to flavor the entire pot. Serve each bowl with a generous pinch of chopped parsley.
Another note: If you don't have truffle oil handy, I imagine that one could add a handful of crimini mushrooms to the veggie saute. Alternately, the more savory and pungent shiitake might be worth a whirl.
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