feeling like...

I reveal oddly personal things on my blog (like my quest for the perfect toilet), but am quiet about many others, one of those being my job. I work in an industry that's desperate, hungry and hurting, and, sadly, it'll eat anything for breakfast.

For the last eight and a half years I have been working as an editor at The New York Times, in the News Service department, where stories are edited for different editions all over the world. It’s a job I love in a field that I am passionate about. It’s a job that took me through 9/11, a plagiarism scandal, a blackout, an all red-and-glass office building and a trip to Greece. It’s a job that has me surrounded by wonderful colleagues, hilarious conversation, delicious potlucks, humorous translation and creative freedom. It’s a job brimming with words, newsprint and vision, all three of which people seem to want only in digital form now.

Yet, we chugged along in an industry that was falling apart. We lost people along the way through cut after cut, but we clung on as hard as we could. It became the little engine that could, until, well, it couldn’t anymore.

And that day was on Thursday. A staff meeting was called, we met with our masthead editor and learned that our entire department was getting outsourced to Gainesville, Florida, for cheap (as in half the price), nonunion labor. In a tough industry in a tough economy, it was a really tough way to go. As cliché as it is, it was a blow to everything I had believed in about standards, quality and having a good editor. It just seemed like the biggest slippery slope, and I know there are more to come. Good thing I don't care too much for skiing.

So, sometime between February and May, we’re all getting phased out. I’ve become a phase! One head in headcount, a cross-out on somebody’s list, a casualty in what many of us had said felt like an endless game of “Survivor.” And as I told one of my co-workers…well, I can’t believe we were finally voted off the island.

Here's to the next one.

the hunt

I've always wanted to have a neighborhood spot. A place to frequent, an obvious choice when tired of making choices, and a place you know will always be good. I guess you can't really just go around proclaiming a place to be your neighborhood spot; it sort of just has to happen. Of course we already had our regular spots, standbys for a burger, a quick bite, a relaxed brunch, etc. But when I moved, needless to say just a few blocks, it was still a new neighborhood and a new spot was needed.


I'd walk around, pointing out different restaurants to Matt and say, "Is that our new neighborhood spot?" We'd walk by another. "Or maybe THIS is our new spot!" Or "How about this one?" "Sure, whatever you want," was usually the exhausted reply.

I even made up that one particular restaurant WAS our neighborhood spot, even though we never set foot in the place. Every time we would walk by, I'd point and say, "Oh, look...it's our neighborhood restaurant!" as if it were a little pet. And then one day it...closed. And I was sad...sad for something that existed, um, only in my head. "Oh, look, our neighborhood spot..closed," I said. "Yes, yes it did," was the exhausted reply.

But then I realized that we already had a new one. A place we'd end up at after asking the inevitable: "Uff, where should we go?" Let's just go to Cafe Condesa.


My favorite dish here, hands down: striped bass Veracruz, slow cooked in tomato, poblano pepper and capers with rice. Scrumptious, saucy, spicy.


Pan-seared sea scallops with roasted cauliflower, poblano pepper sauce and brussels sprouts.


Warm brie cheese with pine nuts, honey and toasted baguette.


I love the fact that there will always be an enchilada available for when the fancy strikes, and it strikes early and often. Enchiladas De Pollo: roasted pulled chicken, salsa verde and melted pepper jack cheese with rice and beans.


A special one evening: Albondigas, or Mexican meatballs, served over rice.

subterranean

The other night, we dined in a moody and supper clubby antiquarian-librarian-Victorian-British-hunting lodge-country-estate sceney kind of restaurant, an underground warren of different dining rooms. You know those, right? Obviously it's not about the food here. It was dark. As was the food. Dark, rich, heavy and old. And that's how I felt, because I could barely see, it was so dark in there. I fumbled and stumbled around a giant potted plant, squinted and lifted the menu to my face, complained about the heater that was blasting on my back, and said, "I think I'm eating peas, but I don't know!" at one point.

We were at Hotel Griffou. And we started with the duck confit poutine. I love poutine. I love fries, I love cheese curds, I love gravy. I could eat poutine all day. And this one was saucy and pretty addictive, but that goes without saying when fries are involved.


The menu was so old school and old money, with duck a l'orange, sole meuniere, steak Diane, stuffed lobster tails, etc. Sadly, we weren't closing any deals, or these might have seemed appropriate. Rohini and Lauren both ordered the simply grilled chicken. Hmm.


All I can say is thank the starch gods for this side of whipped roasted garlic potatoes, for they were truly a blessing of buttery garlicky goodness.


I had Marie Griffou's sauteed pork cutlets, from her 1892 recipe. Marie Griffou apparently ran a boarding house at this location, and this is her recipe. See? Old school. It was topped with a dark mushroom sauce and peas. But I could barely see them. "I think there's something green on my plate!" I exclaimed. It seemed like this dish could've been good, or probably was on certain nights, but tonight it was overcooked and salty. And that's how I felt. More wine, please.

pizza posture

Hot pizza, cold pizza; thick pizza, thin pizza; soft pizza, crispy pizza; round pizza...long pizza?

Why, look at you. I don't think I've ever had long pizza, and I do believe I will take you.

Matt and I were at L'asso on Mott near Kenmare, and we indulged in the long, thin and crispy, sliced on the diagonal. It came on these cute long trays that I now want to own and do many things with, I do not know what.


On one side, we had the Tartufo: portobello pesto, mushrooms, mozzarella, rosemary and truffle oil.


And far on the other side, the San Daniele: tomato sauce, mozzarella, arugula, prosciutto and parmesan. I loved both sides, and I liked reaching. It's not the pizza you think of when you think of New York City...


...and neither is the coffee, although it looks like it. It's Stumptown. And it does the body good.

saucy salmon

After making Eric Ripert's carbonara recipe, twice, I decided to make another Ripert recipe. And what I discovered was that all I really want to do is eat creme fraiche. I used a tub of the goodness for the pasta, and then some more for this fish dish. And you know what? It just makes everything better. So I suggest you do the same.

This dish is very simple. I actually pretty much have already make a variation of it several times because I love dijon and a cream sauce (usually with dill) paired with salmon, and it's so easy to make as a weeknight dinner.

Eric Ripert's Mustard Crusted Salmon Fillet
(adapted from Avec Eric)

Serves 2

2 6-ounce fillets of salmon, preferably skinless
salt and freshly ground pepper
2 teaspoons Dijon mustard
2 tablespoons breadcrumbs (can use panko or any breadcrumbs...I used multi-grain bread)
2 teaspoons chopped chives
4 tablespoons creme fraiche
1 lemon, juiced

Heat the oven to 450 degrees and line a baking sheet with foil.

Season the salmon with salt and pepper and spread the Dijon mustard on top. Sprinkle the breadcrumbs on top of the mustard and bake for about 10 to 15 minutes until the salmon is opaque and the crust is toasted.

While the salmon is cooking, stir together the chives, creme fraiche and lemon juice and season with salt and pepper. Serve the salmon with the sauce on the side. If the sauce is too thick, you can add some water to thin it out, but you don't want it runny.

easy yet artisanal

Eric Ripert went to Tuscany, visited a farm, gathered chesnuts, fed some prize-winning cows, stopped by an outdoor market, learned about cheesemaking at a famous dairy and made ravioli with an Italian restaurateur. Then, back in New York, he made a French adaptation of linguini carbonara. I, on the other hand, went to D'Agostino and deployed Matt to Citarella, where we each gathered non prize-winning, plastic-packed and boxed ingredients to make said carbonara. And you know what? Turns out you don't need beautiful cows to revel in a beautiful dish. Make this. Now.

Eric Ripert's Artisanal Carbonara
(adapted from Avec Eric)

½ cup sliced apple wood smoked bacon lardons (use regular bacon if you can't find this)
1 cup crème fraîche (you can substitute heavy cream)
1 egg yolk
½ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
fine sea salt
2 tablespoons fresh thinly sliced chives
½ cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese
8 ounces dried linguini

(Serves 2 to 4, depending on how much rich pasta you like to eat)

Bring a large pot of water to a boil over high heat. Add a lot of salt.

To make the sauce, sauté the bacon until crisp. Add the crème fraîche to the pan, and bring to a simmer. Whisk the egg yolk into the sauce and add the black pepper and season to taste with salt. Reserve.

When ready to serve, cook the pasta in the boiling salted water to al dente. Drain the pasta, put the pasta back into the pot with a little of the water left. Add the sauce and then stir in the chives and parmesan; let everything sit for one minute to properly absorb all of the flavors.

Place the pasta in the center of each serving bowl, spoon some of the sauce and garnish over and around the pasta, top with more grated Parmesan as desired and serve immediately.

chili quest

I am no chili master, but I am a master chili eater. My favorite is of course chili con carne. It must have ground beef, chili peppers, garlic, onions and cumin, and it must be topped with sour cream, cheese and scallions or raw onions. Beans and tomatoes are not always blasphemous, but anything other than ground beef can cause some consternation. It must be thick, not watery, and it must be spicy. It must like Nabokov and long walks on the beach and...oh, wait minute.

It can be hard to find the pefect chili in New York City, and once I found something quite close to it in a random Irish bar that I will probably never set foot in again. In the meantime, I will broaden my mind, eat much middling to delicious to decent to disappointing chili and revel in meatiness. And if there is cornbread, all is well.


Here, Martha Stewart's 30-minute chili, with homemade cornbread. The chili was nice, quite beer-y, but hearty and good.

it's a cheese, cheese, cheese, cheese world

We have a cheese drawer in our refrigerator. It's a little plastic drawer in the middle of our fridge, and for one reason or another, it has become the cheese storage space. I am not sure what most ordinary folk would keep in this drawer. Cold cuts? Vegetables? Hot dogs? Well, we keep cheese. We are cheese keepers! That sounds so...Little House on the Prairie. But keep is an understatement. And I am not really the keeper of this cheese drawer either. Matt is. And by keeper I should say hoarder, because this cheese drawer is Out. Of. Control. There is clearly no gate keeping going on here. I have cataloged all the cheeses that currently reside in this cheesy chest of treasures at this very moment in time:

Parmigiano Reggiano (3 large blocks, one aged 24 months)
Brouere
Bride de Nangis
Danish Fontina
Cheddar
Vermont Farmhouse Cheddar
Crotton Poivre
Raw Milk Morbier
Goat Manchego
Chevre
Fresh Mozzarella
Comte
Swiss Gruyere
Leyden
Emmental
Queso Fresco

As you can see, there is a wide selection of cheeses to be had. And all of them are had, but obviously not quickly enough. Except for one. There is one cheese, ONE slice of cheese, that resides among its cheese brethren, and that is a slice of good ol' Kraft American cheese. It outshines everything in its orangey glow and I am proud of it. It is mine. For the gatekeeper of cheeses will not let the American cheese taint his horde, oh no. It is not real, it is blaphemous, it is PRODUCT. Yet it is my little product, and I love it. I am not a cheese snob, a cheese connoisseur, a cheese chooser. I am just a free-loving, all-cheese-eating kind of person. And I will have my fake cheese...


...and eat it, too. And I did. And I felt ill. Tricia and I decided to do some good by eating some bad the other night. We gathered at Schnipper's Quality Kitchen, before catching a preview of "Where the Wild Things Are," and I indulged in some American cheese. Probably, a little too much. Here, some cheese fries. Oh my. The ratio of cheese to french fries was pretty ridiculous.


And that was just a prelude to my sloppy joe cheese dog. Matt wouldn't be proud. Then again, my stomach wasn't so much, either. But I was. Another one for the American slice!

the pumpkin sacrifice

I was reading Peter Mayle's piece on the French and Halloween, or as they say, alowine, which I am now, by the way, going to use because it's much more fun to say. Apparently, alowine can be a strange and sensitive topic in France. As one M. Farigoule says in the article: "Do you mean to tell me that pumpkins all over America are massacred, with all that good honest flesh tossed away, simply to provide a primitive decoration?" "Do our American friends know what treasures they're missing? Pumpkin fritters! Pumpkin and apple sauce — so delightful with sausages! Then, bien sûr, there is Toulouse-Lautrec’s sublime gratin of pumpkin."

I laughed, I applauded, and then I was struck with the sudden urge to make pumpkin pie. I would be putting those massacred pumpkins to good use today all in the name of le lifestyle francais and alowine.



Pie Dough
(Makes enough for one double-crust pie or two single-crust 9-inch pies)

2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon sugar
1 cup (2 sticks) cold unsalted butter, cut into 1/2-inch pieces
1/4 to 1/2 cup ice water

1. Pulse flour, sugar, and salt in a food processor. Add butter, and pulse until mixture forms coarse crumbs with some larger pieces remaining, about 10 seconds.
2. With machine running, add ice water in a slow, steady stream just until dough holds together without being wet or sticky, no longer than 30 seconds.
3. Divide dough in half, and shape into disks. Wrap in plastic; refrigerate at least 1 hour or overnight.

Classic Pumpkin Pie
Makes one 10-inch pie
1 1/2 cups (1 15 oz can) solid-pack canned pumpkin
1 recipe Pate Brisée
all-purpose flour, for work surface
3 large eggs
3/4 cup packed light-brown sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
3/4 teaspoon ground ginger
3/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/8 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1 1/2 cups evaporated milk

Preheat oven to 375.

On a floured surface, roll out the larger disk of dough into a 14-inch round. Fit the dough round into a 10-inch pie plate and trim the excess off so the dough is flush to the rim of the pie plate, or tuck in underneath and crimp. Put in the fridge for about 30 minutes.


Cut a large circle of parchment paper and fit it into pie plate, extending about an inch off the edges. Fill with pie weights and bake pie shell 10 minutes. Remove the weights and parchment; bake about five minutes more until edges are just turning golden. Let cool completely on a wire rack.

Place the pumpkin puree in a large bowl. Add light brown sugar, salt, cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, 3 eggs, and evaporated milk; whisk until combined.

Reduce the oven temperature to 350. Fill the pie shell with the pumpkin mixture. Bake until all but the center is set, about 45 to 50 minutes. It may look a little jiggly in the center, but it will set up once cooled. Let pie cool completely on a wire rack.

toast snack

A stop at Blue Ribbon Bakery Market for our latest favorite snacks led to a desire to recreate them at home, until one day Matt came back with a whole trout, which then led me to freak out that we had a trout, with head, eye and tail, in our fridge, which then led to Matt cutting off the head and tail to ease my whole-trout-in-the-fridge situation.


Smoked trout, three onion cream and capers.


Here, a country pate, confit shallots and Dijon mustard toast.

countrifried

Southern goodness on Smith Street in Carroll Gardens? I do declare. And Lauren did, so off we went to fill up on fried, smoky, porky, saucy goodness. Oh, did I forget to mention bourbony, too? Because Char No. 4 is a whiskey bar as well. And what we know about whiskies and bourbons is that they are good to drink.


But so are the whiskey cocktails, like the Kentucky Royale: Henry McKenna, sparkling wine, cassis and orange.


One of the yummiest things ever: house-cured lamb pastrami with coriander aioli and rye-carraway toast. Perfect, perfect pastrami.


And on the other end of the spectrum of delights, the crispy cheddar curds with spicy pimento sauce. Like mozzarella sticks, but fancified.


Continuing down the road of doom, some house-smoked thick cut bacon. Oh my.


A refresher of ice for the whiskey?


Ro had a massive pile of honey-glazed chicken.


Roman had a very square meal of drippy ribs, baked beans and cornbread.


Lauren's brisket sandwich, with creamy potatoes.


Matt had a wonderful dish of fried gnocchi. Creamy, pillowy and fried, yes.


And I had the chopped pork sandwich with pickled onions, pickled peppers and a side of baked beans. Mmm....saucy delicious pork, a tad dry, but who's counting at this point.


Who ordered the beets?


Dinner came in threes...berry parfait.


Blueberry crisp.


And the best of the three, homemade butter pecan ice cream with bourbon.

lunch break

Lunch: Hoisin veal meatballs with stewed jasmin rice, basil and stewed tomato. Spicy. Drippy. Meaty. Dangerous.