Old people eat dumplings. Babies eat dumplings. Big people, little people, smart people, silly people, black, white, Asian, Hispanic—all people eat dumplings. It’s a phenomenon that I experienced early on, when my mom brought pork and chive potstickers for the elementary school “bake” sale. Everyone—teachers, parents, kids—ate them with gusto. “Dumplings are magical,” said a judge/organizer for the 13th Annual NYC Dumpling Festival last Saturday in Sara D. Roosevelt Park. That’s all there is to it.
New York, I still love you. I think that’s how many people felt when they saw the infamous pizza rat meme. For all the crap that goes through its gutters each day, all the crazies and critters that line its streets, there is a gleeful levity in little moments like these happening in every corner of the city all the time. And so for all the hunger that some of its people suffer, there are events like the NYC Dumpling Festival, pelting food from all … Read More
Of all the elaborate communal meals to make, there is one that should stand without question should you ever be on a private New England beach: the clambake. After a whole summer of firing up charcoal for barbecues on the stuffy, blackened rooftops of Brooklyn, eight friends and myself found ourselves in such a tranquil idyll last weekend. We did not miss the opportunity.
Last week, I was treated to a seasonally-inspired, five-course dinner hosted by someone I’d never met before, along with nine people I’d never met before, either. But even before the first course, it was just like hanging out with the gang. Our hostess and chef de cuisine for the evening, Emily, was a whipsmart aspiring chef and erstwhile front-of-house expert at some of Brooklyn’s best restaurants; playing both roles, in her own apartment, may just be her ultimate calling. I … Read More
I’m getting spoiled by all the good produce in the West Coast. Not that the farmers’ markets and CSAs of the Northeast don’t have their own charms (harvest time for Upstate NY apples, the best ever, is just around the corner) but the abundance of colors and flavors out here can have a kaleidoscopic effect. My first instinct was to cook as much as I could in California — but how does one do that without a solid home and … Read More
Here’s a great recipe for what to wake up to: a thin fog clearing over a stretch of golden, sun-baked hills, the chortle of a horse in a barn nearby, the sour smell of manure and fresh scent of wild fennel wafting in through the window, and farmers making you breakfast with newly dug potatoes, greens, and enormous blue eggs. Over the course of my second week in California, I’ve really woken up to what real farms (i.e. not Brooklyn … Read More
We’re not in Kansas anymore… if you can equate that with “home” in any case. Driving up and down the steep, scary hills of San Francisco in a borrowed car, I’ve actually passed a road called Kansas St. but none named after New York. It’s good to get away. I’ve taken off for the West Coast, leaving my apartment to a friend and the garden in good hands, to sink into a different vibe. This is my first report from … Read More
Ice cream versus frozen custard: the parameters are loose. Frozen custard, like its less-cold forebear, engages egg yolks in the emulsion, but so does rich ice creams. Wikipedia attributes it to a higher temperature than ice cream when served; also, its production to a fast-freezing barrel that churns out the product more quickly than traditional ice cream makers. The entry states, “Frozen custard is usually prepared fresh at the place of sale, rather than stored.” They both can be served … Read More
It was only a matter of time before my love affair with small, sustainable farming would take me outside of New York City (yes, Melissa, I hope to visit Garden of Eve sometime!). No matter the rain, cold or wind we’ve been having lately. No matter the ice and snow that laced the rocky cliffs of the Catskills on the drive upstate — and up some 1,200 feet in elevation. It’s spring, at least on paper! And so I went … Read More