Good. Food. Stories.

Spicy Garlic Ginger Shrimp

Danielle — Wed, 10 Mar 2010 05:01:44 +0000

We interrupt our regularly scheduled blog posts due to illness. My sinuses are so clogged I feel removed from myself; kind of like the omniscient narrator of my own life.

Danielle stumbled into her kitchen after a day of work, searching for something edible. She stared into the cold light of the near-empty fridge with glassy Muppet sized eyes and sneezed for the umpteenth time. Being sick sucks, she thought, and chicken soup is overrated. Her taste buds had the strength of a Sprint cellphone signal so she decided on something intense, spicy and garlicky. While the fridge offered little more than a few cloves a garlic, ginger root, tofu, and a handful of mushrooms, the freezer held a pleasant surprise–a bag of frozen shrimp. Finally, a bottle of Sriracha sauce offered spicy salvation.

Oddly enough, this thrown together meal was one of the best I have cooked in a long time. The ginger and garlic opened up my palate, allowing me to really taste the shrimp and mushrooms which lightly caramelized and added more flavor to the pan. Even the tofu tasted good! Because I am a heat fiend, I Jackson Pollock’d the Sriracha sauce over all the ingredients before giving it all one last stir. Next time I’ll toast some sesame seeds to top it. But for now, here’s my simple recipe to blaze through an early spring cold.

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Good food favorites with Chef Bobby Hellen

Casey — Mon, 08 Mar 2010 05:01:22 +0000

After he wowed us with his lamb bacon, Danielle and I knew we had to hit up Chef Bobby Hellen of the Belgian gastropub Resto for a Good. Food. Stories. Q&A. Bobby, a native New Yorker, has been with the Resto team since the restaurant’s 2007 opening, and now leads the kitchen as Executive Chef.

Though the restaurant is most well-known (along with the vast selection of Belgian brews) for its pork-focused dishes and nose-to-tail eating, Bobby also serves up heaping amounts of locally-sourced produce alongside his housemade charcuterie, meats, and poultry from New York-area farms like Four Story Hill. For the more adventurous, the Resto team offers the Large Format Feast, where a whole animal will be broken down and delectably prepared for your large group (they’ll feed up to 18 people).

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Prix fixe worth the price at A Voce

Casey — Fri, 05 Mar 2010 12:43:50 +0000

Two years into my residency as a New York Eater, I officially declared a boycott on Restaurant Week and most prix fixe menus. I was tired of being served one too many subpar options, too many basic dishes that weren’t showing off the true talents of the restaurant I was sitting in. Why was I shelling out $35 for a dumbed-down piece of seared salmon when I could be ordering a more satisfying app and entree for the same price off the real menu? I didn’t see the deal.

So it was an unexpected (but happy) blow to my jaded snobbery to discover the most compelling reason to have lunch at A Voce—apart from the phenomenal fresh housemade pastas—is that they don’t play around with their prix fixe menu.

For the past year or so, the restaurant has instituted a daily $29 three-course lunch special, an actual well-thought-out menu rather than the cheap-to-serve stuff like a boring green salad and a chicken entree. Chef Missy Robbins changes it up every so often, highlighting different regions of Italy depending on the area’s iconic cuisine and the time of year she’s serving it—hearty dishes from the Piedmont in the winter, lighter seafood-based fare from Sardinia or the Veneto in warmer weather.
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Surrendering to winter in Brighton Beach

Danielle — Wed, 03 Mar 2010 06:16:03 +0000

The beach reflected in the mirrors in front of Tatiana Cafe. Photo credit: Jessica Scranton

Although it may seem odd, a trip to Brighton Beach on one of the coldest days of the year just seemed to make sense. New York apartments are notorious for being dry and overheated and I had been hunkered down in mine for weeks, resisting the cold months as fully as possible. I needed to surrender to winter, an act that does not come naturally to me or my Mediterranean blood. The Russian community that dominates Brighton Beach is well acquainted with the cold and know how to live well with it. From them I would take my cues.

Underneath the subway tracks, I pressed through the crowds of Sunday shoppers on Brighton Beach Avenue toward the boardwalk and the great, freezing Atlantic Ocean. I breathed in its promise, knowing its frigid response was not a rejection, just a “not yet.” Here on this stretch of the Brooklyn Riviera, elderly Russians dressed richly in furs huddled together against the green wall of the boardwalk. Yet, the mood was distinctly solitary as few people spoke to each other. If I looked too closely, people would avert my gaze. When I picked up my camera, hands appeared and bodies picked themselves up and moved on. A casual smile or hello was met with a stern turning away. This was winter, people seemed to say, a time for quiet and solitude.
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Neighborhood Guide: Capitol Hill, Seattle

Good. Food. Stories. Contributor — Mon, 01 Mar 2010 14:20:30 +0000

Today’s post marks the inaugural installment of the Good. Food. Stories. Neighborhood Guides, brought to you by our far-flung contributors, who know exactly on which streets you’ll find the best grub and local atmosphere. Though she lives in Manhattan, event consultant Kerry Stewart is a West Coast gal at heart and her twin loves of film and strong coffee reflect her Northwestern upbringing. Here she shares her favorite spots in Seattle’s Capitol Hill.

Growing up in the suburbs of Seattle, getting to go “downtown” was always a big deal and was usually reserved for things like shopping at Nordstrom’s, getting my picture taken with Santa at the now-defunct Frederick & Nelson department store, and cultural outings like the Frye Art Museum or seeing a play at the ACT Theatre. When I got older, it meant going to Capitol Hill with my best friend, Stacy.

The excellent 1992 movie Singles was filmed on Capitol Hill

Her mom would drop us off at one end of Broadway and pick us up exactly two hours later at the other end, allowing just enough time to shop, stare at the punks with their dog chains, multi-colored mohawks and head-to-toe leather (maybe this is where my continual craving for a leather motorcycle jacket comes from), have some coffee, and drive home before dark.

Capitol Hill has been gentrified since those exciting days of the early ’90s, but still holds a place in my heart as the coolest neighborhood in Seattle. When I go home, I go up to Capitol Hill and get a little thrill, but now it’s from the great food (and from seeing those few remaining punks).

I seem to have a predilection for the burger joints of Capitol Hill, but there’s options both classy and classic along the main drag of Broadway:

Neighborhood Guide: Capitol Hill, Seattle

Good. Food. Stories.

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GUEST POST—Mucver (Turkish Zucchini Fritters)

Good. Food. Stories. Contributor — Fri, 26 Feb 2010 05:01:52 +0000

Today we happily welcome new contributor Berfu Durantas-Masters. Born in Istanbul, she recently married her husband John with one nagging worry—could they eat together, happily ever after? This is the first piece in a series for Good. Food. Stories.

One of the earliest conversations between my husband and me during our days of courtship was about food. He is half English-Irish and half Greek, and it was this morsel of Mediterranean blood that gave me hope that he would revel in my olive oil-based Turkish cooking. Our short food conversation ended with me asking alarmingly, “What do you mean you don’t like fried fish or olive oil? You’re half Greek, for God’s sake!!” And so our culinary adventure began.

My husband likes store-bought salad dressing, Hot Pockets, frozen pizza (frozen anything, really), Eggo’s, and American cheese. Basically his palate craves chemicals and freezer burn. This is a far cry from the fresh foods and everything made from scratch mentality that I grew up with. So as our wedding day quickly approached, the questions arose as to how I would feed the 6’3” love of my life. How could I possibly get him to let go of the butter and dip his bread into olive oil instead? Would he ever eat a salad without ready-made blue cheese dressing? Would he ever like vegetables?
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Ask Casey: salted vs. unsalted butter

Casey — Thu, 25 Feb 2010 11:36:13 +0000

I’m getting more into cooking, thanks to your site, and I’m noticing a lot of recipes that call for unsalted butter. Why should I be using this instead of salted, which I usually buy?

I’m glad you’re inspired to take on new challenges, and that you’re paying attention to recipes. Salted butter exists for the same reason that other mouthwatering ingredients like ham, beef jerky, gravlax, and cheese do—salting is a time-tested method of culinary preservation.

These days, with omnipresent refrigeration, there’s less of a need to worry about whether you, Ma, and Pa will have enough dairy products to make it through the winter on the prairie. However, because modern salted butter will still keep longer than its unsalted counterpart, even the generic unsalted butter at the grocery store will be fresher than the salted version.
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Ingredient of the Month: Chickpeas

Danielle — Tue, 23 Feb 2010 05:02:02 +0000

The first time I had a chickpea I believe it was dumped over an iceberg lettuce salad and called a garbanzo bean. It wasn’t terribly good. But lo and behold, chickpeas have become one of my favorite pantry staples. They’re packed with nutrition: protein, iron, fiber and potassium and therefore an ideal ingredient here in the dregs of winter. Chickpeas are an incredibly versatile (and inexpensive) little legume, so here are a few good ideas for you to try at home.

Pasta e ceci. After learning about this dish in Arthur Schwartz’s Southern Italian Table, I’ve been making it at least once a week. Although the traditional preparation calls for a type of pasta called lagane, you really can use any flat or loosely curled pasta. (Barilla’s Campanile work perfectly.) Start a pan with 3 or 4 tbsp of olive oil, 2 crushed garlic cloves, and red pepper flakes. Once the garlic starts to brown, dump a can of chickpeas, water and all, into the pan and let it cook on medium heat for about 5 minutes. Next take the bottom of a mug and smash half of the chickpeas. Add the drained, cooked pasta and mix well. Once a big heap is on my plate, I’ll often add a swirl of a high quality olive oil, Cafaggio being my favorite, and a little grated cheese.

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The Mysterious Sanguinaccio

Danielle — Fri, 19 Feb 2010 14:14:07 +0000

Arthur Avenue, the heart of Little Italy in the Bronx, usually bustling with shoppers and tourists was less so this week because of the beginning of Lent. The fish market was busy, but the butcher shops were relatively quiet as meat is off limits to Catholics on Ash Wednesday.

Italian food on Arthur Avenue is seasonal and by seasonal I mean driven by the holidays. Yes, the heart of cooking in Italy relies on fresh ingredients, harvested at their peak, but in Italian-American communities it means having zeppole and sfingi (cream puffs) for the feast of Saint Joseph, fish on Christmas Eve, and, for handful of the old-timers, a pudding called sanguinaccio during Lent. (Pronounced san-gwee-nacho.) This week, handwritten signs on paper and in chalk popped up around the Arthur Avenue bakeries. They will remain in place until Easter Sunday, and then disappear once again.
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GUEST POST—Localism Overload

Good. Food. Stories. Contributor — Wed, 17 Feb 2010 09:46:47 +0000

The Good. Food. Stories. team is extra-pleased to present today’s guest post from Jessie Knadler, a former Manhattan magazine writer and editor who now lives in rural Virginia with her husband, 30-odd chickens, two rambunctious dogs, and a host of farm equipment. Her adventures as a city girl attempting country living are chronicled on her “awesome blog” (her words and our feelings exactly) Rurally Screwed. We’re eagerly awaiting her canning-focused cookbook with co-author Kelly Geary that will be published by Rodale in Spring 2011.

When I first moved from Manhattan to rural Virginia four years ago, I assumed I was saying goodbye to the foodie fascism that had taken hold of the city. I took it as a given I’d never have to overhear two Brooklyn yoga moms prattle on about the virtues of free-range eggs for little Dexter and Elliot or listen to well-meaning friends pester waiters with questions like, “Is this beef really grass-fed?” I was fed up with thinking I too had to define myself by what I ate.

If only I was a little more organic, a little more free-range, steel-cut, Meyer lemon-eating, blah-blah-blah, I’d somehow be a better person. To me, the pursuit of dietary asceticism seemed like just another form of subtle social stratification, right up there with carrying the right handbag, only somehow less shallow, more “real.”

So I was excited at the prospect of moving somewhere where people, I assumed, still ate Slim Jims and where cocktail party food centered around Philadelphia cream cheese in various guises. I thought the most probing food question I’d encounter here was “Does the chicken fried steak come with brown or white gravy?”

Well, this is what happens when a pampered urbanite moves to the middle of nowhere—you quickly realize how provincial and ignorant you really are. Organic piety, I’ve since realized, extends to small-town America as well, to conservative communities where the rebel flag still proudly flies and where 30-somethings don’t think much about living in a cabin or a yurt.
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