La Flavoriser

Chomp and Circumstance

2011-05-23T12:15:00.038-04:00

After several long days of traveling and apartment searching in Manhattan, I'm finally home (and freshly graduated) in my hard-to-pronounce town in southeastern Pennsylvania. My exhaustion would have otherwise prevented me from writing this evening, but I stumbled upon a blog virtually identical to my own (almost positively copied, as it was created after mine), and became inspired to maintain the status quo. So here I go...

My last few days in Atlanta were a whirlwind -- I was presented with the tasks of packing, passing French class (believe me, c'est plus dificile qu'il semble), and changing the font of literally every restaurant left on my list to ~~strikethrough~~ before I graduated. One of my final meals and by far the most memorable was dinner with my family at Woodfire Grill. Woodfire Grill is Kevin Gillespie's baby (Top Chef, Season 6), and without knowing in advance that he had recently moved back to Atlanta to become the restaurant's executive chef, I laid eyes upon his jolly red beard in the lobby; it was as pleasant as surprises come. Every customer was bombarding him with pictures, so I told him I didn't need one but instead shook his hand. I regret not taking a photo with him (I likely would have broken my "no pictures of people on the blog" rule for Kevin), however gauche it would have been.

Once a new group of high-pitched women made their way over to Kevin, my family and I were seated upstairs in a semi-private room at a long, medieval type table with five chairs, each about two feet apart. Our waiter informed us that we had "one of the best tables in the house." That evening, I had opted out of a graduation dinner with seventy-five other people (many of my friends' families), a slideshow, and a cash bar, so if intimacy is what I sought, then I had come to the right venue. I remember when making the reservation, the hostess asked if I was celebrating a special occasion. Sure enough, my response was not only remembered but also printed on the menu.

Why, thank you.

I begged my parents for the tasting menu; there was even a vegetarian option for Allie! But after learning that the tasting was blind (something only I would have been okay with) and required the entire table's participation, I was stuck with the a la carte section. Aw, man. Kind of like being stuck in first class instead of flying private. What a bummer.

Our waiter first presented us with an amuse-bouche of roasted beats, orange gilet, compressed radish, Espelette pepper (had to ask the server for the spelling of that one), crème fraîche, and chives. Despite the radish, chives, and pepper, the beats made the dish sweet (and turned my mouth a lovely shade of maroon). I'm not used to beginning the meal with sweet flavors, but this was just enough. And I'll eat anything served in a ceramic spoon rest.

Roasted Beets Amuse-Bouche

It's no secret that the best restaurants are so highly regarded not just because of the chef's skills but also the quality and freshness of the ingredients. Woodfire Grill's menu is printed daily and its creation is most unique; the restaurant orders its ingredients frequently and the menu is fashioned based on what's available. This is compared to most other, more traditional restaurants that write the menu first. I can attest to the superiority of Woodfire Grill's strategy after having eaten the spring vegetable salad, and I almost never order salads at dinner. But look at it! It was as if someone had literally handpicked the vegetables five minutes before our meal. It consisted of local baby carrots, asparagus, crispy baby artichokes, a "six minute egg" (descriptive of how long it's hard boiled), and béarnaise sauce. The béarnaise was a nice touch -- I'm definitely not used to seeing a heavy sauce like that on a salad, but I preferred it, as I do not have an eating disorder.

Spring Vegetable Salad

I forgot to photograph my second course prior to digging in. Silly me. What you're looking at is a (partially mutilated) oversized pan roasted day boat scallop with porcini powder, fennel pollen, a lemon-butterbean puree, and caramelized golden beats. I agree with you - the puree looks like mush or some type of custard, but it really served as a nice accompaniment to the scallop (and it helped me to slowly but surely turn my tongue back to its natural hue). Scallops are usually the kind of shellfish that taste like whatever you marinate them in, but even with the absence of the puree, I don't think this scallop needed anybody's help. My family and I learned from the waiter that all of the seafood served at Woodfire Grill is caught the very same day, which brings new meaning to "expedited shipping." It doesn't get any fresher than that.

Pan Roasted Day Boat Scallop

I'm not just saying this because I feel obligated after dining at such a fine restaurant, but my main course was completely unforgettable. It was not overly inventive or ornate, but it was one of the tastiest cuts of cow I've ever eaten. Many of you know that my love of food originates from red meat (see the interests section of my resume, which reads, "tennis, red meat, and shoes), and not only was this particular cut cooked to perfection (medium rare -- the only way to go), but it was a kind of hybrid between strip steak and filet, something I had never seen before. My biggest dilemma when going to steakhouses is choosing between the two cuts. I sometimes order a porterhouse, which I convince myself at the time will solve that dilemma, but really creates a new one entirely -- that is, I'm keeled over by the end of the meal (and the top button of my pants is undone). This was perfect. More flavorful than a filet but leaner than and not as tough as a sirloin. If I believed in heaven, this is what it would taste like (cue chorus: "ahhh!"). It was served with fork crushed red potatoes, wood oven roasted California asparagus, vidalia onions, and tarragon.

Wood Grilled Natural Angus Beef Striploin

Before visiting Woodfire Grill, I had heard mixed reviews. The restaurant is generally well received by critics, but a good friend told me that she had tried the tasting menu and left hungry. Luckily, I did not have this same problem. The restaurant really is a special place, although understated and not over-the-top. I didn't get the impression, as I sometimes do with prix fix menus, that the chef was trying too hard to impress his customers. In this case, he didn't have to; the ingredients spoke for themselves.

As I sit here writing this entry, a wave of nostalgia has passed over me. I know it hasn't been long since I've left Atlanta, but it also hasn't been long since I've started missing it. I do feel, though, as if I've seen, done, and eaten all there is to see, do, and eat. Woodfire Grill was one of the last on my ever-shrinking list of restaurants to try in Atlanta. I'm not sure when, but I know I'll be back again someday, you know, just to make sure the food is still up to par...

Dine at Woodfire Grill

1782 Cheshire Bridge Road

Atlanta, GA 30324

(404) 347-9055

Finch Me, Am I Dreaming?

2011-02-22T13:39:00.000-05:00

Finally.

I feel like my entire life (well, at least the past three years) has been building up to this moment. For those of you who live in Atlanta, you may be shocked to learn that tonight was my very first evening at Holeman & Finch, a legendary establishment known for its unique menu and mouth-watering cheeseburger. My first piece of writing about food, published in an environmental sustainability magazine at Emory (I was the voice of reason), highlighted some of Atlanta's best options for red meat, including the Holeman & Finch burger. I didn't dare admit in the article that I hadn't actually tasted it, but believe you me, I had done my research, and since then have allowed it to be hyped by fellow foodies, friends, and even myself. This has led me to my current philosophy, where I will not photograph or write about anything that doesn't touch my lips.

I am still on a high from dinner and am completely overcome with emotion. My very close friend and dining partner for the evening compared my elation to the way she feels when she walks outside on a beautiful day. She was right -- this is what I live for. When all is said and done with my financial career, there isn't a shred of doubt in my mind that a profession in food will be my next venture, my true calling. And even though my friend doesn't get off from food like I do, I still found myself in good company (despite paying for 75% of the bill). She even took a walk on the wild side when she let our waiter surprise her with a cocktail; perhaps that was only because of me, but if so, I like that I've had that effect on her.

Holeman & Finch is a tiny (but wouldn't say "hole-in-the-wall" because the place is relatively modern) restaurant, but even on a Monday night, it was as crowded as Azuki on a Saturday (not a strong food reference but a good indication of what "packed like sardines" looks like). The place has just recently started offering its burgers every night, instead of only Thursdays through Saturdays, as was traditionally the case. Still, the burger is not on the menu, is only served beginning at 10:00 PM and sells out almost immediately. I wondered if any customers dine at Holeman without knowing the burger exists. Probably not.

I started with the hot dog, served with pickled jalapeño and "ball park" mustard (their own recipe; this place also does its own pickling). Hands down the best hot dog I've ever eaten. The meat was cooked to perfection and the homemade bun (similar to the bun that came with the burger) was soft and buttery all the way through while still maintaining some crunch on the outside.


"The Hot Dog"

Next came the richest dish I tasted that evening, a poached farm egg and griddled bacon, served with johnnycakes, sorghum syrup, and SEARED FOIE GRAS (note the caps to highlight my enthusiasm). If I were Jesus in a modern day rendition of the Last Supper, this would undoubtedly be my meal of choice (although probably better suited for a "last breakfast"). Each bite was more flavorful than the last, but next time I probably won't order this dish on the same night I eat the burger; I was a bit overwhelmed.

Poached Egg, Griddled Bacon, Johnnycakes with Sorghum Syrup, Seared Foie Gras

Point blank, I ordered too much food (no beating around the bush) -- but I'd always rather have this problem than the reverse. My third "entree" (all of the dishes were "small plates," but probably not small enough for my stomach this evening) was the farm egg and pancetta carbonara, which consisted of the restaurant's hand-cut pasta. Everything I ate this evening was made from scratch, and it was obvious. The pasta provided a nice contrast against the sweetness of the "breakfast" I had just devoured; I found myself alternating between the two.

Pancetta Carbonara

And, the moment you've (and I've) been waiting for, the Holeman & Finch burger. It's hard for me to come up with any words to describe it, as I don't believe any description could truly do it justice. Just stare for a few seconds and allow your mouth to water (which, trust me, mine did after waiting until around 10:15 to see it). Our waiter brought us the very first burger of the evening; what a doll.

H&F Burger

My friend and I also noticed that all of the waiters were wearing plaid shirts. When I asked ours if it was his assigned uniform, he replied, "No, we're just assholes." Quite the opposite, actually; I wanted to kiss the ground these waiters walked on. He went on to explain that he's worked at many restaurants and always tires of the food, but Holeman is a staunch exception; he eats there frequently and it remains one of his favorite restaurants in Atlanta. Not sure how could anyone get sick of an extremely eclectic menu with the freshest ingredients and a handful of good looking, well dressed waiters. The service was just as memorable as the food, and this is the kind of place that could certainly afford to let service fall by the wayside.

My first evening at Holeman was a shock to the system; it made me realize how passionate I am about food and how inspired I am by my taste buds. I smiled from ear to ear in utter happiness throughout the entire meal, and rushed home to write about it. I have several other friends who plan on going to Holeman & Finch for dinner tomorrow, and I'm seriously considering joining them. I suppose one can have too much of a good thing, but I won't start thinking of it that way until at least my 3rd night in a row...

Dine at Holeman & Finch:
2277 Peachtree Road NE
Atlanta, GA 30309
(404) 948-1175

Beauty, Objectified.

2010-12-24T18:06:00.000-05:00

It's my last winter break -- ever -- and, much as I had expected, my boredom of the Philadelphia suburbs had ensued somewhere around day two of being home. My unrest led me, much as you had expected, to New York to visit friends, both new and old. Tuesday evening was a wash, as I lost my phone, credit card, identification, a new purse and a pair of gloves. But this holiday season, I remind myself that La Flavoriser is a food blog, not an "Amanda loses her dignity" blog, so I digress. Post recovery on Wednesday, I was raring to go yet again, ready to lose myself (culinarily, of course) in the Manhattan restaurant scene.

A very dear friend, whose taste level in food and fashion easily surpasses my own (friends like these are difficult to come by), recommended we try Beauty & Essex, the newest restaurant by Chris Santos, Richard Wolf, and Peter Kane (the brains behind Tao and Stanton Social). Beauty & Essex has just emerged from its gestation period after merely three weeks as a fully functioning establishment. This meant that we had dined during "previews week," allowing us to save 20% of our bill (which, trust me, made a hell of a difference after appetizers, entrées, two desserts, and six cocktails). Our dinner, though, was worth every penny.

Beauty & Essex is located on the lower east side, and if you've read some of my earlier posts (particularly the one about the Meatball Shop), you'll note that this is one of my favorite areas in the city. Its entrance is disguised as a pawn shop, either to keep the homeless away or as an homage to the distinct origin of the building it occupies (let's pretend both are true). The pawn shop's walls are decorated with ancient trinkets and a collection of vintage guitars that belong to Chris Santos himself, a music (and food) aficionado (can someone set me up with this guy?). The door in the back of the pawn shop was guarded by a bouncer dressed in a sharp black three-piece suit, which had me immediately excited for the mysteriousness that awaited us in the restaurant. Once inside, my friend realized she had accurately anticipated my oohs and aahs about the décor. The hostess led us up a black lacquered spiral staircase, and the restaurant's walls were lined with white calf hair, which accented the dangling ornate crystal chandeliers. Our waitress mentioned the name of the design group, which has since escaped my memory, but I'll be inquiring again when it's time to find an apartment in July. We were seated in "the locket room," which, as the name alludes, has walls covered in antique lockets. My friend had used the phrase "old lady chic" earlier in our visit, and I believe I can appropriately apply that here. We also particularly enjoyed the bar in the "women's lounge" (far too sophisticated to be called a bathroom) that served free champagne.

Pawn Shop Storefront

I read one review of the restaurant that said something to the effect of, "...this place belongs in the meatpacking district, and not in a good way." Well listen here, my gastronomic foe, Beauty & Essex is too real for meatpacking, as that area sometimes disgusts me as well. The restaurant isn't too trendy for its own good, but I despise people who won't dine at certain places simply because they're "in." Stop trying to go against the grain -- good food deserves praise, regardless of its home.

The menu is one of the best I've seen in a while, comprised mostly of small plates that I would describe as belonging to a continental or new American genre. There is also an encyclopedic list of specialty cocktails that would have sounded delicious if not for my previous night's near-death experience. Thus, I stuck with a pinot noir that, unfortunately, brought discomfort with every sip (also the result of Tuesday's mishap). We were first presented with a Caesar salad crostini, complements of the chef.

Caesar Salad Crostini

Next came the whipped ricotta crostini with grilled pears, basil, honey, and chile, which was listed on the menu under the "Jewels on Toast" section (clever description).

Jewels on Toast

Following our crostini duo, my friend and I shared the roasted bone marrow with rioja braised shallot marmalade. Bone marrow is usually a no-brainer for me; whenever it's on a menu, I go for it. My friend had never had the pleasure of trying it before, but being the adventurous amiga she is, enjoyed it for the very first time. There's just something about the buttery goodness and its contrast against sweet jam that melts my heart into pieces.

Bone Marrow

We needed a bit of red meat (please refer to the "interests" section of my resume, which reads "tennis, red meat, and shoes"), so we ordered Kobe beef carpaccio with wasabi egg yolk, crunchy wontons, and sesame nori. It was the perfect thickness, as sometimes beef carpaccio can be too heavy, which makes it almost sickening to eat; this was certainly not the case here.

Kobe Beef Carpaccio

The Kobe carpaccio was followed by my favorite dish of the evening -- beer battered Maine lobster tacos with red cabbage slaw and jalapeño mayonnaise. I almost never think to order lobster (save for my lobster roll this past summer at Mary's Fish Camp, a must-try), but my friend had eaten the tacos on her previous visit just four days before (yes, it's that good) and suggested we do the same. This was by far the most memorable part of our meal.

Lobster Tacos

Our only true entrée-sized dish was the roasted wild striped bass with manilla clams, baby artichokes, and roasted garlic & saffron aioli. I enjoyed the clams more than the sea bass itself, as I found it not to be bland, but certainly the least savory item I had sampled that evening. Luckily, though, we weren't finished...

Striped Bass

One glance at the dessert menu and, with little argument, we decided on two dishes that were as incredible as they were different from one another. Behind door number one was the devil's food layer cake (with some sort of sweet cream, but the dessert menu is nowhere to be found) and vanilla ice cream. Second was the warm apple pie with cheddar ice cream and banana chips. I know what you're thinking -- cheddar ice cream? Sounds like something out of a box of Harry Potter jelly beans. However, the ice cream wasn't overwhelmingly cheddary, and had just enough of a hint of the flavor to justify its pairing with the apple pie. All in all, it was delicious. Just when I thought I was full, I would take a bite of the other dessert and realize that my strategy of alternating dishes allowed me (fortunately or unfortunately, depending on your view) to trick my mind into thinking I could eat just a bit more.

Apple Pie

Devil's Food Layer Cake

My friend and I praised the waitress, as if Beauty & Essex was entirely her idea, about everything we fancied that evening. We learned that at the beginning and end of each shift, the chef uses the ingredients from the menu and creates a unique dish for the wait staff that's not offered to patrons of the restaurant. This interesting tidbit was the icing on the [devil's food] cake to a near perfect dinner.

At the conclusion of our meal, my friend and I glanced at our watches and took note of the hour we had to kill before our evening plans began. We headed uptown to get manicures at 11 PM, making yesterday night truly an evening of Beauty & Essex. Until next time...

Dine at Beauty & Essex:
146 Essex Street
New York, NY 10002
(212) 614 - 0146

Takes Two to Know One

2010-09-14T00:47:00.000-04:00

Several of my close friends spent the summer in Atlanta. Unfortunately, this meant that I saw them much less frequently than was desired. To my benefit, however, they were able to explore the city on its "off-season" (or at least on my off-season). One striking thing that came out of this exploration was their discovery of Antico Pizza Napoletana. I've been to Antico Pizza for two out of my last three dinners, and decided to combine both visits into one pizza play-by-play.

This past Saturday, my favorite couple and I ambitiously ventured (in a thunderstorm, mind you) to the uncharted territory known as Downtown Atlanta to Antico Pizza. We were feeling brave, so despite the innumerable risks of riding in a lightening-impervious sedan, we headed to the restaurant. My second visit was far less risky, both in safety and cuisine; Saturday's fare had been a winner, so I knew what I was in for.

The reason my friends and I traveled thirty minutes for pizza was because of the uniqueness of the restaurant. The place serves pizza only and does not allow for any modifications to its pies. The main dining room consists of several communal tables and looks and feels as if you're eating in the chef's personal kitchen. The woodfire ovens are on display for the customers, and they're each set to a different temperature so as to preserve the specificity of each recipe.

My friends and I B'ed our O. B. (no relation to the emerging hip hop artist), and found that several corkscrews were floating around to assist in our inebriation. We asked the party next to us to borrow their cork, but after mentioning that he charged a $2 corkage fee, the man who seemed to be the leader of the group replied that it was actually his personal cork (he B'ed his O. C.) without offering to let us borrow it. My friend and I exchanged confused glances and hunted down a waitress with a corkscrew, but not before filling up our plastic cups with water from the communal sink. By now you may have realized that Antico Pizza is quite an interesting establishment, so I was forced to embrace its "charm," which I did (eventually) grow to fancy.

The pies at Antico Pizza are absolutely huge. They come in one size -- large -- and can feed up to four Jewish female adolescents (but perhaps only two homeless men). Over the span of three days (though only on two separate occasions), I sampled three pizzas, all of which had been recommended to me by those in whom I have high culinary trust.

To begin (and possibly to bore you), I had the Margherita D.O.P. with San Marzano tomatoes, bufala, basil and garlic. This was better than your average pizza, but in my opinion, no better than a plain pie from Mariella Pizza on 17th St. and 3rd Ave in Manhattan (coincidentally, it's Oprah's favorite too).

Margherita Pizza

My mediocre margherita was followed by the Lasagna (the name of the pie, not actually lasagna), which consisted of meatball, ricotta, and romano. I found this to be the most savory of the three pizzas, and actually have several slices in my refrigerator (if only I had a little self-restraint, as well...).

Lasagna Pizza

The third pizza was delicious, too; the Verdura pizza with broccoli rabe, mushroom, pomodorini, and garlic. I do, however, prefer "red" pizza to "white" pizza (call me pro-affirmative action), so I would have appreciated some marinara as a base.

Verdura Pizza

The service at the restaurant is quick -- I'd say our meal was twenty-five minutes from the time we were seated until we walked out of the place. On my first visit to Antico Pizza, I photographed and admired the selection of cannolis (a dessert I have a serious crush on), but was feeling a bit too full to make a purchase. I caved tonight, though, and from the looks of it, you should understand why. I went with the cannoli tradizionale. Even my cannoli-averse friend took a bite and enjoyed what she tasted.

Cannoli Tradizionale

I left the restaurant with a bit of a conflicting feeling. When described to me at first, I thought the place sounded traditional and rustic. Then, upon entry, I noticed Antico Pizza's attempt at trendiness via the font on their menus and the scarcity of the lobby decor. And finally, when I was seated and enjoying my pizza, I noticed that my mono-lingual server (not English) was, too, as she licked her fingers clean from her dinner break. To make matters worse, I don't think the servers wore gloves...

All in all, I'd say Antico Pizza was an interesting experience. The pizza is worth coming back for if you can get past the strange ambiance. While I can certainly appreciate an out-of-the box restauranteur, sometimes a girl just needs a little white glove service.

Dine at Antico Pizza Napoletana:
1093 Hemphill Avenue
Atlanta, GA 30318
(404) 724-2333

My Affair with Raoul

2010-09-07T02:36:00.000-04:00

Favorite is not a term I use lightly or often. In fact, there are very few things in life about which I've thought enough to determine a favorite; that is, with the exception of food. Several days ago, a friend asked me to name my favorite restaurant in Manhattan. Without hesitation, I mentioned Raoul's. This is one of those answers that I've had prepared for several years, and I've never changed my opinion even after countless excursions to Michelin-starred tables and chichi hole-in-the-wall joints.

As if you hadn't read enough about French fare on La Flavoriser, I'm writing again to tell you of a culinary treasure that brings my mind, heart, and stomach back to Paris each time I visit. Raoul's is an adorable French bistro (surprise!) that's been around for decades and has aged impressively well. The walls of the restaurant are covered with a smattering of portraits of nude women and other muted photography, the order of which have no rhyme or reason whatsoever. The tables are candle-lit, which provides most of the illumination for the main dining room. Patrons sit elbow-to-elbow with their neighbors, a setup that practically screams Paris. Some will say that these characteristics are off-putting; I say they're the main draw, not to mention there's a certain air of romance about the restaurant that is loathed only by cynics. To my future husband, if you're reading this: if you don't propose in Paris, Raoul's will be just fine.

I've dined at Raoul's on many occasions, but this time was for an early birthday celebration with my father's side of the family. The maître d' led us through the kitchen (one of the best parts of the evening, in my opinion) into the back of the restaurant to the sky-lit dining room, in the back of which there is a lovely garden with just two tables. We opted to sit inside, though, as a result of the unbearable heat and relentless mosquitoes. Still, it was incredibly charming. We were able to see out the window to the garden, and my family commented all-too quickly on the ceramic fountain of a little boy with water spewing out of his...you get the idea. It seemed that a few of the Lightmans were missing some manners merited by a place with such grace, but I let it slide.

Soon the waitress arrived with a chalkboard menu (écrit en français, bien sûr), and we were handed English translations upon request of my Father. Ordering at Raoul's is never a difficult task for me. At this point, only the appetizer was up for debate. I decided upon the seared bigeye tuna with avocado purée, mango, and yuzu dressing. I'm still not exactly sure what yuzu dressing is, but I don't question what tastes good, I just smile and chew.


Seared Bigeye Tuna

I love avocado and mango with my sushi, so I figured my appetizer would be some sort of variation of that. It was not at all sushi-like, but it was just the nectarous taste I'd been searching for. Next came the no-brainer, steak au poivre. This is Raoul's' signature dish, and each time I dine here, I manage to eat it in some capacity, whether alone or shared. I ordered my steak medium rare, or, as some of you may recall from earlier posts, à point.


Steak au Poivre

The steak came with a side of spinach and the most unbelievable frites I've ever tasted. Just look at them. This is one of those dishes that leaves you speechless.

For dessert, I ordered the crème brulée, which was framed by pure hardened candy, like the kind that solidifies on the dessert itself. I didn't want to break the shell, and I suppose I could have just lifted it, but after gazing starry-eyed at the dessert for several minutes, I needed a taste of the outside.

Crème Brulée

The shell was a sweet preview of what was to come. After the rest of my family had resisted ordering dessert for fear they wouldn't have room for Pinkberry (comme çi, comme ça, in my opinion), everyone caved and shared my crème brulée. I was both pleased and saddened by this, as it meant I could share the taste with them, but also that I had to. Less for me, unfortunately.

I am never disappointed by my favorite restaurant. The only hiccup of the evening occurred when my steak came undercooked -- two times. I'm not the type to send things back to the kitchen unless I sense a risk of e. coli, so this was definitely something that could have been remedied from the start. Still, my waitress was apologetic, which, considering her French descent, was impressive, and fixed the entrée at my request.

Raoul's is about as close as it gets to Paris in New York City. The owners are French, as well as the majority of the wait staff. Forget Pastis and Balthazar -- this is the real deal, where the quality of food trumps the trendiness, and not the other way around. The restaurant is a staple in my Manhattan diet, so I'll need to make sure I move into my apartment next summer at least a few weeks early (before I begin a life of takeout and delivery) in order to get my fix. If you're going on a date and need a special venue, choose Raoul's. Or, even if you're stag and looking for a place full of flavor and character, it won't take you long before you're in love with Raoul himself (sexuality disregarded). Until next time, happy birthday to me...

Dine at Raoul's:
180 Prince Street
New York, NY 10012
(212) 966 - 3518

(Meat)Ballin'

2010-07-22T15:36:00.000-04:00

It was a Monday night, and I decided to venture outside of my East Midtown locale. Living two blocks away from where you work is convenient, but the idea of having my entire life within an eighth-mile radius can be stifling, not to mention that 47th street east of Park Avenue is not the liveliest of neighborhoods after 9:00 PM. I went straight from work to a friend's apartment on the Lower East Side, which has grown to be one of my favorite areas of the city. Last winter, I spent a few nights at The Hotel on Rivington, and since then it's been like a long-distance relationship; I love the area but rarely have the time or patience to travel to that neck of the woods. This past Monday was an exception, though, as I had worked until 11:30 PM and was ready for a change of scenery.

After relaxing with some friends, new and old, at this LES apartment, I remembered that I hadn't eaten dinner that evening. Mind you, it was now 1:00 AM on a Monday night, and there weren't many options that satisfy my increasingly high dining standards. My friends and I did, however, stumble upon a gem called Meatball Shop.

Meatball Shop is a new concept restaurant that allows you to mix and match meatballs (not just beef; they also have chicken, vegetable, and veal) with a variety of sauces and presentations. For example, you can have your meatballs plain, as a slider, on a brioche bun, etc., etc. In the middle of the restaurant there is a long, communal table, which encourages the nouveau-hipster atmosphere that is almost as pungent as the meatballs themselves. The menus are laminated and rewriteable, dry-erase markers included. Of course, the menu sparked much conversation, and we soon realized that there are an endless amount of puns to be made about the restaurant. The bottom part of the menu is cut off to conceal the obscene pictures I drew, which seemed all too fitting for a place like this. Statements like, "How do you like your balls?" and, "Three balls? That's weird," were thrown around liberally, and our tattoo-sleeved waitress didn't mind joining in with us. She recommended the tastiest balls, the best sauce for our balls, and explained that she, too, was a lover of balls of all sorts.

After marking up the menu, my friends and I received our meatballs. First to be delected were four beef meatballs in a spicy meat sauce with parmesan cheese and focaccia bread. The balls literally melted in my mouth.

If I hadn't devoured the bread, I would have used some to scoop up the cheesy remains of my meatball aftermath. Below was my second serving of ball(s), a chicken ball with mushroom sauce.

This doesn't look as appetizing as the first, and to be frank, it wasn't. On a scale of 1-10, I'd give it a 7.5, compared to my first course, which I'd give a 9.5. I think I learned my lesson - meatballs are meatballs for a reason...Although I would like to sample the vegetable or veal balls (coincidentally, I had feasted upon veal meatballs at ABC Kitchen the night before).

New York City has an increasingly popular market for niche restaurants with limited menus. You've got Meatball Shop, Krums (and every other unnecessary cupcake shop - although I won't pretend to be averse to the tasty little treats), and that rice pudding place in SoHo (although I think that made most of its revenue from an underground drug ring, but I digress...). I wonder how long it will take before we begin to see trendy Spam (you know - it's "ham in a can") bars sprout up throughout the city. It seems that entrepreneurs can make any concept turn to gold with the right chef behind their idea, and as far as niche establishments go, Meatball Shop is exemplary of that theory. In fact, several hours earlier, the wait was about an hour and a half, and the restaurant is open until 4:oo AM on the weekends. People must really love these balls. I know I do...

Dine at Meatball Shop:

84 Stanton Street

New York, NY 10002

(212) 982-8895

UPDATE: After discussing this article with a friend, Guest Star (remember him?), I have been informed that there was a Spam-themed restaurant in Manhattan. Apparently, though, this place closed, but not before Anthony Bourdain had the chance to visit. What is this world coming to?

The Bruncheon

2010-07-16T18:06:00.000-04:00

Boy, it feels good to be food blogging, a joy that is seldom in summer twenty-ten, one that has been replaced by less interesting verbs like "excel-ing" (not to be confused with doing well), "business casual-ing," and "Seamless Web-ing." As we speak, I'm at my Park Avenue office with just a moment to breathe (and blog). Many of you know that the three loves of my life are food, fashion, and finance, but admittedly this summer, the former two have taken the backseat (save for a few minutes of Shopbop perusal in the morning).

Last weekend my parents visited with another couple. You can imagine my excitement, as most of my meals as of late have come from a styrofoam container -- it was the perfect excuse to ball out with my tongue out (doesn't rhyme but I might adopt that as my new saying -- perhaps dine out with my nine out would be wittier, but that doesn't exactly apply to me). I was entrusted, as usual, to choose restaurants for our two meals together, dinner on Saturday and brunch on Sunday. I wish I had taken pictures of Saturday at Scalini Fedeli, but you'll just have to take my word for it -- it was one of the top ten dinners of my life. The menu was a prix fixe, which can be off-putting for some, but I assure you I was only put on. In light of my regretful lack of blogging from that meal, I set my sights on Sunday brunch at Telepan, another prix-fixe -- this was not clearly a weekend of skimping.
The restaurant is a quiet UWS hideaway (mind you it was not lacking style) with a largely 45+ crowd. This didn't deter me, though, as in my opinion, age is generally a sign of continually refined taste, at least at fine dining establishments. I arrived before the majority of my party with my summer roommate; an old friend who I love dearly but who has a palate that's impossible to please. He spent the first five or so minutes after we were seated explaining to our waitress his dietary restrictions -- dairy allergy, fish aversion (not a clinical diagnosis, only my desctiption), etc. She was quite accommodating, though, and I suppose it was the perfect complement to my eating habits, because I'll try just about anything (which usually leads to my affinity for such items and, eventually, will contribute to my obesity as an adult). Finally, our party arrived, and order we did.

My first course was verbana creme crepes with strawberries & strawberry sauce.

These small treats melted in my mouth. Not too sweet, and also reminiscent of France! Quite fitting, because a close friend with whom I'd traveled abroad was to my right, and she, too, is a Francophile. She ate the crepes, as well. I like to mix salty with sweet, so I followed my crepes with a mushroom, herbs, and cheddar cheese eggwhite omelet that was served with superb, bite-sized hash browns and a mixed green salad. It was just as delicious.

I prefer my omelets fluffy to runny, and while I'm not a picky eater, I almost exclusively order my eggs scrambled. One time, however, I did adventurously order eggs benedict at Norma's, which I enjoyed but found a bit heavy.

My family and friends applauded me for a meal well chosen. And while I have been on point lately, that doesn't mean much when you're stuck in the office at all hours. As we speak, I'm wrapping up this article on a Saturday at the office, after having worked from about 1 o'clock til 7. With nothing to hold me over until dinner except peanuts from the 19th floor vending machine, I can only dream of Telepan as a distant memory. That is, until tonight at Hudson Hall...

Dine at Telepan:

72 West 69th St.

New York, NY 10023

(212) 580-4300

A Tale of Two Cheesesteaks

2010-05-14T22:29:00.000-04:00

Admittedly, I have been anticipating this entry for quite a while. From the second my plane landed on American soil in December, I looked forward to the day when my comparative cheesesteak article would come to fruition. And now, at long last, that day has arrived.

I had just returned home from the completion of my junior year at Emory (and awaiting my status as an indentured servant--er--summer investment banking analyst), when I felt a hankering for a cheesesteak that I couldn't ignore. All too coincidentally, I had an out-of-town visitor who also wanted an authentic Philly cheesesteak, so the two of us followed our cravings to a street corner on Henry Avenue. On any other normal afternoon, I would have been forced to make a critical choice: Chubby's or Dalessandro's? But this was no normal afternoon...

I have eaten at each of these down-and-dirty cheesesteak joints on separate occasions, but have never had the opportunity to compare the two and declare my preference (something that by now you must realize is essential to the way I operate). My ambivalence was put to rest, however, on this one fateful Wednesday.

Chubby's and Dalessandro's are situated across the street from one another on a busy intersection in a borough of Philadelphia. They are two of the lesser-known, hidden gems of the city. Most tourists (and even a few ignorant Philadelphians) cite Jim's, Pat's, or Geno's as their "favorite" spot for cheesesteaks. Just to give you a bit of background, there are two ways a cheesesteak is prepared - with shaved meat and melted cheese, or with slabs of meat and Whiz. I prefer the former, as Whiz gives a cheesesteak a slightly synthetic touch. Thus, by my standards, we can eliminate Pat's from the running. Jim's is good, but they tend to skimp you on the meat, and I've never eaten at Geno's (shhh), so I can't judge just yet. But let it be known, you don't have to travel to the infamous South Street to get a good cheesesteak.

It is for obvious locational reasons that Chubby's and Dalessandro's withhold a traditional rivalry. And so I had to be strategic about my game plan. If I were to eat both cheesesteaks at once, that meant that I could only be in one restaurant. After some debate, I decided to park at Chubby's and get a cheesesteak to go, then make my way over to Dalessandro's, where I could sample both at the same time. I was discreet about my mission, however, as I recognized it was somewhat of a foodie faux-pas. These establishments are no-nonsense, so you can imagine the kind of glances I would get if I were caught smuggling an outsider into either one. And the waitress at Dalessandro's was neither inviting nor polished, when she bid farewell to some regulars by saying, "See yas later" (probably not the best place to sport my Burberry raincoat). Thus, I proceeded with caution.

My friend and I went halfsies, which is probably my favorite way to eat any type of food. My first bite came from the Chubby's cheesesteak.

Parts of the meat were slightly overcooked, and the onions and peppers could have been more thoroughly intertwined with the meat, but it was solid overall. Definitely better than your average cheesesteak. Come to think of it, when my post-prom fell through in May 2007, our party bus changed course to Chubby's. An authentic Philadelphian after-prom, indeed.

I have to give Chubby's some credit, because the steak had been sitting out for about ten minutes before I had the opportunity to sink my teeth into it, as I had been waiting patiently at Dalessandro's. However, my second bite, which came from the Dalessandro's steak, beat Chubby's ten-to-one. This one had more meat, an even spread of cheese and onions, and the restaurant had containers of do-it-yourself shredded assorted peppers that I probably could have eaten plain. And I couldn't help but notice all of the "Zagat-rated" signs on the wall...I was in primal heaven.

I suppose it was beneficial, after all, to have been in Dalessandro's for my moment of truth, otherwise I may have upset some very seriously overweight employees (welcome to Philadelphia). My guest and I both agreed that Dalessandro's had the superior steak.

As most of you are aware, Manhattan is one of my favorite places on earth, and where I'll be spending my summer, but the one thing it lacks is a decent cheesesteak. Sorry, but that bullshit 99 Miles to Philly doesn't quite cut it. New York City will be perfect when Dalessandro's allows me to pioneer its franchise, but even I wouldn't trust myself to uphold its strict standard of abrasiveness and poor grammar/dental hygiene (just picture some of the mouths in Dalessandro's). Until its expansion, however, I'll just have to remain content with venturing to Roxborough. Because after all, who doesn't love a good piece of meat?

Dine at Dalessandro's:
600 Wendover Street
Philadelphia, PA 19128
(215) 482 - 5407

And, if you're up for my cheesesteak challenge,

Dine at Chubby's:
5826 Henry Avenue
Philadelphia, PA 19128
(215) 487 - 2575

NOT The Krusty Krab

2010-03-22T23:07:00.000-04:00

It was spring break, and instead of traveling to my original destination of Acapulco, I diverted my plans to sunny Miami for a more relaxing vacation. And so my six days were what I considered to be nearly perfect -- I exercised (I know, right?!), basked in the sun, and of course, ate well, all in the company of some of my best friends and two wonderfully hospitable Floridian families. I raved about each of the restaurants we visited, but one in particular comes to mind -- Joe's Stone Crab.

Anyone who's ever been to Miami knows that Joe's is a staple in any Jewish family's diet. One of my closest friends and host for the majority of my stay in Miami has an "in" at Joe's -- her parents have formed relationships with the elitist maître d's who allow them to skip the often hours-long wait for a table ready in fifteen minutes or less. Whenever my friend travels home for a break or for the summer, she likes to sample flavors from many restaurants (you can see why we're friends), but Joe's is always on her list. It isn't trendy -- there is no DJ and the decor is minimal -- but it's been around forever and is always, always, always worth it. Even the couple waiting for an hour and a half who were seated after our party of seven would tell you the same.

The menu is relatively standard for a seafood restaurant, save for several notable exceptions: first, the stone crabs, as you might imagine, are distinctively delicious. Second, the chicken breast on the menu is priced at $5.95. Keep in mind, Joe's isn't cheap, which goes to show how few people actually go there and order chicken. If you're reading this and you ate the chicken that night (you know who you are), shame on you.

I began my dinner at Joe's with "Stuffy's," a house special that consists of baked Quahog clams (Peter Griffin?), Parmesan cheese, bacon, celery, and onion. My oh my.

I didn't use the side of melted butter because the clams were fried, and I'm trying to watch my figure (as you can tell by the food blog). Next time I'm at Joe's, I'll order these to share, as they were much too filling as an appetizer. A bit greasy, as well, but I do love shellfish.

Next came the crème de la crème of seafood - the stone crabs. My mahoff friend and I split a large order and ate fiercely as the rest of our friends marveled at the crabs in all of their glory. "Can I try?" became the most frequently used phrase of the evening, and after a while, just like they tell you in D.A.R.E., I said no.

Next to the crabs you can see a bit of hashed brown potatoes, our starch of the evening and a wonderful complement to the cold, rubbery goodness of the shellfish. We also chose spinach as our vegetable, a frequent Flavoriser favorite, even though it sometimes gets stuck between my teeth.

I've used this word before to describe food and I'll use it again to elucidate just how fabulous our apple pie really was -- dank. I swore when we ordered dessert that I wouldn't touch it (because of my aforementioned "diet"), but what do you know, I ate almost the entire thing. Sorry guys.

I don't know about you, but I prefer my apple pie at least 60% gooey (clearly this is something I've thought about). This dessert fulfilled my target ratio and then some (sorry, the finance jokes sometimes force themselves in). It looks almost as good as it tasted.

My meal crescendoed just before my stomach was about to implode. As I write this article, I'm currently in Boca Raton and, after having eaten stone crabs this weekend from another seafood restaurant, I can confidently say that Joe's trumps the rest.

My friends and family know that wherever I go, whatever I do, food is always at the forefront of my thoughts. My tastes are varied and my cravings are many, but when in Miami, Joe's will be my "drug" of choice.

Dine at Joe's Stone Crab:

11 Washington Avenue

Miami Beach, FL 33139

(305) 673 - 0365

Flipped Out

2010-02-12T00:36:00.000-05:00

Atlanta hasn't yet seen much of La Flavoriser, so tonight will be the debut. Since my return to school, I've dined at several noteworthy restaurants and taken pictures with the anticipation to blog. However, after committing to sell my soul to the devil and trying to secure an internship on Wall Street, my window of time has grown increasingly narrow. Somehow, between chapters 5 and 6 in the Vault Guide, and before midterm studying had gone into full swing, I found the time to drive the thirty minutes in unfamiliar territory to Flip Burger. As many of you know, cheeseburgers are among my favorite foods. Last year, my roommate and I kept a picture of a cheeseburger on our refrigerator -- there were no other pictures. My interest in writing about food has actually stemmed directly from the cheeseburger itself. If I could have any other last name, it would be Cheeseberg (to keep it in the tribe). Ok, I don't know if that's true...

My first trip to Flip Burger was not an adventurous one for me in terms of food - I stuck with the basics to assess the true quality of the restaurant. Only after eating the restaurant's standard burger could I get a real grip on what this place was all about. The burger was above-average, and after mistakenly leaving my credit card at the restaurant, the manager ran it outside to me in the rain. Overall, it was a good night.

This visit was different. I sat at a table, not the bar, albeit the thirty-minute wait. Flip Burger, from my understanding, is usually "squad deep," which is surprising considering its inconvenient location, but realistic given the unbelievable variety and taste of the burgers they serve. Their menu is divided into two sections -- Burgers and Flip Burgers. "Burgers" were every item substantiated by red meat, and "Flip Burgers" were sandwiches of many varieties made to look like burgers. Once we were (finally) seated, the service was extremely attentive. My drink was refilled without being asked. After spending so much time in France, I can't begin to describe how thankful I felt. As much as I loved Europe, I missed the ass-kissing that is the United States service industry.

There were three of us at dinner, and we easily ate a meal for five. We first split the smoked caesar salad, which was infused with some sort of bacon, giving it the "kick" that most caesar salads lack.

Next came my burger -- The Butcher's Cut; a burger cooked medium-rare (always) with caramelized onions, blue cheese, and red wine jam. Caramelized onions are my absolute favorite. Finally, a place other than California Pizza Kitchen has them on the menu. I could have used some more jam to even out the taste, because the burger was a bit salty. Still, I devoured it.

My friends and I had attempted to order the sweetbread nuggets to share, only to find out that the last of them had just been consumed, probably by the people seated directly before us. My group and I decided that we needed to order something just as adventurous (for them at least -- I had already tried most of the foods on the menu). We went with the venison burger with gooseberry relish, brie cheese, toasted pecans, sprout tops, and mushroom jam. This was my favorite part of the meal. The venison was not at all game-y and the combination of cheese, mushrooms, and sweet relish would have turned any vegetarian into a believer.

At this point in the meal, I was just about keeling over. If ever I were to become a hypochondriac, I'm certain that "food coma" would be my most frequent self-diagnosis. And so the food continued with the "Coffee and Donuts" milkshake. The milkshake had chocolate-covered coffee beans, whipped cream, coffee ice cream, and bits of Krispy Kreme donuts inside. Imagine how unreal that sounds... It was better.

Flip Burger is still booming after being open for about a year in the Atlanta area. It's a trendy "burger boutique" -- or so it calls itself -- with hip music and shockingly inexpensive prices. A 5.5 oz burger will run you about eight bucks, creativity included. Their menu is probably the most inventive I've seen with "Flip Burgers" ranging from poboys to tuna tartare. I recommend this restaurant to just about any carnivore, and I look forward to dining here again in the very near future. Until then, I'll be dreaming of burgers...

Dine at Flip Burger:

1587 Howell Mill Road Northwest

Atlanta, GA 30318

(404) 343 - 1609

Back from the Crypt

2009-12-30T23:25:00.001-05:00

Hello to each of my fabulous foodie friends. It's been quite a while since I've updated La Flavoriser, but don't fret - my hiatus was only temporary. I've been back in the United States for slightly over a week and I must say, my European days seem unfortunately more distant as time passes. I'm back, however, and ready for some R, R, &R; Rest, relaxation, and restaurants. While I would love to feast upon French fare and bask in the nostalgia that would logically follow, I know that any French restaurant in the Philadelphia Metropolitan area would only be a let-down. I'll have to settle for something that is actually damn good, even off of route 76 West; Bluefin.

Bluefin is a shopping center BYOB sushi joint. From the outside, it doesn't look like much. Even from the inside, it still doesn't look like much. And then the food arrives - flavorgasm. But there's still so much more to Bluefin that makes it one of my favorite local spots. First, it's a definite hierarchy. The "regulars," (my parents included) get treated like royalty. My family walked into the restaurant and was greeted with a friendly, "Hoyyyy," which was all too familiar. At one point in our meal our table was visited by an Asian woman who is apparently the head chef/owner's sister. I didn't know her name, social security number, or credit score, but I did know she was glad but not surprised to see my family on a Wednesday evening. And yes, like most other days at Bluefin, we secured our reservation well in advance. The most frequent visitors have the opportunity to name their own maki rolls -- an ultimate status symbol for the greater Main Line area. I won't blow up anyone's spot, but if you dine at Bluefin, you'll begin to know these families by both name and fish. Everyone within 20 miles of Philadelphia's city center has heard of Bluefin - it's practically legendary among Jews and Gentiles alike.

In Paris, sushi was an extremity. I either ordered below-mediocre sushi delivery, or was forced to pay outrageous prices for poissons frais. In lieu of this harsh reality, it has been almost five months since I've eaten great sushi. Surely you realize, as I do, that this is nothing short of a cuisine crime. There are few things in life I enjoy more than the consistency of raw fish against my taste buds.

I wasn't starving (crazy, I know), so I decided upon an appetizer and a maki roll. I began with an order of shrimp shumai. Call me "safe" and "boring," but I was reminded of what I'd been missing the minute my teeth sunk into the piping shrimp dumpling. This was the start of something good, don't you agree?

Following the shrimp shumai came the Marlee Roll, probably named after some elitist Philadelphia family who's spent an overwhelming proportion of its disposable income on sushi. The Marlee Roll was comprised of tuna on top of a crunchy spicy yellowtail roll with roe. I ordered the roll without "crunchies," as my mother has been pressuring me to eat healthier. I'm sure this made quite the difference. The fish was indescribably fresh, and the roll came with enough spicy mayo and wasabi (I'm a spice fiend) to keep my tongue tingling. The roe was red and green (Merry Christmas?). You really must dine at Bluefin to understand; out of the myriad of sushi restaurants I've frequented in NYC and other reputable locations, Bluefin keeps me coming back.

I'm still unaware of the status of Bluefin's dessert menu, or if there's even one at all, but at the conclusion of each of my Bluefin meals I've been presented with a plate of fried banana with honey, orange slices, and honeydew. The honeydew I could have done without, the orange was secondary, but the banana was the icing on the sushi cake. That sounds foul, but try and picture the metaphor instead of the literal translation. And it worked out perfectly - my mother was sitting across from me, and, as you may recall from earlier posts, she's not usually inclined to eat. This left me with more banana than usual - a situation I was pleased to embrace.

After my exquisite sushi dinner and a few glasses of my mother's 2008 Cakebread Chardonnay, ("very expensive," she claims), I was floating above the clouds. I recommend Bluefin to anyone even remotely close to the Philadelphia area looking for quality sushi in a relaxed setting. The décor isn't spectacular, nor is the service (unless you dine there weekly), but it's consistently delicious and serves the freshest fish in town. No doubt I'll be dining here several more times before my much anticipated return to Atlanta, and, if I'm lucky, I'll earn the rights to a Flavoriser Roll. Contact me with any creative maki suggestions. Happy New Year!

Dine at Bluefin:

1017 East Germantown Pike

Plymouth Meeting, PA 19462

(610) 277 - 3917

Hasta La Gnocchi Siempre

2009-12-12T20:32:00.000-05:00

It was a Thursday night, and like most Thursdays, I was hungry. My friends Caroline, Kelly, and I (they've been waiting for this moment) decided to do something a bit different. Although I know I'll regret feeling this way in about a week when I return home, I couldn't have eaten one more onion soup, order of escargots, or steak frites. I needed to diversify my portfolio, but I knew that if I were to branch out, it would have to be authentic and delicious, the first being an obvious prerequisite to the second. After hours of deliberation, and only after I had checked just about every food guide I'd ever heard of, the three of us came to a consensus.

We decided upon l'Osteria - a hole-in-the-wall Italian bistro in the Marais that is known for its alleged "best gnocchi in Paris." The restaurant had no sign or street number - just a small stand outside with a menu reading its name in fine print. If I hadn't searched for a picture of the storefront online before arriving, it's likely I wouldn't have been able to find it. This place was absolutely adorable and très romantic -- a tiny restaurant with about 8 simple wooden tables, paintings of seafood on one wall and antique photographs of Italy on the other. The menu was printed first in Italian, then in French, and the one Italian waiter also happened to own the place. My friends and I were the only Americans in the restaurant, indicating that l'Osteria is still a well-kept secret.

J'avais faim. Beaucoup de faim. And the menu was making my stomach growl by the second - everything sounded fit for a queen. Kelly and I wanted to split the black truffle gnocchi and the mushroom risotto for our entrées; much to our initial dismay, the risotto was only prepared for two. What was a foodie to do in this situation? The answer was clear -- split the gnocchi to start, and order our own risotto after. Too much food? No such thing.

What you're looking at was quite possibly the most heavenly dish to ever grace my tongue. Sometimes with gnocchi, it takes a few seconds to get past the outer pasta before reaching the potato inside. After this meal, I realized that technique is amateur. The "outer pasta," if there was any, practically melted in my mouth, allowing the potato to collide with the black truffle chips and truffle sauce into gnocchi goodness. I am literally overcome with emotion when I think about this dish. Needless to say, these lovely lumps were gone in sixty seconds.

After eating the gnocchi, I knew my entrée couldn't come close. And I was right -- the mushroom risotto was very good, but it would've had to have received a 20 out of 10 to beat what preceded it. I must say, I preferred the risotto to the mushrooms themselves - they were a bit flavorless and drowned in the risotto cream, which you'll notice is quite heavy in the picture. It certainly would have been more climactic to start with the risotto, but we live and we learn.

At this point in the meal, I was stuffed, but I wasn't about to let that stop me from asking for a dessert menu. Turns out, there was no formal menu, but the chef, who had stepped in at the end of the meal because the owner had left (we basically closed the place), recited the four desserts that were offered. We decided on the panna cotta, an Italian dish consisting of a mixture of cream, milk, sugar, and gelatin. Believe me, it tasted better than it sounds, especially with the raspberry and butterscotch reduction. Crème brulée is really the only dessert I can think of that even slightly resembles panna cotta, albeit only the creaminess aspect (for those of you having trouble imagining how the dessert would taste). Come to think of it, this was a rather creamy meal altogether. Remind me to come back here for another fabulous evening when I'm old and losing my teeth.

The next dessert was on the house, complements of our Egyptian/Italian chef (Egyptian ethnicity, Italian cuisine). We were served tiramisu, but not like I've ever had it before. The fluffiness of tiramisu is usually consistent throughout, but at l'Osteria, the tiramisu had more of a tart or jelly consistency with a thick powder on top. I remember Caroline making me laugh while eating it, and I coughed up the powder, which made quite the mess. Although it was extremely rich, I found the contrast between dry and damp refreshing.

Our meal would have been perfect, if not for a slight altercation toward the end. During several moments of our dinner, a noticeably inebriated Lebanese man found it appropriate to sit at our table and ask us penetrating questions. We brushed it off until we were leaving the restaurant, when I was asked by the man if he could "give me his card," in hopes that our one-ended conversation would turn into something more. When I politely replied that I had a boyfriend, he answered that he didn't care, and then pointed out to me his wife, who had been sitting at the table with him the entire night. She smiled and waved, as if somehow this was at all socially acceptable.

I will never forget my evening at l'Osteria, the Lebanese polygamist, the Egyptian chef to whom I gave my blog address (I hope he's reading this right now), or the "dank" black truffle gnocchi, to borrow a term. Our meal was quite satisfying (the best gnocchi in Paris, indeed), and I'm confident I will return to l'Osteria upon my next visit to Paris. You should, too, especially if you're looking for some Lebanese loving...

Dine at l'Osteria:

10 Rue de Sévigné

75004 Paris

+33 1 42 71 37 08

Study Break of Champions

2009-12-08T20:32:00.000-05:00

Amidst the not-so-craziness that is abroad finals time, my friends and I decided we needed a break. From what, exactly, I'm not so sure, but I do know I had previously made about three failed attempts to dine at Hiramatsu - an haute French, Michelin-one-starred restaurant in Paris's upscale 16th arrondissement. For those of you unfamiliar with Michelin ratings, here's how they work: one Michelin star deems a restaurant "very good in its category." Two stars mean excellent cooking and worth a detour, and three stars mean exceptional cuisine and worth the journey. Not every restaurant merits a Michelin star -- it's quite a prestigious ranking system, so to receive only one is still very highly regarded.

I was recommended this restaurant by my fellow friend and writer, Guest Star, and wasn't let down. I somewhat underestimated just about everything about Hiramatsu, from the dress code to the quality of the food. The men were wearing jackets and ties, the women in heels, and I was in jeans and an old sweater with my hair a mess from having walked to the restaurant in the rain after doing my investments homework (sounds fun, right?). Despite these "obstacles," however, I couldn't have felt more in my element, as the establishment was still rather small and understated. As my friends and family know, I practically thrive in restaurants like this, regardless of most everything but the food. There was, however, much else to regard; the décor was simple but elegant with slight Japanese accents, like the black and white marble ledge lining each wall. The ratio of of servers to patrons was enormous - I felt as if there was a different waiter for each course of our meal.

My favorite things about haute French restaurants are the little surprises brought out between what you've ordered. Perhaps I've just had good luck, but I have enjoyed virtually every "between-dish" (so I'll call them from now on) I've ever been served. I think their element of mystery keeps them appealing.

When I first arrived, I was greeted with a bowl of honey roasted pistachios (not pictured) and two types of pastries resembling miniature cinnamon buns, but flavored with blue cheese. Sweet and salty -- the perfect combination to begin my French/Japanese meal. I hadn't ordered either of these items, which means they fall into my aforementioned "between-dishes" category.

Our second course was another "between-dish" that included thin slices of smoked salmon served with wasabi cream over a fennel purée. Normally, when given the option of raw fish, I choose tuna, but this salmon was exceptional. It was the perfect thickness so as not to be too fishy, which is often my issue with salmon. The wasabi added the perfect Japanese touch, and the fennel just a bit of extra umph. Delicious.

So, what did I actually order? I thought you'd never ask. I can say with no hesitation that Hiramatsu's agneau (lamb) made a lasting impression in my mind. Though it was no more than a few hours ago, I can still taste the tenderness of the meat against the truffle reduction and the onion confit. And, as an added bonus, I discovered a slender piece of foie gras hidden underneath the slices of lamb. A wonderful surprise, indeed. If I were less civilized (and perhaps if I had spent the semester in Atlanta instead of in Paris), I would describe this dish as "finger lickin' good."

Ah, les desserts. There always seems to be more than one, usually because I dine with others and we like to sample different things, but I have a feeling at Hiramatsu I would have ordered each of these regardless. On the menu, all we saw were "caramel" and "chocolate," so we decided upon the following immediately. We were unaware, however, of the creativity that would follow.

This doesn't look like much (as a result of my excellent photography skills), but what you're viewing here is the Fondant au Chocolat Hiramatsu, which is dark chocolate with dark chocolate mousse inside and a pie-like crust on the bottom. It was served with a side of vanilla ice cream -- typical, you think, but it was all too complementary. This dessert was delicious, albeit one of the more traditional components of the meal. At the end, when there was but one bite left, I took one from the team by eating it -- don't worry, I asked first.

The second of our desserts was incredibly special. Below you can see our "caramel box" (similar in consistency to the top of a crème brulée) with a hybrid of vanilla mousse and vanilla ice cream inside. Next to the caramel box is a scoop of the most divine caramel ice cream (drizzled with caramel sauce) I've ever tasted. Additionally, and quite purposely I'm sure, there were little bits of caramel-ice in the ice cream, adding just the right amount of crunch to my bite. It's almost 2:00 PM in Paris as I'm writing this, and while I haven't eaten anything yet today (I just woke up), I would be thrilled for this dessert as a first meal.

Our last two desserts were complements of the chef. First came a plate of half-truffles (not pictured) -- simple but savory (I could always go for a truffle). Next, we were served pistachio mini-macaroons with white chocolate inside, each with their own spoonful of white chocolate yogurt and a white grape. A bite of the macaroon, then a taste of the yogurt and the grape to balance out the aridity of the pastry. It was an exquisite balance.

My meal at Hiramatsu was absolutely superb. Many times, with haute French restaurants like this, you get the feeling that the chef is trying too hard to be creative with either his food, his presentation, or both. This was not at all the case with Hiramatsu; everything was delicious and paired extremely well with one another. The transitions were smooth and, despite the European-sized portions, I left undoubtedly satisfied. The food was inventive without being excessive, which is just what I needed from my "study break." It was all class from start to finish. And, at the end of the meal, l'addition (the check) was served in scroll-form tied with a ribbon served on a silver platter. How's that for service?

If ever you're visiting Paris for a short time and are looking for one special meal, Hiramatsu should be it. It's delicious but subdued, and you'll leave feeling glad you made the splurge, not regretful. Although I suppose that depends on who's paying...

Dine at Hiramatsu:

52 Rue de Longchamp

75116, Paris

+33 1 56 81 08 80

"The belly rules the mind." - Spanish Proverb

2009-12-06T17:01:00.001-05:00

This weekend I went back to Barcelona for the second time during my study abroad experience. I had a small agenda but high hopes - this was not a sightseeing trip for me, as I had done the major to-do's in October. All I wanted out of my weekend excursion was to relax during the day, do a bit of partying at night, and of course, as is the agenda for most of my vacations, eat well. Two of my favorite meals were lunch, which in Europe is generally more celebrated than dinner. I'll write about the lunch where I took pictures to keep things interesting.

Saturday's lunch was at a postcard-sized restaurant called Cal Pep, located in Barcelona's trendy Born district. Earlier that day (but not much earlier) I had rolled out of bed after a long, relatively sleepless night at a beach-front discoteca. It was 2:30 PM when we arrived at the restaurant, our first activity of the day, and I was famished. You can imagine, then, how I felt after an hour and a half of waiting to be seated, pushed up against a wall in a cramped restaurant. For the sake of Zagat and a few friends who had visited Cal Pep, my group and I decided to swallow our pride -- little did we know we wouldn't be swallowing much else for nearly ninety minutes. By the time we were seated I was so hungry I could have eaten anything -- and I did. I was finally placed next to a girl with dreadlocks and a piercing between her two eyes (who knew they could even do that?), so what excuse could I have had to eat conservatively (not that that's ever an issue)? I had to one-up her.

As you can see by the picture below, which I received many awkward glances for taking, the restaurant is extremely narrow and has a bar with only about 15 seats. If you look closely, there is a door with a round window in the back that leads to the "main room," which has about three tables, all of which are reserved for those smart, non-masochistic customers who decide to call in advance. I had obviously left either my brain or my means of reservation-making at home. And my phone was in my pocket, so...

My group and I opted not to view the menu, so the chefs were free to do their magic. I generally prefer meals like this, as they should be reflections of the chef's artistry and not necessarily of what you're craving at any given time. Our first plate was a toasted roll served open face with tomato and olive oil. It was good -- not mind-blowing, but good.

Next, arriving simultaneously, were the fried green peppers and fried seafood (calamari, anchovies, and prawns). Needless to say, it was the perfect meal after a long night out...

I couldn't bring myself to eat the anchovies as I'm usually not a fan (I tend to ask for them on the side of my caesar salad or forgo the salad altogether if they're mixed into the dressing). The calamari and prawns were both tasty, although in my state of restless hunger I was a bit too impatient to unwrap and devein each individual prawn.

You may think I'm finished, but I'm just beginning (keep in mind this wasn't all for me - there were four of us at lunch). After the fried everything, the chef prepared for us tuna tartare with sesame seeds. This was one of my favorite parts of the meal, and although it sounds Asian, it didn't taste anything like teriyaki or soy. It was very well flavored; the perfect ratio of salt to fish.

Our next dish I enjoyed just as much if not more than the tuna. We received a bowl of clams in a mouth-watering white wine and butter sauce with bits of bacon (not to be confused with bacon bits). I dipped the bread we were given into the clam sauce after the clams were no more -- it was fabulous.

Next came the "traditional" (for Spain at least) Spanish omelette, which consisted of potatoes, sharp cheddar cheese, bacon, and a bit of mayonnaise on top. It was quite good, definitely the most memorable of the omelettes I've eaten in Spain. We were seated about five inches away from the stovetop, so lag time for the food was next to non-existent. As a result, the omelette practically melted when I stuck my fork into it.

After the omelette came the most interesting dish I've eaten abroad. Below is a picture of our cuttlefish with chickpeas. I still can't decide how I feel about this dish -- it had a rubbery texture against the tongue but a similar consistency to the chickpeas after chewing it. This fish had a duller taste than most, which can be a positive while experimenting with new foods. It's doubtful that I'll ever order cuttlefish in a restaurant again, so it's a good thing I got my fix.

Still going...

The pulpo followed the cuttlefish. I didn't know this until I googled it, but pulpo is Spanish for octopus. It was served over baked potato slices with vegetables and paprika. I tasted the fish but managed to exclude the tentacles from my bite. It, too, was rubbery and chewy, but not necessarily in a good way. I won't be eating pulpo again.

And last but not least (if this were pulpo, it would be least), we ate grilled calamari with assorted vegetables. I preferred the fried version, but perhaps that was just as a result of my morning-after state. This calamari was, however, one of the freshest components of our lunch.

Forgive me for the quality of these pictures, but hopefully you get the idea. Overall, I would describe my meal at Cal Pep as one that seemed like it would never begin, then seemed like it would never end. The food was tasty overall, with several standout dishes like the tuna and the clams. Had I not taken pictures and diligent notes on my blackberry, the rest might have faded into my memory. Next time I'm in Barcelona, which I'm certain will be sooner rather than later, I will probably not return to Cal Pep unless a reservation is made in advance. While I enjoyed my experience and got the chance to sample new creatures of the sea, there are very few restaurants, in my opinion, that merit a 90-minute wait. I would recommend this spot for any seafood fan looking for authentic Spanish fare. And the fare, not too pricey but quite filling. The only things I needed after this lengthy meal were a napkin and a few more hours of sleep...

Dine at Cal Pep:

Plaza Olles 8

08003 Barcelona, Spain

+34 933 107 961

Another Night, Another Bistro

2009-11-30T17:03:00.000-05:00

It's easy to get the idea that delicious bistros in Paris are a dime a dozen. There are, however, several fallacies embedded in this argument:

1) France is on the Euro - there are no dimes.

2) Although most food in Paris is, in my opinion, better than the food in America, good bistros are harder to come by than one might believe. Hopefully my recommendations with help.

Tonight I picked a winner (not a nose-picking reference): Bistrot de l'Oulette. As many of my favorite and most frequented spots, l'Oulette is located in the 4th arrondissement not far from Place Des Vosges and Chez Janou (bistro crawl anyone?). The venue has a slightly different feel from Janou - this is a no-frills kind of place with plain wooden chairs, minimal décor, and a relaxed ambiance. The people who dine here aren't looking to see or be seen; they want a tasty, low-stress meal, which is exactly what I received.

Heed the myth that you can wine and dine all night in the typical Parisian bistro. As per my experiences, many of these places want you in and out as soon as possible, especially if you're American (which I've become increasingly talented at disguising). L'Oulette, however, was an exception. Although there was only one waiter present this evening, I felt no competition for his service. He was quite attentive -- I would even go so far as to say he was happy, which in Paris is almost unheard of for anyone working in the service industry. Seems somewhat counterintuitive, but hey, that's Socialism. Stay tuned for my blog on politics...

Back to food. My meal was excellent from start to finish. I didn't feel hurried, and I was greeted by my waiter with a smile. Everything on the menu looked incredible, so admittedly my decision was quite difficult to make. I made it, though, and here's what I chose:

To begin, a shellfish "bisque" containing mussels, clams, and one other unidentified item, although it didn't really matter what it was because the soup was incredible. Just the perfect amount of cream, not too thick or overwhelming. The dish is garnished with parsley and topped with what is probably the French equivalent of Old Bay Seasoning.

Next came one of the best entrées I've had in a very, very long time. Below is a picture of some of the most savory and tender duck breast I've ever eaten. It's roasted and topped with a port sauce with a side of potatoes au gratin -- for those of you non-foodies, that's with cheese and cream.

I was rather impressed with the first two courses of my meal, which I found perfectly complementary. The third component of my "menu" (appetizer, entrée, and dessert for 33 Euro) was not entirely mine; my good friend Dan and I split the chocolate soufflé with raspberry center and the flaky pastry filled with caramelized apples and a side of Armagnac grani. The soufflé melted wonderfully as Dan and I jousted with our forks to compete for the last piece. My only complaint was the lack of actual raspberry - there was a raspberry sauce, which went well with the chocolate, but not as well as real fruit would have. The apple pastry was excellent albeit quite flaky, but hey, I knew that beforehand. The Armagnac, which I had never tasted before this evening, was relatively strong and tasted very alcoholic. I found it a bit harsh paired with the apple, although it was in an ice-like form, which balanced out the warmth of the pastry. The pictures of the two desserts are below. If you can't tell which is the soufflé and which is the pastry, best that you stop reading now and pick up a copy of Life for Dummies.

I thoroughly enjoyed my meal at a leisurely pace. Dan and I were the last ones in the restaurant, but our waiter didn't seem to mind. I'm excited to return to this new spot of mine, though the restaurant merits much more calm than I'm prepared to give. Then again, it's hard to remain calm in one of the most food-centric cities on earth...

Until next time!

Dine at Bistrot de l'Oulette:

38, Rue des Tournelles

75004 Paris

+33 1 42 77 78 83

Foie de Vietnam

2009-11-28T22:43:00.000-05:00

It's still early days at La Flavoriser but if there is one thing that has already been established, it is the creator's penchant for foie gras. Though not a favorite of this contributor, I feel it is only fitting to make my finest foie experience the subject of this first post.

I am fortunate as well to have experienced foie gras at some of France's most respected establishments. However, my best and most memorable experience with it took place a good 9,000km away from Paris-- in Hanoi, Vietnam. May sound a bit strange at first but remnants of French colonial influence in Vietnam are everpresent, especially with respect to architecture and, of course, food. The man responsible for my fête de foie was Bobby Chinn.

A sort of cult figure, Chinn has established himself as the gastro version of an international man of mystery. Half Chinese and half Egyptian, born in New Zealand and educated in the US and UK, his multinational background is visible in the cooking at his namesake restaurant. While he is all about keeping the menu and atmosphere playful and fun (as proven in the restaurant "rules" at the bottom of the menu), his food is far from a joke. I found this out very quickly from the Non-H5N1 Rice Paper Wrapped Foie Gras, Mango and Ginger Sauce.

The rice paper, completely surrounding the generous but thinly sliced foie, was like the wrapping paper over a mindblowing present, except, well, edible and delicious. The combination of textures between the crispy rice paper and delicate foie was both clever and extremely well-executed. The sauces created a sweet/savory mix that still did not interfere with the intensity of the centerpiece. Perfect.

I remember the rest of the meal and subsequent hookah (perhaps an homage to Chinn's Egyptian roots) being great, yet that dish was the one true standout. Vietnam is undoubtedly home to some of the world's best street food, so I was a bit skeptical to pay more than a buck or two for dinner. However, Restaurant Bobby Chinn was well worth the "splurge" and I would recommend it to anyone visiting Hanoi. Just another reminder that some of life's great pleasures arrive when and where they are least expected.

Restaurant Bobby Chinn
1 Ba Trieu Street, Hanoi, VIETNAM

Guest Stars

2009-11-28T17:57:00.001-05:00

I've invited some of my greatest influences to contribute to my blog -- consider them "guest stars." They are extremely well-traveled and well-dined, and they will share with you some of their food experiences that will make your mouth water. I'll let them remain anonymous unless they choose to reveal themselves. Until then, happy reading!

Giving Thanks, Gaining Kilos

2009-11-28T15:46:00.000-05:00

I'm going a bit out of order, but I'd like to share with you one of my most memorable meals to date. As many of you know, I'm living in Paris until December, and my parents decided to spend our Thanksgiving here instead of in the Northwest suburbs of Philadelphia (as interesting as that may sound). My reservation-making skills had been put to the test -- could I find a restaurant special enough to replace our beautiful new dining room on one of my favorite holidays of the year? Yes, I could.

I decided upon Le Jules Verne, making the evening an official anti-Thanksgiving. Besides, what better way to give thanks than to flee the country for France and eat on top of the Eiffel Tower? At 21:00, I ascended up the dimly-lit private elevator, skipping the mobs of tourists waiting in the rain and cold below. At one hundred fifty-three meters, I was on top of the world. If I was thankful for anything that night, and it certainly wasn't the bill, it was for our table by the window -- even in the rain, I had never seen such a magnificent view of the city, overlooking the Seine and the right bank. And to top it all off, since I arrived on the hour, it meant that the light show was about to begin. I had a behind-the-scenes perspective.

I started the meal off extravagantly - warm cauliflower soup with bits of bacon and broccoli, herbs and spices, and a scallop topped with fresh cream and caviar (see top left). My jaw was steadily dropping as the meal progressed (although I had to raise it again in order to chew). Next came the entrée, a melt-in-your-mouth piece of filet mignon served saignant (get used to it) aside duck foie gras in a cognac and black truffle sauce. The triangular sculpture on top is a puffed potato chip, one of many served beside the steak. By now it has become quite clear that I fancy red meat (see above).

Just when I was beginning to think Alain Ducasse had outdone himself, our waiter brought out the pièce de la resistance - pistachio soufflé with confectioner's sugar. This dessert was ordered several hours in advance, but we couldn't possibly have anticipated what was coming. The picture I took is after several bites, because my hunger succeeded my desire for photography at that moment. I believe it's better this way, however, because you can see the inside of the soufflé and try to imagine how your taste buds would feel if it graced their presence (trust me, you can't). Finally, complements of the chef, we received parfaits of vanilla crème and thick chocolate mousse topped with cashews, vanilla macaroons, and dark chocolate with almonds (hidden behind the parfaits). Two light shows, five full stomachs, and several emptied bank accounts later, all I could say was, "DAMN."

Finally, it was time to take the elevator back down to earth. I reflected on my out-of-this-world meal (though probably not worth the price), and thanked my generous father for taking one for the team. As I exited the tower, I realized there was one more thing to be thankful for: it had stopped raining seconds before my new suede Prada boots hit the ground.

Dine at Le Jules Verne:

Tour Eiffel

75007 Paris, France

+33 1 45 55 61 44

Thankful for your Readership,

Amanda

Ce Soir...

2009-11-27T20:36:00.001-05:00

Everyone who's spent a substantial amount of time in Paris has had the opportunity to survey the restaurant scene and choose his or her favorite bistro. Chez Janou is mine. It's the quintessential Parisian bistro on the corner of a hidden street near the Place des Vosges, and it's absolutely perfect. The menu is succinct but contains everything you'd ever crave. My almost-anorexic mother, vegetarian sister (we don't know where she came from), and carnivorous self all found something delicious to eat.

Now of course, this wasn't my first time dining at Chez Janou. I'd been recommended this restaurant by my trusty friend Zagat, as well as some friends who had lived in Paris during previous semesters. Tonight was probably my seventh time, to be approximate. I started with the ever-consistent tuna carpaccio with black olives and lemon garnish, followed by my go-to -- the entrecôte served saignant (between rare and medium-rare) with a side of a thinly-sliced potato "cake" au poivre. I didn't even mind not drinking red with my steak because the house white is so delicious.

I wish I had taken pictures, but if you've ever been to Chez Janou, you'd know that it's virtually impossible not to devour your food the minute it's served. Unfortunately, all I have is a lucid memory of this fabulous meal and a full stomach to accompany it. If and when you go to this bistro, arrive before 9:30 to sit outside -- the heat lamps will make up for the slight chill, the people-watching will keep you entertained, and the cuisine will be on point each and every time. And most importantly, if you're a foodie who dines out often, it won't break the bank. Three courses and wine for about 35 euro -- but I would pay double for this.

Dine at Chez Janou:

2 Rue Roger Verlomme

75003 Paris, France

+33 1 42 72 28 41

An Introduction

2009-11-27T14:50:00.000-05:00

There are those who eat to live and others who live to eat. I have always considered myself the latter. I derive great pleasure from eating and an even greater one from sharing my favorite meals and recommendations with others. I'm certain that if you like food, you'll like what I have to say.

My name is Amanda and I've always had a passion for eating. Continually antagonized by my peers for spending hours taking notes on the Zagat guide, I have developed and refined my taste for food of all sorts -- I rarely discriminate. I sometimes wonder where this affinity has come from -- my mother rarely eats anything, and my father eats quite a bit of it-doesn't-matter-as-long-as-it-kills-the-craving. Though I would not consider myself picky according to anyone's standards, I do prefer some foods to others and am very confident about what I like. This will manifest shortly.

"Favoriser" means "to indulge" in French, so adding an "L" perfectly describes the direction I'm headed with this website. My goal is to convert all of those who are cuisine-indifferent into true foodies. And it doesn't hurt to make you salivate, either...