The Food and Music Club

Chef of the Century

noreply@blogger.com (Khanh) — Sat, 20 Feb 2010 23:55:52 PST

I had a fangirl freakout on Tuesday night. While dining at L'Atelier in Las Vegas with the BB Dakota crew, I spotted Joel Robuchon, the chef of the century, talking to diners about 10 feet away from our table. Of the nine times I've eaten at L'Atelier over the past four years, it was the first time I ever saw him there. The diminutive Frenchman gradually edged closer to our party of eight, then he disappeared to oversee the open kitchen behind us as well as his namesake tribute to haute cuisine next door. A few minutes later, he popped up again and talked to other patrons before ducking away once more. Anxious to get some face time with him, I asked one of the managers if we could get a photo with Monsieur Robuchon. "Yes, of course," was the response. I whipped out my camera and set it right in front of my plate. I was nervous every time the waiter refilled my glass, fearing that he'd spill drops on my photo equipment and ruin my chance for a photo with the cooking great. About 20 minutes after I made my request, the chef quietly appeared next to our table with the manager, who served as both interpreter for his non-English speaking boss and groupie photographer. After scrutinizing the photo, I noticed an uncanny resemblance between Monsieur Robuchon and Yoda.

With their wide cheeks, droopy eyes and bare noggins, the two exude kindness and patience anchored by profound wisdom in their respective fields: cooking for Monsieur Robuchon, Jedi swordplay for Yoda. It's an honor to be in either one's presence.

Chúc Mừng Năm Mới!

noreply@blogger.com (Khanh) — Sun, 14 Feb 2010 16:16:02 PST

Happy Lunar New Year! It's the Year of the Tiger! Roar! Just remember not to eat any duck for the first month of the new year. The Vietnamese superstition is that if you sample even one morsel of duck during the first month, good luck will roll off your back for the rest of the year as quickly as water rolls off a duck's oiled feathers.

Cruising into Cafe Atlantico

noreply@blogger.com (Khanh) — Sun, 14 Feb 2010 16:09:01 PST

On the same day that Miguelito and I had our lunch at Bryan Voltaggio's Volt, we met my cousins and brother for dinner at Jose Andres' Cafe Atlantico. In hindsight, it was a bit of an overload to pile two rich meals into one day. But with the nippy weather outside, there wasn't much we could do to entertain ourselves in Virginia but to make pilgrimages to see celebrity chefs. I wanted so badly to ascend the stairs from Atlantico's main dining room to eat at Minibar. Alas, I didn't make reservations in time to snare a spot at the six-seat shrine to molecular gastronomy.

Our party of five had fun on the festive main floor of the restaurant. The lime-colored menus inspired you to drink caipirinhas, margaritas and other brightly hued cocktails all night long.

Cafe Atlantico melded old and new Latin flavors. Guacamole was mashed tableside in a molcajete.

Perfect puffs of fried oysters were topped with uni.

A vocal advocate of the foie faction, I like my foie gras seared, pureed in a pasta sauce and packed into a terrine. I had never sipped it in liquid form. Then I ordered Cafe Atlantico's foie gras soup.

Dollops of cream leavened the rich, thick soup. There were slivers of mushrooms hidden at the bottom of the bowl. I felt as if my tongue was taking a late afternoon walk through the Black Forest, stopping occasionally to hear the cackle of ducks and geese floating through the crisp air from a nearby farm.

My main dish was sadly anticlimactic compared to the foie gras soup: seared scallops with roasted cauliflower and couscous.

Miguelito had a more exciting entree: pork chop with deconstructed feijao tropeiro. The divinely cooked pork chop was so tender and juicy. Feijao tropeiro is a rustic bean dish from Brazil. Instead of being dumped together into a bowl, the rice, black beans, manioc powder and orange slices were scattered across the big white plate. The only travesty was the foam that hid the beautiful slab of meat.

Victuals at Volt

noreply@blogger.com (Khanh) — Sat, 06 Feb 2010 17:31:15 PST

On a recent visit to the Viet clan in Virginia, Miguelito and I made a little field trip to Volt Restaurant in Frederick, Md. The 50-mile drive from my parents' house meandered through woods and farmland. This was my first time visiting a destination restaurant. There would be no other reason for us to visit the quiet colonial town other than to have lunch cooked by Top Chef runner-up Bryan Voltaggio. Even dinner would be out of the question because that means we'd have to find a place to sleep in Frederick or risk driving home with a food coma.

The restaurant was a modern oasis tucked inside a 120-year-old brick mansion. The contemporary decor was quite warm, as you can see by the pick-up-sticks-inspired lighting.

The doorway to the main dining room caught our eye with sage-colored tile that spelled out: EAT.

Miguelito and I ate quite well, without much damage to our wallets. Even though we missed Restaurant Week by a few days, we arrived in time to take advantage of a three-course prix fixe lunch costing only $20.10.

I liked how the white walls and tablecloths contrast with the deep brown ceilings and ebony wood trim of the chairs. The paint on the ceiling matched the color of the Converse kicks that the staff wore. I didn't spot one lick of shiny or brushed steel, which seems to be the fall-back material for decorators who aspire to be modern.

The metal was saved for the dinnerware designed by Hepp.

Once we placed our order, we were served Southern hospitality in the form of chive biscuits.

For my appetizer, I picked goat-cheese ravioli topped with Balsamic vinegar and sudsy foam. I didn't quite remember the flavoring of the foam, which reinforced my belief that foam is the fancy garnish replacement for parsley.

Miguelito sipped a chowder made with dehydrated bacon. The jewel in the crown as a perfectly seared scallop.

The mashed potato base for my striped bass tasted too literally like a foundation: hard, clunky, cold and bland. The fish, however, was delicious. Even better were the plump mussels that tasted as if someone had injected them with a savory broth made of the sea.

Miguelito loves his roast chicken. And he said Volt's chicken was, along with Magnolia's roast chicken, the best that he's ever had. The generously cut pieces were cooked sous vide and then roasted for color. The meat was so flavorful. Not that it didn't help that Volt sourced its food from local farms that pay careful attention to what they feed their poultry. The beets and risotto provided a rustic home for the old school-meets-new school chicken.

The servers all donned gray suits with their brown Converse sneakers. Miguelito and I thought they resembled junior talent agents at CAA.

Miguelito got a pick-me-up with the house blend of coffee, which a local shop mixed especially for Volt out of four different coffee beans.

My dessert was called "Textures of Chocolate." It sounded like the title of a lecture at a food university. There was chocolate ice cream, chocolate caramel, cocoa nubs and powder, chocolate brittle and a tube of white chocolate that reminded me of string cheese. I would have licked the plate clean but the caramel stuck quite hard to the square plate.

Miguelito opted for a miniature cheesecake for his dessert. It was a bit too tropical of a dessert for a cold January day. On the other hand, the bread pudding on the menu was a little too heavy to end a flavorful lunch.

Like other fancy restaurants, Volt gave an edible good-bye gift to its guests. We received banana nut muffins for our next day's breakfast. I actually ate my muffin with my afternoon tea after we got back to my parents' house in Virginia. I'm actually not a muffin girl, and the slightly dry, dense texture of Volt's version didn't change my mind. If only Volt took a page of Guy Savoy and the Mansion at Joel Robuchon, which respectively offered caramels and big brioches to satisfied departing patrons.

I was glad that Volt went for a modern bathroom, since the original toilet from the 1890s wouldn't have worked so well.

The bathroom was so modern that a frosted glass wall barely separated the women's and men's sides. Here's Miguelito doing a yummy-yummy-food-in-my-tummy dance on the other side.

Happy New Year!

noreply@blogger.com (Khanh) — Mon, 04 Jan 2010 17:02:24 PST

Two Thousand Aught Nine was a big year for me and Miguelito. We chased the Kogi BBQ truck, got hitched and started a slew of eating traditions in our new life together (the slow cooker was pulled out of the cupboard, tuna and swordfish nixed from our diets) -- all while remaining employed. Yippee! We needed to close the year with a big, memorable meal. But we also wanted to stay humble since the last year of the Aughts was so crummy -- financially, socially and psychologically -- for many people. So we got down and dirty at Boneyard Bistro, slurping raw Humboldt County oysters and digging into a platter of red potatoes, corn on the cob, shrimp and King, Dungeness and stone crabs scooped out of a spicy Louisiana-style boil. We couldn't polish off all the food before we headed to a friend's party, where we toasted the new decade with champagne and foie gras (you can only eat so much humble pie, after all). So we boxed up the leftovers for our New Year's breakfast: baked eggs with crab, potatoes, corn and tarragon.

Since I was using leftovers from the previous night's boil, it was quite easy and quick to whip up breakfast. Miguelito did the dirty work of removing the crab meat from the shells before I diced the potatoes and shaved the corn kernels off the cob. I tore tiny tips of tarragon, later mixing them with creme fraiche seasoned with salt and white pepper. I layered the potatoes, corn and crab meat into buttered mini ramekins, and cracked one egg into each container. I carefully spooned the tarragon creme fraiche atop the egg as if it was snow falling gently on a moving glacier. After 24 minutes in a 325-degree oven, the ramekins were ready.

Peep the layers of crab, corn and potatoes hidden underneath the soft-cooked egg. What a hearty start to the new year!

Jersey Shore

noreply@blogger.com (Khanh) — Fri, 18 Dec 2009 11:08:26 PST

I curse the Jersey Shore cast for giving tattoo-inspired T-shirts a second life. But the show is ridiculously over the top. And the nicknames!

Get your Jersey Shore nickname here.

Mine is: The Opportunity.

Meatball Maven

noreply@blogger.com (Khanh) — Tue, 01 Dec 2009 15:11:25 PST

I'm now a published photographer of meatballs. Of kibi, to be exact. I originally posted a photo of the Lebanon-via-Yucatan deep-fried meatballs on this blog in August 2007. Last June, I received a request to republish the picture in Go, the in-flight magazine for AirTran Airways. Food photos? A magazine that includes my surname in its title? It was fate--I had to say yes!

Fashion's First Family

noreply@blogger.com (Khanh) — Tue, 08 Dec 2009 12:32:31 PST

The Restoin Roitfelds are often hailed as the first family of fashion. There's the patriarch, Christian Restoin, who founded the clothing line called Equipment. His life partner, Carine Roitfeld, is the editor in chief of Paris Vogue.

Carine Roitfeld with Vladimir Restoin Roitfeld at the MOCA gala/Donato Sardella for WWD

Their son, Vladimir Restoin Roitfeld, is an up-and-coming curator who has collaborated with surf brand Rvca's artist network.

Rock & Republic's ad created by Julia Restoin Roitfeld

Their older daughter, Julia Restoin Roitfeld, is an art director who launched Rock & Republic's music-meets-bondage ad campaign last year (Mama would have given her stamp of approval) after interning for Fabien Baron.

Thanks to a fun and sassy Web site, I Want To Be a Roitfeld, we can all live vicariously through this ridiculously chic family.

Working the Weekend (with Lady Gaga)

noreply@blogger.com (Khanh) — Tue, 08 Dec 2009 12:37:57 PST

Last weekend was a doozy for me. I didn't go on any benders and then wake up surrounded by countless bottles of champagne. Instead, I had to stay sober while covering back-to-back galas filled with philanthropists and celebs partying in a decadent pre-Great Recession haze. The apex of the revelry was the Los Angeles Museum of Contemporary Art's 30th birthday bash on Saturday night. In lieu of clowns, pony rides and cupcakes, the 1,000-plus guests celebrated with Brangelina, Lady Gaga's premiere of a new ballad with Italian artist Francesco Vezzoli and the Bolshoi Ballet, and coq au vin and mini baked Alaska pies whipped up by Wolfgang Puck. Plus, there was not one reality TV personality spotted within a 100-foot radius. (Perez Hilton, on the other hand, decked out in white sunglasses and a sequined jacket, came as a FOLGy -- Friend of Lady Gaga.)

Some discoveries of the evening that never made it in my story: Producer Ridley Scott was rather approachable and friendly when I had to grill him about his Gucci project (I thought he would lash after me a la the fighters in his movies "Blade Runner" and "Gladiator"). Eighth-grade fashion blogger Tavi Gevinson, bundled up in Rodarte and Missoni like a little gypsy, was smaller than I thought. I made James Franco laugh by asking if he was wearing a Guckie suit. Gwen Stefani accessorized her Dolce & Gabbana bustier with fake diamond earrings she bought in Thailand. Billionaire philanthropist Eli Broad only wears Brioni or Ermenegildo Zegna suits. I misheard Liz Goldwyn say "lesbians" when she actually said "burlesque queens." Hedi Slimane was more shy, unassuming and thoughtful than I expected from someone of his talent and reputation. A tentacle sleeve of my champagne-colored Gianfranco Ferre blouse made a cameo in a photo with K.D. Lang.

The one-night-only presentation was organized by Moscow's Garage Center for Contemporary Art and the Gagosian Gallery. In tribute to the Russians in the house, the posters lining the white tent erected in the middle of Grand Avenue paid homage to another distinguished Slav: Alexander Rodchenko. Here's a poster of Vezzoli done in that simple, clean, bold style.

The only time I got to sit down and relax was when Lady Gaga sang "Speechless" in Vezzoli's "Ballets Russes Italian Style (The Shortest Musical You Will Never See Again)." Unfortunately, I wimped out of challenging copyright law to post the ghetto video footage I took of the performance. But you can find some on YouTube.

Damien Hirst painted blue butterflies on the pink piano that Lady Gaga played during her performance. The Steinway was later sold in an auction -- with the help of leggy models in gold lame swimsuits and "The Price Is Right" theme song -- to Larry Gagosian for $450,000.

Following their performance, Lady Gaga and Vezzoli did quick costume changes to better enjoy their dinner with the MOCA crowd and later do a round of interviews with the press. The lady remained demure in another pouffy Prada dress, albeit one in black with a cutout revealing her pale tummy. She also switched her lipstick color from blue to black. Vezzoli slipped on a leather bomber jacket and jeans, but kept the rhinestone tear under his right eye. Now that's a true artiste.

Candy in Cookies

noreply@blogger.com (Khanh) — Wed, 18 Nov 2009 13:44:20 PST

I rarely buy candy. But on Halloween, when Miguelito and I swung by the grocery store to pick up sweets to pass out to trick-or-treaters, I urged him to buy the mix of miniature Nestle Crunches, Butterfingers and Baby Ruths. Why? I had an ulterior motive to bake cookies with the leftover Halloween candy, using a recipe that I found on Goop. (The recipe is listed below.) I loved the way the caramel from the Baby Ruths and the Butterfingers' peanut flakes melted and then oozed out of the dough before hardening into crispy circles. Since only one kid rang our doorbell all night, I had enough chocolate bars to chop into two and a half cups of candy. The recipe is so good, that I'd use it on any of the other 364 days of the year.

Crystal’s TNTs
3 cups unbleached, all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
½ teaspoon salt
1 stick unsalted butter (8 tablespoons) at room temperature
1 cup packed brown sugar
1 cup granulated sugar
2 large eggs
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
2 tablespoons milk
2 to 3 cups candy, chopped (recommended: chocolate bars or chocolate covered anything, caramel anything, chips, pretzels, raisins; just so-so: lollipops, hard candies; not recommended: gum, gummies, pixi stix)

Preheat oven to 375° F. Line two cookie sheets with parchment paper.

In a medium bowl, whisk flour with baking soda and salt and set aside. In another medium bowl, cream butter and sugars together with a whisk or wooden spoon until light and fluffy (this takes about 3 minutes). Add eggs one at a time, thoroughly incorporating each, and then add vanilla and milk and beat until combined. Add the flour mixture to the butter mixture, mix until incorporated, then fold in chopped candy.

Drop by rounded tablespoons (a mini ice cream scooper is my favorite way to portion them) onto cookie sheets, leaving about 2 inches between each cookie (room to grow). Bake for 12 minutes or until golden brown. Let cool on a wire rack.

Yield: 4 dozen cookies.

Pigs & Pinot

noreply@blogger.com (Khanh) — Thu, 29 Oct 2009 00:00:40 PDT

On Sunday, Miguelito and I hustled down to South Coast Plaza in Costa Mesa, Calif., to celebrate the birthday of a friend who turned 66. A momentous occasion called for an extraordinary meal. So we pulled into the high-end shopping center's parking lot in front of Charlie Palmer at Bloomingdale's. It also helped that the birthday boy is a good buddy of Palmer's.

The personal connection with the cooking maestro earned me a mini tour of the kitchen, where executive chef Amar Santana let me peep at one of the two -- count 'em, two -- suckling pigs that he prepared for our extravagant feast.

In tribute to Palmer's famed seminar, Pigs & Pinot, where participants spend a weekend in Healdsburg, Calif., learning how to make the most of the other white meat, Santana paired a Pinot noir with our dinner. (Our appetizer of seared foie gras with pears and apples was complemented by a Riesling.) Santana used every piggy part for our dinner. From left to right in the photo, my plate was filled with lentils, pork belly, crackling skin, polenta, sweet potatoes and shallots, Brussels sprouts roasted with bacon, mushrooms and a rillette of pig's ear stuffed inside pork belly.

DineLA Restaurant Week Ends Soon

noreply@blogger.com (Khanh) — Thu, 22 Oct 2009 19:55:12 PDT

This is the last weekend when you can take advantage of the prix-fixe deals offered at a number of pricey restaurants as part of DineLA Restaurant Week. Miguelito and I are heading to Ciudad on Friday to try the $34 three-course dinner. Half-glass pours of wine cost only $5. Ole!

Blogging Ethics

noreply@blogger.com (Khanh) — Thu, 08 Oct 2009 12:50:16 PDT

The Federal Trade Commission devised a new batch of rules this week mandating that, starting Dec. 1, bloggers must reveal all the freebies, payments and perks they receive from advertisers. This makes sense. Still, the need to disclose isn't completely new to me as I've been following the Food Blog Code of Ethics as well as the rules of righteousness that I use in my day job. And on the few occasions that my night hobby poses a conflict of interest with my day job, I choose the latter. That's why I recently had to turn down a blogger boondoggle that packaged a night at a four-star hotel, meals with chefs brandishing shiny knives (not to mention marquee brands) and monetary incentives for tweets and prompt posts on my blog. Oh, how I missed out! But it only takes 30 seconds of bad judgment to ruin a career that was built over 11 years.

Baking at 3 in the Morning

noreply@blogger.com (Khanh) — Tue, 29 Sep 2009 14:24:45 PDT

Because Phammy works New York hours, she had to wake up at 3 a.m. in Seattle to bake her award-winning pie. That's the mark of a true foodie. Phammy shared the recipe for her 3 a.m. black strap rum peach pie so that everyone else can sleep in and bake at their leisure.

Black Strap Rum Peach Pie

noreply@blogger.com (Khanh) — Tue, 01 Dec 2009 15:19:10 PST

Phammy and Geddy/Photo from Queen Anne View

My friend Phammy is a Viet chick, journalist, mother of two and hostess of a Thanksgiving dinner that I always try to attend in Seattle. The reason I leave the mild fall in Southern California for the chilly wetness of the Pacific Northwest is because Phammy spends at least three days cooking a scarily ambitious but always yummy meal for no fewer than a dozen people. The rolls, pies, stuffing and whiskey cocktails are all made from scratch. No cheating, substitutions and shortcuts are allowed. All her efforts to be the perfect American housewife paid off Thursday night when she garnered the top prize at her neighborhood farmer's market's 1st Annual Blue Ribbon Pie Contest. Her son, Geddy, was on hand to help her celebrate. I hope the duo relives their special moment -- and recreates the award-winning pie -- for this November's gathering.

Living Large at Rivera

noreply@blogger.com (Khanh) — Sat, 05 Sep 2009 19:19:20 PDT

I recently married a Latino. Miguelito is only a quarter Latino, diluted with Norwegian genes via Minnesota. But nonetheless, he's got the Diaz surname through his dad's side. My friend Isabel also recently married a Latino. For a get-together to dish on our first months of married life, Isabel and I decided to go to the most recently opened notable Latino restaurant in Los Angeles: Rivera. The restaurant's fancy facade was a giant aesthetic leap from the taco trucks that I'm used to frequenting.

I had never tasted the delectables that chef John Rivera Sedlar cooked when he worked at L'Ermitage, Bikini and Abiquiu. So I didn't know what to expect. I certainly didn't anticipate the bartender to light a drink on fire.

The beakers enhanced the mad scientist feel at the laboratory-like bar. The only thing missing was a white lab coat for the bartender to don.

The bar menu included a $14 bespoke cocktail. You tell the bartender what's your favorite liquor, and he'll whip up a special cocktail for you. I requested something with champagne, and I received a concoction called Death in the Afternoon: champagne mixed with absinthe and lemon juice.

The bar's coasters were quite utilitarian. Made out of paper, they were printed with recipes for Rivera's signature drinks, like the Barbacoa.

Isabel and I get along very well. That's partly because we're the products of immigrant families. While we're used to working hard, we also like to play hard and eat well. Foie gras, champagne and caviar top the list of our favorite foods. When Isabel saw that one of the appetizers on the menu paired potato chips with a habanero cream sauce and caviar, she felt vindicated. Her husband makes fun of her when she eats caviar with potato chips at home.

We also tried the tortillas pressed with edible flowers and avocado.

I smeared the habanero cream sauce with the guacamole on my tortilla.

We moved on to seared scallops with mango salsa.

I liked how the chef's trips to Macchu Pichu, Rio de Janiero and other parts of Central and South America influenced not only how he cooked his food but also presented it. He dusted what tasted like all spice in the silhouette of an Aztec mask. The seared black cod was so flaky and the serrano ham crisp provided a pleasant crunch. But the jicama strips were just too big and bland. It looked as if the cod was floating down a murky green river on a white raft.

The grilled quail was so crunchy. I felt like King Kong sucking on the little bones. But the black beans reminded me of azuki beans, smashed into a sweet paste for a Japanese mochi dessert. While I could understand the contrast between sweet mush and charred crispiness, the beans were just too sugary for me in this entree.

This is the most gourmet tamale I've ever eaten. Filled with braised pork short ribs, it was topped with hedgehog mushrooms.

The ceviche of ahi tuna, avocado, serrano peppers and lime juice was so refreshing.

Isabel and I ended our shared meal with Kurobuta pork chops and black carrots in a mole sauce. I had never had pork chops in mole before. I also never had Frida Kahlo's eyes stare at me during dinner. The cayenne pepper in the seductive garnish could serve as a metaphor for life as a newlywed: When things get a little heavy, sprinkle on some spice to re-open your eyes and put a zing into your step.

An Open Door to World Cuisines

noreply@blogger.com (Khanh) — Tue, 25 Aug 2009 22:22:14 PDT

Open Door is an Asian fusion restaurant that isn't afraid to mix up genres, ingredients and common sense. Set in the heart of Monterey Park, Calif., home to many dim-sum and noodle restaurants, its walls are painted like giant ukiyo-e screens and the tree sitting in the middle of the 28-seat room is lit with electric candles.

But like any good izakaya, Open Door serves tasty food that goes well with sake and beer. You don't have to look any further than the mural on the back wall for a recommendation on what to eat and drink.

I had never seen this beer in Japan or the U.S. before.

If you didn't know that you were in the middle of a restaurant, you'd think that you were on a spaceship because of the way the sake bar is illuminated. The tanuki statue to the left, along with the Japanese subway station sign hung under the ledge, reminds you that you are here to eat Japanese cuisine.

But it wasn't traditional Japanese cuisine. Melted truffle butter was drizzled on the edamame for an earthy but crunchy start to the meal.

Tonight's whitefish sashimi was halibut. Basted in a ponzu sauce with tiny crowns of chopped scallions, the dish was my favorite of the night.

When I mentioned earlier that Open Door mixes common sense, I was referring specifically to the truffle tater tots served with ketchup and mayonnaise. Though some online critics raved about the tots, I couldn't quite get into them. There were too many memories of elementary school lunches.

The seared salmon tasted as if it was torched ever so gently with a blowtorch, just as the wagyu beef in the Philly cheesesteaks at Jose Andres' Bazaar were.

The tomato and onion salad was my second least favorite dish. The caramelized onions weren't mushy or sweet enough to my liking, and the tomato slices were too cold and hard. I would have preferred the whole dish to be roasted, with only the crunchy bonito flakes dancing frenetically on the tongue.

The black cod was cooked perfectly with a sweet sauce. The presentation, however, was rather odd. Was it supposed to resemble a boat, with the shrimp crackers resembling sails and the banana leaf serving as the steer?

The beef carpaccio arrived so late in the meal that the 15 of us at the table were trying to dump it onto the other person. I would have eaten more if the beef had been sliced paper-thin.

This was one of the best examples of Asian fusion cooking: Korean-style kalbi ribs with fried potatoes.

This was another favorite of the night: steak tartare topped with a raw quail egg.

This was the surprise hit of the night: potatoes with a dollop of cream and fish roe.

We tossed all the ingredients together in a hot cast iron pot with a wood spoon. I liked this so much that I am determined to improve my knife skills just so that I can julienne the potatoes and make this dish at home.

Open Door managed to fuse French, Japanese and Korean culinary traditions in its menu. It added another country -- Mexico -- with the cinnamon-dusted churros. The pastry's sweet crunchiness complemented the earthiness from the edamame and truffle butter that kicked off the three-hour meal. The fried flutes were like exclamation points ending a long, fun evening.

Guide to Food Trucks

noreply@blogger.com (Khanh) — Fri, 21 Aug 2009 13:33:31 PDT

This handy guide to some of L.A.'s yummiest food trucks comes courtesy of Daily Candy. I love how Twitter has become a standard operating procedure for these mobile eateries, as indicated by the trucks' tweetability.

Food52

noreply@blogger.com (Khanh) — Tue, 18 Aug 2009 19:11:47 PDT

I recently joined an online community that is all about cooking. Founded by former New York Times food writer Amanda Hesser and her Le Cordon Bleu-trained co-author Merrill Stubbs, Food52 curates recipes submitted by members in a database and dispenses tips, videos and chatter all pertaining to cooking. Though I've already filled out my profile -- i.e., What is the strangest food you have ever eaten? (Balut eggs) Your ideal meal? (Anything shared with my husband) -- I've yet to post my recipes and submit a video tour of my kitchen. It should be interesting!

In the Know

noreply@blogger.com (Khanh) — Tue, 18 Aug 2009 11:03:04 PDT

Los Angeles is home to a plethora of ethnic eats. But if you don't hail from a particular ethnicity, then it can be damn intimidating to figure out which spot is the best and most authentic. At a recent dinner organized by my foodie fashion friend, Johnny, I met the Rameniac (right in photo, next to the easily excitable Johnny). The Rameniac totes his ravenous stomach around the world in the quest of a piping hot bowl of ramen. After professing my love for Daikokuya, Rameniac said his favorite ramen joint in Southern California is Ramen California in Torrance, an industrial city lying about 30 miles south of L.A. "All the best Japanese restaurants are in Torrance," a tablemate noted. Why? That's because Torrance serves as the U.S. headquarters for many Japanese conglomerations, ranging from car makers Honda and Toyota to Tecmo, the video game company behind the “Dead or Alive” series. The reason the Rameniac highly endorses Ramen California is because the noodle shop's chef is one of Japan's best exports. From his Torrance post, this savory sensei has an artisanal touch with his noodles and broth, adding an unconventional flair (Heirloom tomato ramen, anyone?) to warm your soul and rejuvenate your palate.

Our conversation quickly shifted to another Japanese delicacy: Kobe beef. Johnny and the Rameniac said The Steak House, also located in Torrance, is the best chop house serving marbled beef cut from pampered, beer-fed steer.

As half of the people at dinner hailed from Korea, we had to determine which is the best Hangol haven in Los Angeles. For Korean-style BBQ, Andrew recommended Chung Ki Wa, in the heart of K-Town (that's K for Korean) on Olympic Boulevard at Wilton Place. As for a late-night stop, where you can sop up the Crown Royal & 7 swishing around your tummy with some kimchee, Andrew and his cohorts recommended a place that they nicknamed Big Mama, after the restaurant's plump proprietress. The only geographic markers we rustled from our Korean pals' hazy memory were that Big Mama is in K-Town next to the 7-11 on the east side of Sixth Street, south of Alexandria Street. Needless to say, it's important to have not only a hungry appetite but also a sense of humor and adventurous spirit when exploring these ethnic enclaves.

Breakfast of Champions

noreply@blogger.com (Khanh) — Mon, 17 Aug 2009 00:14:56 PDT

I used to not like eating breakfast. Then I bought some cool widgets such as a crepe pan, madeleine tins and yogurt maker to help make breakfast more fun. For the slow-cooked oatmeal that I learned to make from Cook's Illustrated magazine, all I need is a heavy-bottom pot. Though the pros in the culinary lab recommend toasting the steel-cut oats in butter before cooking them in a blend of milk and water, I often skip this step. I also sometimes cheat and use quick-cooking oats. But that doesn't mean I curtail the cooking time. The longer the oats can soak up the liquid, the more puffy they get. Other key steps are maintaining a 1-to-4 ratio of oats to milk/water and adding the salt before the final five minutes of cooking. Cook's Illustrated claimed that if you add the salt any earlier in the cooking process, the oats will turn out clumpy. I sweeten the gruel with honey. To help balance the flavors -- and avoid any accusations of being overly healthy -- I also fry some Jimmy Dean sausage.

Another homey dish for breakfast is a French toast souffle. You make the same egg mixture in which you'd dip the stale pieces of bread. But you let the bread soak in the mixture in a baking pan overnight. The next morning, you dot the pieces of bread with some butter and bake until the eggs set. Recently, I used stale wheat bread for my souffle. Don't be scared to drown the souffle in maple syrup.

Another breakfast recipe that requires some advanced preparing the night before is that for home-made yogurt. I've always loved the European-style yogurt made in little glass jars. But they're often too pricey. So, for my wedding registry, I requested a Euro Cuisine yogurt maker that prepares seven jars of yogurt. All you need to do is boil milk, cool it down a little and add the culture and any flavoring that you desire. It takes nine hours to cook 2 percent low-fat milk, shorter for whole milk and longer for the skim version.

For my first batch of yogurt, I mixed in a bit of fancy orange marmalade. It's a treat worth waking up for in the morning.

Lollipops for Lushes

noreply@blogger.com (Khanh) — Wed, 05 Aug 2009 23:28:40 PDT

I write about the action sports industry, which means that I'm often surrounded by very loud, always raucous and often inebriated dudes. They're not known for being foodies. But last Saturday, while hanging out with the DC Shoes crew during the X Games, I discovered a new treat that could have been invented just for the extreme athletes: alcohol-infused lollipops by Lollyphile. The flavors included white Russian, absinthe and bourbon (the skaters skipped the maple bacon candies). You didn't even need a Monster Energy drink to chase the booze.

Random Recipes

noreply@blogger.com (Khanh) — Wed, 05 Aug 2009 23:30:30 PDT

I recently got married, which means I'll be happily spending the rest of my life with Miguelito. It also means that I've been able to stock my kitchen with loads of new gadgets from my Williams-Sonoma registry (the boxes filled up my cubicle at work). Following our Hawaiian honeymoon, Miguelito and I have been nesting and cooking at home. Here are some of the recipes and Web sites that I've got on my list to try:

Nam Nam is the noise your mouth makes when you're sloppily chewing on a sumptuous morsel. It's also the online source of daring dishes such as foie coulant with liquid heart of raw red fig, doughnut ice cream in strawberry soup and pea hummus by a Spanish foodie whose identity I’ve yet to learn.

I want to be Anita Lo when I grow up. But I have an inability to chop finely because I'm afraid that I'll cut my fingers. So I'll have to settle with recreating the millefeuille of fresh strawberries and Ricotta from Lo's acclaimed New York restaurant, Annisa.

Amanda Hesser no longer writes for The New York Times. But she has launched a new food Web site, where she posts recipes, such as one for scrambled eggs with asparagus. Though Hesser doesn't follow Julia Child's tip of using a whole stick of butter to make a mound of soft, jiggly eggs, I like the way she adds zing to the dish with lemon zest.

If I had to choose a career in the food industry, it would be that of sommelier. A friend said I'd be good at it because I'm not a heavy drinker. One day, I'd have as much influence as this grape guru from Japan.

Boutique BBQ

noreply@blogger.com (Khanh) — Sun, 05 Jul 2009 23:02:48 PDT

I used to get my barbecue from BBQ King on Cesar Chavez Avenue. Then, amidst the wave of gentrification sweeping the area surrounding downtown Los Angeles, BBQ King was razed to make way for luxury condos. Now I go to Boneyard Bistro in Sherman Oaks, Calif. If it weren't for a friend who's dating the chef, I would have never found it. Miguelito and I keep going back, partly because of the personal connection, mainly because of the finger-licking-good food. Plus, the beer menu -- categorized by alcoholic content, type and size -- is quite impressive. You could easily sample a saison, a bock and a Trappist ale in one sitting. Just don't expect a lemon with your Hefeweizen. For some reason, the chef, Aaron Robins, objects to serving any kind of garnish with the beer.

Dinner at Boneyard Bistro doesn't have to be all about carbs. On the evening we went with my sister, who was visiting from San Francisco, the evening's specials included a salad of heirloom tomatoes with a choice of blue or goat cheese. We opted for the more pungent blue, which was perfect to smear on the toast tinted with balsamic vinegar.

There are three ways to enjoy a BBQ combo: one meat, two meats or three meats. You can pick from chicken, three types of ribs (spare, baby back and St. Louis-style), sausages, brisket, tri tip, pulled pork and, as a concession to the vegetarians (and a big offense to this Southerner) portabello. Miguelito, my sister and I each tried the two-meat combo. While Miguelito ordered the baby back ribs with the tri tip, my sister had the brisket and St. Louis-style ribs. I got the same ribs as my sister did, with some chicken. The best-tasting variety was the brisket -- so tender and smoky. The chicken was perfectly cooked, as wel.. The St. Louis-style ribs, however, were too overcooked for my sister's preference. So the chef brought over a fresh plate of more tender slabs for her.

With each BBQ entree, we got our pick of two sides. We decided each of us would order the baked beans, collard greens and cole slaw enhanced with dill weed. But I had to have my own piece of fried mac 'n' cheese. The crispy triangle snapped apart easily to reveal a gooey center of soft elbow macaroni and cheese. It was a blatant violation of the bridal diet that I was all too happy to commit.

Trendy Taquerias

noreply@blogger.com (Khanh) — Sat, 04 Jul 2009 13:00:25 PDT

I'd challenge anyone to spend a day in Southern California without passing at least one taqueria. While there are the hipster-sanctified holes like Malo, there are also the primitive shacks such as the original Yuca's, set up in the middle of a parking lot across from a liquor store. On a recent Saturday, Miguelito and I cruised down Hollywood Boulevard to the newer, nicer, bigger addition of Loteria Grill, the Farmer's Market staple. We liked the clean, open space, where we could spy on the cooks as they whipped up the mole that has driven scores of hungry people to stake out a stool at the cramped stand that Loteria operates at the Farmer's Market. Still, we were a little apprehensive that the oversize cards would fall on us at the Hollywood location.

The reason we went to Loteria Grill was because I was craving huevos rancheros. Once I saw the huevos en sopes on the menu, I quickly forgot about the poached eggs served over tortillas. The fried circles of maize were so mushy, that it was a bit of a mess eating the sopes. But I liked that the yolk would run from the perfectly poached eggs and mix with the sopes, queso fresco and ranchera sauce. The side of potatoes that is de rigeur for many breakfast dishes served at American restaurants, no matter what culture you're in, was roasted with cactus at Loteria.

Miguelito ordered a trio of tacos: chicken mole, carnitas and potatoes. Satisfied with our Mexican brunch, we stepped out into the tourist traps on Hollywood Boulevard, only to be asked by some guy where the nearest McDonald was.

A few weeks later, Miguelito and I drove to Culver City for dinner at Wilson Food and Wine. At least, that's what we had planned. Founded by Michael Wilson, the gastronomically talented son of the late Dennis Wilson from The Beach Boys, the restaurant made its mark in Southern California with comfort food influenced by different world cultures. Think of French onion soup, racks of lamb and mean martinis. A couple of months ago, Wilson Food and Wine transformed to Anejo At Wilson, a tequila bar and taqueria. If Miguelito had known that, he wouldn't have filled up on tacos at King Taco earlier in the day. So he ordered the ceviche at the new Wilson.

I started the evening with pureed corn soup.

Then I indulged my fondness for offal with one of the evening's specials, a taco of sweetbreads in a rich red sauce. The complement was a taco of fried clams covered with crema mexicana and cabbage. The shellfish was a little much too gnaw on. I probably should have ordered the fried halibut taco instead. Still, our light, festive meal got us ready to jam in the Porta-Party at Royal/T.