how to eat like a bird

to do: a chef's way with pasta; a grilled cheese fit for a gimlet

First, the gimlet. A reader writes in to the L.A. Times seeking how to make the phenomenal grilled cheese sandwich he very often has for a late-night meal, seated at the bar at Lucques. He washes it down with a gin gimlet. The L.A. Times tells him Suzanne Goin's version showcases a buttery Cantal cheese studded with caramelized onions and "punctuated" with fresh thyme. They further tell the reader to forgo the gimlet in preference of a white Bordeaux or Burgundy, or (gasp!) even a California Chardonnay.

I really appreciate the folks at Culinary SOS--it is one of my very favorite columns, as I love a sleuthing endeavor--but they are crazy. In my Raymond Chandler version of L.A., this guy is eating near midnight after a long day of reading very bad scripts. His girlfriend is at home with her husband and there is something nefarious in the trunk of his car. Let him have his gin. For me, this tantalizing 705-calories-per-serving recipe will have to wait until I pack in some more arugula and dandelion. But it's definitely on the to-do list.                                                                                                                                                             

In exchange for hawking Alain Ducasse's new $238 pasta pot, The New York Times has a helpful tidbit on how Ducasse makes his pasta. Rather than waiting for dry pasta to come to a boil, he sautés aromatics including garlic and onion, adds the uncooked pasta and, slowly, the stock, letting the pasta absorb the liquid until it softens. It should take 20 minutes. Florence Fabricant likens the process to making risotto, and judges the technique to be effective and delicious. She adds that the starch released from the pasta makes for a lush sauce. Only use short pastas like penne, not spaghetti.

For a more specific recipe, you have to buy the pot with booklet included. I think it would work well for a dish like the one I had at Celeste--pasta with shrimp, cabbage, and pecorino. They use fresh tagliatelle, but I think a penne or smooth rigatoni would do at home. I would lightly sauté cabbage along with the aromatics, use a light seafood or vegetable stock, and throw the shrimp in at the end. I did a quick search for a comparable recipe, but only found more raves for Celeste's version from Ed Levine and Bill Telepan. Notably, they're both Upper West Siders and it could be said they perhaps frequent Celeste regularly, in part, because it can sometimes seem as if THERE'S NOTHING ELSE TO EAT in that neighborhood, but I would demur and say Celeste's would have a following anywhere.

a Raspberry Lime Rickey

A Raspberry Lime Rickey is the perfect summer drink if you like tart, sweet, fizzy. The one at Teany is so good on a hot summer day that I have to stop myself from guzzling it all down within the span of a minute. Because there goes $4 right there, and I'll want another. So I decided to attempt it at home, which wasn't much of a stretch as there's a recipe right in the Teany cookbook.

Because I'd eaten a whole bag of potato chips with some onion dip that same day, I decided to skip the sugar in this and substitute agave nectar, which is a natural fructose that has a low glycemic index. (It can be found in any health food store). But the result was lacking. The agave nectar was sweet enough but didn't properly stand up to the tartness of the berries and lime. It was a fine drink for someone looking to flavor their water, but for anyone who wants to sit up a bit straighter and say "Ahh...so that's what a Rickey is..." I would suggest following the original recipe below, even going so far as to be generous with the proportions of puree, sugar, and lime to soda water. (The Rickey at Teany used to be pallid...like tea, but now it really packs a punch.) At most, it's only 2 tablespoons of sugar per tall glass, anyway. Just forgo the chips and dip.

Adapted from Teany Book: Stories, Food, Romance, Cartoons and, Of Course, Tea

Raspberry Lime Rickey

• 1 tablespoon of raspberry puree
• 1 1/2 tablespoons of lime juice
• 1 1/2 tablespoons of simple syrup (equal parts sugar and water boiled together)
• 8 ounces soda water         

raspberry puree: 1 pint of raspberries blended with 2 tablespoons of lime juice and 2 tablespoons of sugar (2 1/2 tablespoons if raspberries are frozen)

tea and fiction on a rainy day

It's a gorgeous rainy day with a chill in the air. If at all possible, you should stay in bed with a good book. And if you do this sort of thing only every blue moon, you may as well regress completely and read a nice childhood classic that will be much funnier now that you notice the wit. But if your pantry is on the meager side, you shouldn't read anything American. It ought to be English.

Because an American book will only make you ravenously hungry for items you certainly cannot produce from your sad refrigerator, containing weeks-old, store-bought bread, humble yet miraculous in its state of self-preservation, and a cube of butter. An American book, even about pioneers who have evaded the fate of the Donner party, will evoke plentiful, hearty meals--slabs of bacon, smoked barbecue and beans baked in molasses, amazing overnight waffles. (That's right, I'm thinking about you--Laura Ingalls Wilder. Sure, for one whole book, your family lived in a hole in the ground, but you also managed to make your own candy.)

Whereas the English, acquainted with the concept of war rations, will glorify thin slices of white bread, a little butter, tea. Sometimes they will go so far as to have a boiled egg. (Even when you look at popular contemporary food writing, the titles say it all: compare Jeffrey Steingarten's The Man Who Ate Everything to Nigel Slater's Toast.) I recently read The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, and it struck me how often they stop for tea--each meal lovingly described--in the midst of fighting evil. In her first tea in Narnia, Lucy has sardines on toast, then buttered toast, followed by toast with honey. See, this is something you could do. And C.S. Lewis makes the modest sound wonderful in a scene aglow with firelight and warmth (and a sugar-topped cake).

I'm not much of a Harry Potter fan, but J.K. Rowling won me over as a person, when she cited The Little White Horse as a childhood favorite, primarily because the author took the time to describe exactly what were in the sandwiches. I haven't read it yet, but I trust her taste because Rowling is also quoted on the cover of a newer edition of one of my favorite books of all time: I Capture the Castle. She says it's remarkable, a classic, two thumbs up! --or something to that effect. (Actually, she says "This book has one of the most charismatic narrators I've ever met.") And it's true. While it's a classic in England, it's slipped into obscurity in America. (Ignore Amazon's schlocky description, which is all factually true but aimed towards nine-year-olds, and note instead Entertainment Weekly's lovely testimony on the same page). I recommend you read it because it's endearing and funny and the only story I know where an unexpected gift of a Christmas ham is swaddled as reverently as the baby Jesus.

For my own tea sandwiches, I like to keep a jar of Branston pickles on hand. I slather a bit on white bread and top with a sharp white Cheddar and another slice of bread. I trim the crusts off and cut into triangles. Any tea will do, really--a floral Earl Grey with milk and honey, even green tea which supposedly helps along your metabolism. But when I'm reading books such as these, I like PG Tips because it's such a homey, common brand in England. If you live in New York, all your favorite English staples can be found at Meyers of Keswick or to a certain extent, Kalustyan's which you can also order from online.

a lunch at Shopsin's on Essex

Shopsin's General Store is now open in the Essex Street Market, which has undergone a bit of a makeover of late--nothing extreme, but better lighting, new signage, and a couple more eat-in options. Wedged in an unassuming corner next to Saxelby Cheesemongers, Shopsin's doesn't seem so different from any other market stall until you view the menu which, while not as extensive as its famed original incarnation, is still imaginatively liberal in scope and diverting. The breakfast items read like a dream raid on a night kitchen (poached eggs on garlic bread, scrambled eggs with pulled pork).

I've never particularly wanted to eat at Shopsin's, in much the same way I've never wanted to meet J.D. Salinger. I'd rather read about it. But good things come to those who don't care, and Shopsin's has come to me. Bypassing the poutine and the bread pudding french toast, I settled on the turkey sloppy joe for lunch. It was perfectly fine with a buttery, toasted sesame seed bun that reminded me of suburban summers in a good way, but I would go back to try the regular sloppy joe. The service was warm and timely, and I believe that was the proprietor Kenny ambling into the kitchen whenever an order came in. The space is small, but a trio of tables provide more comfort and privacy than one would assume.

I also got banana ebelskivers to go, figuring I would have one on the street and save the rest for later, but they were amazing and I had four straight away, and really could have eaten the whole portion by myself. Eight dollars seems a lot for maybe eight ebelskivers--more than for the sandwich--but you can't get them just anywhere, and they were delicious.

Shopsin's is open from 9-3, Tuesdays through Saturdays. Despite the many esoteric items on the menu, it's also a good option for anyone who wants a simple old-fashioned breakfast of eggs, bacon, and toast or a boxed lunch of sliders.

Shopsin's is at the southern end of the Essex Street Market, 120 Essex Street, between Delancey and Rivington.

a lobster farm in the city

On a quiet summer weekend when almost everyone seems to have vacated town for prettier, seaside retreats, I will sometimes feel the need to dip something in drawn butter. That's when I head down the street to where Allen meets Hester for my own lobster shack experience, courtesy of Chinatown wholesalers and the Canadian lobster trade.

It's not en route to Maine, but for wholesale prices, anyone can walk into The Lobster Farm and pick the lobster of her choice from massive tanks categorized by size. Prices range from $8 and change per pound for 1-pound lobsters to $9.75 per pound for 2-pounders. (For comparison's sake, Fresh Direct offers 1 1/2-pound lobsters for $12.99 a pound.)

Someone will hold up the lobster to show you how alive it is, weigh it, and unceremoniously stuff it into a plastic bag. Request a female if you eat the roe. Supposedly a female also has a wider tail. I took a nice 2-pounder home, which was plenty for two, alongside an order of chipotle chicken nachos. I know it sounds discordant (i.e., trashy) but it was rather good all together--if you're stuck in concrete environs, you may as well have your favorite takeout food. You shouldn't eat tomalley (the green stuff), in case it contains dioxins from polluted waters, but I just had a little, and with a dash of lime on a tortilla chip, it approximates an upscale guacamole. (I share, for those of you who want to do this for your next Top Chef challenge sponsored by Corona.)

Steaming is the best way to cook a lobster if you're unsure of what you're doing. It's gentle and hard to mess up, even if you're off by a couple minutes. There are various steaming times cited on different websites, but I go with this one because people from Maine should know what they're doing (18 minutes for a 2-pounder). Dip in butter with a side of Old Bay seasoning. I don't own a whisk or a microplane grater, but somehow I have these. For clarified butter, you're supposed to melt the butter and spoon out the milk solids that rise to the surface, but I just nuked some butter in the microwave and moved aside the solids with a handy lobster claw.

The Lobster Farm is at 40-44 Allen Street, between Hester and Canal.

Not for the squeamish: (feisty, before and after).

   

a watermelon and feta salad

I know what I'm going to eat for the rest of summer. Watermelon and feta sound strange together, but it's a common enough combination in Greece, and variations of the salad keep popping up in sources like the Best American Recipes cookbooks. This Nigella recipe is all over the web, and if you want something fancier or a little more challenging, try Patrick Vaccariello's port wine version with pine nuts and arugula, as told to the Village Voice when asked to describe his last meal on earth.

Not feeling the need to source ingredients in 95 degree weather, I started with Nigella's, and fighting every instinct I had, decided to be flexible. No parsley or black olives. No accounting for measurements. Shallots instead of red onions because that's what I had. I let sliced shallots steep in lime juice for about 20 minutes, and added a dash of extra virgin olive oil, and some sea salt and pepper. Poured that over chunks of watermelon and smaller chunks of Greek feta, and threw some mint on top of that. That was it. My skepticism was gone. It was rather delicious and reminiscent of a Greek salad but about ten times more refreshing, especially because the watermelon was very cold. Something about the feta makes the melon juicier--perhaps because the salt of it draws the water out, right into your mouth. This is perhaps what Harold McGee would say.

I made this another time without the oil, using only watermelon, feta, and lime juice. It wasn't as good. Maybe you don't absolutely need the mint or parsley (although it would be nice if it's not too much of a bother--maybe even Greek basil), but I would say, you do need red onion or shallot, and a little bit of olive oil. I'm quite happy with this for a light lunch. Watermelon is supposed to be one of those foods that make you feel more full per calorie. I'd like to eat this for a late dinner too, especially to romanticize balmy summer nights when you just want to hang out on the porch and do nothing. But in all honesty, I don't have a porch. On those nights, I would just stay in and crank up the air conditioner. Those nights I sometimes disassociate myself so much from the outside environment, that I get a hankering for short ribs. But that would be wrong. This salad is not only tasty, it is more carbon neutral than short ribs. Try it. It'll make you feel good.