how to eat like a bird

the best brussels sprouts

The Spotted Pig in the West Village can transform even brussels sprouts into something of an indulgence. My friend had ordered them along with some swiss chard because she needed something green against our backdrop of chicken liver on toast, gnudi in a butter sage sauce, creamy deviled eggs, and boozy prunes wrapped in bacon. And while the chard was salty, it served its function admirably, providing some vegetation that tasted lighter and cleaner than everything else at the table. But the brussels sprouts were something else altogether.

They looked innocuous enough, charred nearly black but unadorned in a simple bowl. But the outer leaves were a little crisp and nutty and rich enough that at one point I thought maybe they’d been finished with some Parmesan cheese. And the center was a sweet nugget with nothing cruciferous about it—it had more the molten texture of a roasted chestnut. Comfort food at its finest, yet seemingly still a vegetable.

I was flummoxed enough to inquire as to what was going on here—the first time I’ve ever asked a server how something is prepared. Usually I’m too shy or assume it’s too complex an issue to venture into. But she came back from the kitchen with the pleasingly simple response of:

1): Blanch them in highly seasoned water (stressing “highly”).
2): Pan-fry them in lots of butter (stressing “lots”).

So there it was. Not a secret at all, but rather, like everything else on their menu, an alchemy of salt and butter.

I don’t approve of recipes where vegetables are transformed with a lot of fat. Why would I want a cauliflower gratin when I can have macaroni and cheese if it’s virtually the same thing as far as nutritional components? But I was already hooked on these, and while the brussels sprouts were perhaps bathed in butter, they were still the mainstay of the dish, not hidden by 10 other ingredients. I’m a sucker for rustic simplicity (any dish with only three components), so I tried these at home.

I blanched (inserted in boiling water) them for a couple minutes in water with maybe three times the amount of salt I would use for pasta (you should use more), then pan-fried them in half a stick of butter, which was really much more butter than was needed for eight brussels sprouts. Most of it was left in the pan at the end, thankfully. The house smelled marvelous and my cat was beside himself as the butter turned nutty and golden-brown. I didn’t cook them long enough as I had to take them off the pan before the butter turned black, so didn’t get the same consistency. But the outer leaves tasted wonderful, and they were still pretty good.

My friend also ended up making these, and I think with better success. She blanched the sprouts in water seasoned with pepper and more salt than I had used for a longer period of time--about five minutes, before pan-frying them in butter on low heat, as if caramelizing onions, for at least 30 minutes. And she said they could have used 30 minutes more, perhaps. She used two sticks of butter for two pounds of brussels sprouts. They weren’t exactly the same as at the Spotted Pig’s, she said, but fantastic all the same. Even members of her family who didn’t like brussels sprouts really enjoyed them.

exceeding expectations

This article was the most emailed article on the NY Times Web site for a while, even amidst all the Sturm und Drang of the neverending campaign and oh, prostitutes. It proposes that the number of push-ups you can do is an easy way to evaluate your overall fitness.

A 40-year-old woman should be able to do 16, and a man of same age, 27 push-ups. I am 33, and it turns out I can do three, which was a great and unexpected boon for me. I was for sure thinking I could do no more than one, shaky arms and all. But I pulled off three full-length ones. So, yeah for me! Don't judge me complacent though. I'll try working on it, as it's good to catch yourself when you fall at age 85--or really, at any age.

spring awakening

It’s the first day of spring. I wouldn’t know these things, were it not for Google. But even I cannot ignore the absurd amount of beautiful light when I take leave of work. It’s time to stop hibernating. And as a matter of practical course, I cannot stand my clothes any tighter. What have I been doing, you say, to warrant said apparel to be so restrictive?

Well, to keep it pithy, I partake of a daily diet consisting frequently of nachos. I’ve also fallen back into the habit of drinking Coke at work (alas!), and I’ve been assiduously trying to get a tenth sandwich free at Cosi, based on my mainstay order of a Buffalo Blue sandwich with extra blue cheese spread. That’s right, extra. I like it slathered on both sides of the bread, please, and I could actually do with less chicken. I choose the free kettle chips over baby carrots, of course. 

My excuses for the poor diet (and full-on inertia) are many. But I shan’t bore you. I’ll only say that I feel like a bear. Not like the emaciated kind that comes out of its cave, famished and lean, but more like the kind with access to take-out and cable TV--the kind that snacks to political podcasts and frankly, doesn’t sleep very well at all. So it’s time to turn over a new leaf. Even I get tired of nachos (although there are so many kinds with many different variations). Tomorrow, we’ll see how many push-ups I can do. And if anyone is still out there, what have you been eating that you probably shouldn’t be (every other day)?

a breakfast taco with tomatillo salsa

I rarely get excited over breakfast, but eggs are something I can eat any time of the day. This is my take on the breakfast burritos my sister procures for us whenever I visit her in Orange County. I don't know where she goes to get them (because I like to sleep in), but my first image upon awakening in California is one of her entering through the front door in pastel leisure-sweats with her jumble of keys, oversized handbag, and a sack containing two warm, foil-wrapped cylinders of soft, scrambled egg with extra sides of guacamole and salsa verde. It's how I know she's glad to see me. (That would be Day 1.) 

Fresh Tomatillo Salsa

This is a quick, tangy salsa that doesn't require roasting. Adapted from Mexican Everyday by Rick Bayless. Makes about 1 cup.

• 4 medium tomatillos, husked, rinsed, and quartered
• 1 large garlic clove
• 2 serrano chilies or 1 jalapeño, stemmed and roughly chopped
• 1/2 - 2/3 cup cilantro
• 1/2 teaspoon salt

Combine all ingredients in food processor or blender with 1/4 cup of water.

Breakfast Taco

Heat the fresh tomatillo salsa in a small pan for a minute or two until color deepens. Heat a corn tortilla in a toaster oven or in the same pan you're using to scramble the eggs. (I used to use flour, as pictured, but corn is a healthier choice and now I like the taste and texture better than that of a flour tortilla.)

Scramble 2 eggs in a nonstick pan with some oil. For moist, tender curds, cook eggs slowly over low heat. Throw in a couple tablespoons of the tomatillo salsa and mix into eggs. Salt to taste. Place eggs on tortilla and garnish with more salsa, red onion, and cilantro.

spinach with raisins and pine nuts

I'm not crazy about spinach (or raisins or pine nuts), but the reviews on CHOW convinced me to try this classic Catalan dish. And it was indeed delicious. Turns out I can overeat vegetables, too, which can only be a good thing.

This recipe comes from The New Spanish Table by Anya von Bremzen, who travels the world for Food and Wine, charming grandmothers, street vendors, and exalted chefs alike, into sharing their best secrets and age-old family recipes. In the cookbook, this innocuous dish reappears as a filling for a decadent cannelloni in béchamel sauce. (I remember being transfixed by the picture for several minutes). To add richness here, I topped it with a fried egg. --A poached egg would have been even better, but I was lazy and hungry and wanted to use the same pan.

I was tempted to fry the egg Spanish-style, which basically means frying it in a generous amount of extra virgin olive oil, all the while spooning oil over the egg, basting it with the stuff... but the spinach had a nice coating of garlic-scented olive oil already, so I thought it may be overkill without any toast to absorb some of the oil. If you have a nice thick slice of rustic country bread, by all means, go for it.

But for everyday eating, there's no reason not to enjoy this unadorned. It's tasty and absolutely healthy. (I cut the recipe in half because I couldn't bear the thought of washing more than one bunch of spinach, but spinach cooks down so much, that I pretty much ate three-fourths of it in one sitting. If you're sharing or want leftovers, make the recipe in its entirety.)

seared scallops with tomato butter

I'd never attempted to make scallops before because I used to think of them as potential for disaster--something expensive I could easily ruin, if off by a mere minute or two. But now that I've watched so many episodes of Top Chef, I kind of feel like I could sear them in my sleep. That's how many times those cheftestants turned to scallops. And now I know why. They're incredibly fast to make, they pair well with butter, acid, and bacon, which covers a lot of territory, and everyone loves them.

This recipe is from Russ Parsons's How to Pick a Peach, and it's an entirely satisfying, luscious kind of dish with very few ingredients. Basically, you let some cherry tomatoes mingle with some tarragon, steep diced shallots in butter, and then pour the butter over the tomatoes, causing them to wilt a bit. Then you sear some scallops and bring it all together. The smell of fresh tarragon against butter and shallots is rather transporting, and I even relinquished some of my fear of butter. It wouldn't be so bad to be French, I thought.

Adapted from How to Pick a Peach by Russ Parsons. Serves 6. (I made scallops for two, but made the tomato butter recipe in its entirety because I didn't want to fuss with half-teaspoon measurements and because it would go well with these collard squares I made for a side. My collard greens turned out a little dry and overcooked in my zeal to use up extra Gruyère and achieve a golden-brown cheesy crust (old habits die hard), so the extra sauce did come in handy. My friend consumed many of the extra portions while I watched in terror, but I think this is a relatively healthy recipe if you are aware that 4 tablespoons of butter should serve six, not two.)

• ½ pound cherry or grape tomatoes
• 1¼ teaspoons minced fresh tarragon
• 4 tablespoons (½ stick) butter
• 1½ teaspoons minced shallots
• up to 2 pounds sea scallops (I used a little more than ½ a pound for two persons, or about 6 scallops each.)
• Salt
• Red wine vinegar (optional)
• 2 tablespoons olive oil (I seared the scallops in butter instead because they were going to end up in butter, and I felt I would get a better sear).

Quarter tomatoes and combine in a bowl with the tarragon.

Melt the butter in a small saucepan over medium heat. Add shallots and cook until they soften and become fragrant, about 2-3 minutes. Remove butter from heat and let cool 2-3 minutes.

Prepare scallops by removing the small, tough "foot" muscle attached to one side. Rinse and pat dry with paper towels. (It's very important to have them dry before you attempt a sear.)

Pour butter over tomatoes and stir gently to combine. It should be hot enough to soften the tomatoes but not so hot as to cook them through. Season with salt to taste (about 1 teaspoon) (I used kosher salt and used 1 teaspoon). If the tomatoes lack acidity, add a few drops of red wine vinegar. (I really wish I had done this--I overlooked this step but think it would have brightened up the sauce and made it perfect).

Heat a large nonstick pan over high heat. Add the oil and heat until it is smoking. (I used a regular stainless steel pan and butter). Place the scallops in the pan and cook until they are browned and crusty on one side, about 3 minutes. Turn the scallops over and brown on the other side, about another 3 minutes. They should be slightly translucent in the center. (My scallops weren't the huge diver-size ones I think he means, so I only cooked them 1-2 minutes each side--just long enough for them to be brown on each side. I put the larger ones in the pan first and took them out last.)

Plate scallops and spoon tomato butter over the top.

How to Pick a Peach

I never would have thought to buy this book, or even check it out from the library. Not because I already know how to select fruits and vegetables at the height of ripeness, but because I'm unaccustomed to being vested in my produce. When faced with something inscrutable like a cantaloupe, I tend to take a wild guess or rely on the advice of discriminating older ladies at the store.

Thankfully, I won a free copy from Serious Eats, just as I am trying to make a regular habit out of actually eating fresh food rather than letting it decay in the fridge (which often happens to my great relief because then I can order nachos and not, you know, have to wash anything).

How to Pick a Peach: The Search for Flavor from Farm to Table is more than a series of recipes and a handful of pointers on what to look for when you're doing your shopping. What that is, I couldn't tell you, as I'm incredibly short term-minded, will think "I need avocados!" and turn to the page on avocados before dashing out with my newfound knowledge. --But I believe it has something to do with organic farming, where food comes from, and why things are the way they are, i.e., why it's okay to pay a couple dollars more at the farmers' market as the produce there likely has some flavor to it. Russ Parsons writes regularly for the food section of The L.A. Times and covers the harvest report, so he should know.

He also knows what to look for in search of great flavor. A good rule of thumb seems to be that good produce should seem heavy for its size. But he also gets into specifics such as looking to the neck of a pear to check for ripeness. As long as it's soft just below the stem, nevermind color, with the exception of Bartletts which will go from green to golden. Parsons covers which fruits (like pear, avocado, and cantaloupe) will continue to ripen at home, and how to store and prepare a plethora of produce, from brussel sprouts to quinces.

This is neither a diet book nor a book to convince you that vegetables can taste like bacon. Have you ever noticed how many of the 4-star-reviewed recipes on Epicurious rely on some amount of heavy cream? I find it kind of gratuitous. Okay, Parsons does turn cauliflower into a custard and there are plenty of dishes, mainly desserts, that contain heavy cream. But there are also simply prepared salads, soups, sides, and main dishes that would evoke little or no guilt. Overall, I felt I was in good hands--that the recipes were chosen to highlight the best of each main ingredient.

Some recipes I look forward to trying (in rough order of decadence): Duxelle-Stuffed Savoy Cabbage; Roasted Red Peppers Stuffed with Tuna; Artichokes Stuffed with Ham and Pine Nuts; Sweet Potato and Prosciutto Soufflé; Potato and Green Bean Salad with Green Goddess Dressing; Asian Pear Crisp with Walnut Topping; Fig and Honey Gelato; Old Fashioned Orange Cake; and Ole's Swedish Hotcakes with Quick Strawberry Compote. Doesn't that all sound good? 

I did try the Seared Scallops with Tomato Butter, and I'll post about that in a day or two.   

can an Excel chart = a raison d'être?

Perhaps not. Especially when said Excel chart merely answers that quotidian question "What did you eat today?" But it can provide structure if one is in need of such a thing, and I is. (Sorry, I've been watching Tina Fey on 30 Rock**).

I like eating with rules, it turns out. It's easier to eat healthy when I'm set on shunning certain items. It becomes a black and white world where I don't even think of anything containing dairy, wheat, meat, or sugar as an option and, for me, that's liberating. More liberating than choosing from an array of things with no guidelines whatsoever except what I want. How conflicting. Why wouldn't I want baked cheese? To feel lithe and not lethargic? I can do that tomorrow. Free choice is simply a burden I cannot shoulder right now. 

Hence, the Excel chart, which I started this Friday. I'm allowing myself two allowances a week of the aforementioned dairy, wheat, meat, and sugar, so I better make it count. I love all sorts of food too much to give up on one category altogether, but this way I won't fritter away valued dairy and sugar slots on Oreo cookies dunked in milk, unless I really want them. Nothing keeps me in check like a multi-colored font system.

And in the meantime, I hope to build up a repertoire of dishes emphasizing vegetables, fruits, and healthy grains that are worth repeating for sheer taste value. Anthony Bourdain says vegetarians have no palates. And he's right in a way. Once you start cooking for yourself a lot and eating mostly simply prepared vegetables and natural foods, restaurant food can taste salty and maybe too unctuous and rich. But, perhaps that's the better palate--to be more sensitive. To have a raisin taste super sweet.

**A show obsessed with food, by the way. To wit: main character Liz decides not to break up with her boyfriend after he brings her a meatball sub; Jenna gains a significant amount of weight starring in the Broadway adaptation of Mystic Pizza; and Alec Baldwin's Jack, post-heart attack, makes people eat red meat so he can watch.

how to calm a stomach ache post dairy

This is where arrogance and laziness gets you: doubled over in a dull sort of pain from meddlesome stomach cramps, most likely caused by the evil that is dairy. I got cocky. After my bout with eating fruits and vegetables as the mainstay of my diet, I gave myself carte blanche to eat what I wanted. Carefully at first, in small portions, but not so selectively. While I stayed away from processed foods, I basically reintroduced dairy, wheat, meat, and sugar into my diet all at the same time.

And to little ill effect. My stomach was not as flat but, save for a pound or two, I held off from gaining back all the weight lost (okay, I'm only talking about 5 pounds here). I once again had to blow my nose in the morning, but not as frequently as before. I didn't feel quite as spry, but I did have the memory of three ample slices of Di Fara's pizza, garnished with a variety of cheeses, olive oil, and extra basil which, short of an appendectomy, is worth a number of discomforts including the 90-minute wait. (Go with friends you have not seen for a long time so you have plenty to catch up on.)

But I had no gastro-discomfort, which confirmed my longstanding impression that my stomach is made of iron. Then one lovely day, with nothing to do especially but to catch up on TV and wonder how to prep the artichokes looking feebler by the minute in the fridge, I decided to have some potato chips and dip instead. I know how to fix that in a jiffy. Obtain sour cream, pour in Lipton onion soup mix, chill. Take chip out of bag, dip. Repeat numerous times until there are no chips left. I didn't go out of my way for the organic sour cream, but it still tasted pretty good.

I don't know at what point exactly my stomach started to hurt--maybe after the Oreos and milk, although I still feel those were relatively benign--but I can tell you that it was not worth it. And it lasted the whole day. I've never had that kind of stomach ache before. Maybe because I hadn't had dairy in so long and a cup (and a half) of sour cream and a glass of milk was overdoing it? Di Fara's doesn't count because they use aged cheese, in part, which doesn't contain lactose. Perhaps I'm lactose-intolerant like 90% of all Asians? Or maybe it was the processed nature of the chips.

In any case, looking back on it, I don't mind so much as your body probably should have a revulsion to bad food with no nutritional value. Maybe mine never did before because it was inoculated in some way because it was so accustomed to it. Anyway, here is what I found online about what to in the case of a tummy ache. Whenever I have a medical problem, imagined (West Nile, Anthrax, bedbug infestation) or otherwise, I turn to Google first.

You can take an antacid like Tums or whatever over-the-counter medication they produce in droves for these things. Or you can have some peppermint tea and lie down in a fetal position--and this is very important--on your left side. See, for hours, I had been lying down in a fetal position--as I am prone to do when faced with many a dilemma--on my right side. But then I found this nugget of information, turned around, and felt a good deal better. Not completely better, but it did make a difference. Then I slept it off.

a Cuban sandwich from Sullivan St. Bakery

If you're going to have bread, at least make sure it's good bread. And for me, if I'm going to have bread, it's going to be in the form of a sandwich. I'm not a "give me bread and butter" on a deserted island kind of girl. I'm a "give me bread and assorted deli meats and cheeses" kind of girl. Not to mention condiments. Condiments are my favorite food group.

I trekked all the way to Sullivan Street Bakery, thinking "I will not get the Cuban; I will not get the Cuban." Not because I felt like one and was resisting temptation, but because I didn't feel like one and wanted to try listening to my body for once, rather than my head, which is smart enough to know that... c'mon, the Cuban sandwich is going to be the best one. (House-made roasted pork, prosciutto di Parma, pickles, Gruyere, and three types of condiments--aioli, mustard, and mayo?)

I knew I had probably missed out on their buzzed about ramp sandwich, but thought they'd have something similar to that in a seasonal vein. But, to not drag out the suspense, I took one look at what was on display and decided to wait 10 minutes for the Cuban. In truth, all the breads at the bakery look gorgeous and all the sandwiches, even the very pretty PMB: pancetta, mango, and basil, look meager. That's because they're on a bread called a flauto which does indeed resemble a flute, being probably no wider than an inch and a half. It's rather effete and European, and a lumberjack would take it for a breadstick. I decided I better go for the heartiest.

It was fantastic. I took one bite and I understood why so many cops were milling about, pointing at foccacia studded with cherry tomatoes and concord grapes. They do things right over there. The bread was so fresh, it would have been a shame to press it into a real Cuban. The crust wasn't too hard and didn't get in the way of spectacular ingredients, which were portioned in single layers. Half the time I get a sandwich, I have to pull out some meat from the middle because it's too much for one bite. This was just right. The sandwich didn't need to be overstuffed because there wasn't too much bread. It seems such a simple thing, but it made a world of difference. I wouldn't hesitate in trying any one of their sandwiches now. They may look anemic but, judging by the Cuban, they're full of flavor with wonderful, thoughtful ingredients.

Then something strange happened. I stopped eating halfway. I was full. I couldn't believe it. It wasn't even a two-hander really--it was a swizzle stick. I could have pressed on with no hardship on my part, but I think because I knew it'd be pretty good later, it was easy to put it aside. Also, they had bagged it to go, so it only took a second to wrap it up and move on out.

I had the other half many hours later and while the bread was not so fresh, it may have been even more enjoyable because I ate it in bed, lying down, which is something I like to do. Another plus for the one-handed, effete sandwich. You can read and eat at the same time. Jim Lahey, of Sullivan Street Bakery--he, who also invented the no-knead bread, is kind of a genius.

Sullivan St. Bakery is located at 533 W. 47th Street, between 10th and 11th Avenues. Sandwiches are $6.

a tea with mint

Enhance your everyday black tea with a handful of mint leaves, just as they do at the Hummus Place. No milk and sugar required.