Facebooking Foodies

I could never be a celebrity. Ever-present paparazzi lurking in my bushes and fabricated headlines about my latest breakup stand against my idea of a quiet, private lifestyle. So, I was hesitant joining the booming, online community of Facebook. It seemed to have a similar sense of putting your life on display for the world (not to mention the dread of some high school boyfriend whose name might appear in my inbox some random morning). In a day and age where people are Googling everyone they meet, I was nervous at the thought of people finding me online. Keep it simple, I told myself. I dove in; listing only my basic interests, and filtering only friends who wouldn’t embarrass me should a future employer tag me on the site. Friends came out of the woodwork, from old college pals to friends-of-friends living on the east coast, I reconnected and created a virtual network of amigos. Then something curious happened, perfect strangers began sending me messages. Now, if you’re new to Facebook, or have yet to explore it, the system allows you to search for people using key words, network associations, name, groups, or interests. One message was from a girl who joined a San Francisco-based food and wine group, which seemed to include almost 200 other like-minded foodies. I too had joined this group, but neither of us had yet to receive even a single invitation to join anyone for a night of chowing and imbibing the Bay Area’s finest food and wine. My new, virtual friend, Yumi, had taken matters into her own hands pulling people from the group of similar age and interests. She, like the rest of us, was ready to hit the San Francisco food and wine scene and make new friends in the process. Once she gathered around a dozen gals, she sent her first invitation for a night of nibbling and sampling wines from around the world at the Market Street wine bar, CAV. The first turnout was small, just five of us, but we were able to sample some velvety French Burgundy, a fabulous cheese plate, a spicy sausage dish, and a just-in-season pumpkin cheesecake.

Since the first meeting, there have been meet-ups at venues across the city from the hot happy-hour spot Americano to the San Francisco Opera and Friday Nights at De Young. We share details of our lives, smile for photos, and swap tales through our online meeting source, Facebook. Our little group, the spin-off of the larger one, even has a name, though we’re trying to keep it an intimate group to avoid the same problem we encountered with the larger one. Still feeling like somewhat of a newbie to the San Francisco scene, I’m getting over my fears of putting myself out there, even if it is online. Facebook is allowing me to combine some of my favorite things, trying great wines, eating delicious, fresh foods, and socializing with new faces. I may not be a celebrity, but I guess putting yourself out there isn’t so bad after all.

O-Ya

There’s been a lot of buzz lately about a dark sliver of a Japanese restaurant called O-Ya, and a recent visit confirmed that with this one, you’ve gotta believe the hype. I had read reviews from what I thought were fanatical diners who would go in once, then cancel reservations at another restaurant for the following night and return, less than 24 hours after paying the tab, right back to O-Ya. But it's really that good. Just a short walk from South Station in what’s known as the Leather District, O-Ya is run by a husband and wife team: he’s the chef, she’s the sake sommelier. Both logged time in Japan and he seemed to have soaked up that country’s affinity for food that has a perfect mixture of precision, elegance, funk and delight and she is well steeped in sake knowledge as the list features selections that stumped and delighted my sake-knowing dining companion. (There’s a great wine list as well, but the sake feels like the When in Rome... thing to do).

The menu is long but enthralling, and it's based on the omikase style of dining. It consists of myriad small plates, each a little universe unto itself. I won’t discuss specific dishes because half the fun is discovering the menu for yourself. The owners told me diners take the paper menus home and bring them back on future visits in order to eat the dishes still untried. It’s like a dreamy gustatory to-do list.

The preparation of the dishes, the creativity, attention to minute detail, and an utter refusal to rush any part of the cooking process (something you don’t often see in the States) all add up to what has been my most dazzling meal of the year. I can’t wait to go back and then go back the next night.

O-Ya 9 East St Boston, MA 02111 (617) 654-9900

Hats off to the All American 'Lob-stah Roll'!

As you disembark the plane at Boston’s Logan International you can feel your mouth salivating for one of Massachusetts’ famed lobster rolls, or in the native tongue of a true Bostonian “Lob-stah” roll.

After years of following my husband’s lead to find the perfect hot dog (which of course, would be the original Gray’s Papaya, it’s all in the bun), we decided that the culinary focus of this vacation would be to find the perfect lobster roll in and around Cape Cod. Or at least we would master how to make the perfect lobster roll

We had our long standing favorite lobster roll from the reliable Squire in quaint (and preppy) Chatham. Side track: Chatham is the quintessential Cape Cod town with its white picket fences, bandstands, some kitschy galleries and lot of gingham and madras patterns on the natives. But I digress, back to the lobster roll quest. The lobster roll at the Squire does not try to be anything more than a simple lunch item, albeit expensive. It is served on a plastic basket lined with wax paper with chips on the side. The soft hot dog bun has uncrusted sides, traditionally you are supposed to butter and toast the side of the bun but I tend to think it ruins the succulent taste of the lobster meat. The Squire seems to agree and they too leave the bun untoasted. As for the lobster meat, they have nice chunks of lobster with about two tablespoons of mayonnaise combined with some chopped celery and salt and pepper. So simple but so good but NOT a “cheap eat” at $17.95. I’d like to see Rachael Ray try to eat her way through the Cape on $40 a day! Obviously we had to have a point of comparison so we tried a couple more rolls on the Cape. Cook’s in Orleans, another Cape town just 5 minutes from beautiful Nauset Beach, is far more traditional. Traditional in this sense means grease and fried bread. Not my style, however the lobster was excellent but I found the combination with the grilled buttered bun to ruin the delicate lobster flavors. A little cheaper than the Squire at $14.95.

To be honest, I was a little disappointed in some of the other rolls that were either grilled with butter or the soft bun quickly became soggy from too much mayo. By the way, this is one of the major reason restaurants grill the bun. With that said, I decided it was my turn to attempt a version of the lobster roll. For a first try, it wasn’t bad and I added a secret ingredient (cayenne). Here’s my recipe for 2 lunch sized lobster rolls.

Ingredients: - 2 lobster tails (the best meat) not cut but torn into bite size pieces - 1 stick of celery finely chopped - 3 tbs canola mayonnaise (it’s better for you) - Pinch of Cayenne - Squeeze of one lemon - Pinch of Maldon salt and freshly ground black pepper - 2 Fresh hot dog buns with uncrusted sides

Directions: To make the lobster salad combine the bite size lobster pieces, celery, mayonnaise, cayenne, lemon, salt and pepper. Refrigerate for 2 hours. When ready, place lobster mixture in soft bun and serve with cracked pepper. For garnish, place on white plate with salt and vinegar potato chips and celery sticks.

A Spring Garden

After the sleepy, slow pace of winter, late spring can be almost overwhelming. Gone are the pale yellow squash and hearty greens. In their place is a sensory overload of bright green asparagus, sweetly smelling berries, and delicate tulips. The addition of new vendors and 'sexier' produce to the farmers markets brings an almost tangible increase in energy as more customers join the usual mix. This year however, I got to experience the excitement of spring in a whole new way. After attending over 25 different farmers markets around the world, I finally decided to try my hand at gardening. I lucked out with fertile soil, healthy seeds, and pretty decent weather patterns. A few days after planting, I could already see the little tops of my radishes poking through the ground. That was only the beginning. As late spring hit, my garden went nuts. At first, I was thrilled to serve salads for dinner made with bok choy and little gem lettuces from my very own garden. I loved realizing that I didn't have enough basil for a recipe, and just strolling down to my backyard to pick some. But then it started coming too fast. My cilantro started to bolt, my radishes turned cottony, and my zucchini plant blocked my beet plants from the sun.

Finally, I decided to pull all of my heads of lettuce and distribute them to everyone I knew. Next I got rid of the cilantro, cooked off the kale, and thinned out almost half of my carrots. Things are a bit calmer now as I wait for my beets and onions to grow, but I've recently realized with a new wave of panic that no one will be there to tend my garden while I'm out of the country for the next few weeks. I never knew how much attention a garden demands and how stressful maintaining one can be. It's exactly like having a pet! I almost longing for the cooler days of fall and a garden full of easier, more self-sufficient root vegetables. Almost.

The Corn Dog

Last Monday, the CCA team went to the ball park. The baseball was fun, but I will always remember it as the evening I had my very first taste of corn dog. My only previous encounter with a corn dog was one late night many years ago when my freshman year dormmate Eliah experienced the first of what were to be many lapses in judgement at our local 7-Eleven. After extracting the corn dog from its silver-and-red foil sheath, he dangled it in front of my queasy face. It was hard to believe that this was something people actually ingested. Indeed, the subsequent sight of it entering my friend's maw was so unmentionable and disturbing that I stopped eating for several days. It took a great deal of coaxing and a large scoop of hazelnut gelato before I could put anything in my mouth again.

Kayu dipping corn dog in ketchup

My tastes have since broadened. I have come to love Whoppers, BBQ-flavored Lays, and many other dishes native to this country. I have digested malted vanilla milkshakes and cheeseburgers stacked high. The one thing I could never face was another corn dog. But time heals most wounds, and the corn dog seemed like such a quintessential part of the ball-game experience that I felt it my duty to give it an open-minded try.

The concession stand offered two choices: the traditional corn dog, or its spicy variant. Taking a purist's stance, I picked the first option. Much as I feared, it came in a familiar-looking foil package. I tried not to think about it too much.

Kayu with a corn dog

As with so many gastronomic disasters, the first few bites were actually not too bad. The skin of the soggy battered exterior was faintly reminiscent of baba au rhum (the kind I associate with modest Parisian patisseries). The sausage boasted an inoffensive, if somewhat anemic, savor, with a texture not unlike well-stewed tripe. The pleasurable convenience and novelty of eating something on a stick mollified the vestiges of my revulsion.

But as I slowly worked my way down the corn dog (and it approached its microwave-addled half-life), my contentment bypassed disgust, giving way to a strange, hollow feeling. The taste of the batter and sausage had curdled on my palate into a clot of blandness.

Seeing my dispirited expression, Rachel gestured to the mustard on her hot dog. Try some of this, she suggested. I tentatively dipped what was left of the corn dog into the fluorescent yellow paste and tried a bite.

It turns out that condiments are indispensable to the corn dog. Much like a delicate dab of wasabi can balance and enhance the sweetness of toro, the corn dog greatly benefits from several generous squirts of mustard. Or maybe the deadly fugu is a more apt example, perhaps we could class it among those foods needing a deft human hand to render it palatable for consumption.

Whatever the case, I think it will be some time before I give it another try.

Joel Robuchon at the Mansion (Las Vegas)

Fancy dinners are always a risk. After making reservations months in advance, reading numerous reviews, and spending the afternoon deciding what I'm going to wear, it is impossible for me not to get excited about the dinner. And all that excitement can easily lead to disappointment if the restaurant does not live up to my high expectations. Luckily, during my trip to Las Vegas last weekend, neither Guy Savoy nor Joel Robuchon at the Mansion let me down. While both dinners were quite good (and not dumbed-down for the Las Vegas crowd at all), my meal at Joel Robuchon completely blew me away. 

Joel Robuchon managed a perfect balance between trendy art-deco decor, seriously good food, and a special occasion atmosphere without being stuffy at all. The meal actually started on a low note with an amuse bouché of lackluster sangria granita served over smoking dry ice. Thankfully, I was not able to lament the pointless theatrics of the dish for very long before the bread cart arrived and I was distracted by the numerous options. From the first bite of my gruyere mini baguette on, my meal was almost flawless.

My favorite course of the night was the lobster 'ravioli' which were served as small piles of lobster with thinly sliced turnips draped over them so that they looked like little raviolis. The dish was bright, fresh, and allowed the seasonal ingredients to shine. The dishes that followed were all incredibly impressive as well a pea soup poured over a savory flan with pancetta, perfectly cooked halibut with zesty lemongrass flavoring, and slices of tender pan-fried veal. My meal ended with a dessert of chocolate ice cream topped in a large puff of lime cotton candy and of course the obligatory petit four cart (with plenty of smooth, dark chocolates).

Joel Robuchon may come very close to the line of overdoing the presentation of their dishes, but they almost never cross it. More importantly, the dishes not only looked pretty, but there was substance, complex flavors, and high quality ingredients in each one. As a parting gift we were given a loaf of lemon pound cake that I am still enjoying toasted with ice cream five days later. I don't think I'll be going back to Las Vegas anytime soon, but I know for sure where I'll be eating next month in London!