Passionfruit Butter

one BIG apple

July 20, 2010 by Rémy Robert

Phew.

Right as I was getting back into blogging, I was whisked away to New York for a week of what can only be described as reckless eating (as well as many, many Friends marathons). Among other things, I indulged in New York bagels, New York pizza, New York Chinese food, New York cookies, New York produce… Spoiler alert: one of my meals was 24(?) courses. Sigh. This tumultuous life of mine. Now, I’m back in NOLA and back from my hiatus, and I have enough photos (read: about a thousand gabillion) to fuel blog entry after blog entry. It was a dream of a week, and I can’t wait to tell all the stories that went along with it. This kind of documentation will border on Homeric. I’ll get on it ASAP, so keep checking in.

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for you blue

July 20, 2010 by Rémy Robert

When I first moved to Providence to start school, I was beyond pleased to discover Farmstead, a perfectly suitable stand-in for the St. James addiction I’ve fueled here in NOLA. In fact, my first official purchase as a college student was $30 of cheese — an ashy goat’s milk, a triple-cream Brie, and (a favorite to this day), Ewephoria, a desserty, pun-tastic, hard sheep’s milk cheese that tastes of caramel and bliss in a Gouda-like package. Farmstead (and its acclaimed restaurant, La Laiterie) is deservedly well-respected, and since this first romp, I’ve kept up with cheesemonger Matt Jennings on Twitter as he crafts crazy-delicious things like chèvre chocolate truffles and what appear to be bacon-wrapped pork meatloaf sandwiches (heaven help me). Whoever doubts Providence is a food city would rescind their cynicism upon entering this prolific pocket of savory dairy goodness. I never got the chance to have a sit-down meal at La Laiterie, but I’ll be hitting it before the back-to-school shopping bonanza begins, if I have any say in the matter.

All of this should do something to explain my unbridled delight when, on my birthday this past March, my darling friend Harry presented me with a modest brown paper bag that belied the smorgasbord of cheeses inside, which he’d picked out for me at Farmstead. They were all excellent (no, but really) and Ewephoria was even part of the selection, but it was this Roaring Forties Blue that captured my heart. I’d wear it in a locket if I could.

Because it’s made with cow’s milk, this blue cheese has a mild taste compared to more pungent sheep’s milk blues like Roquefort. That said, it still has a very full-bodied flavor: sweet, almost brown-buttery, honeyed. It’s creamy and moist, and its aftertaste doesn’t at all conjure images of musty, moldy caves and injected penicillin (images that, call me crazy, don’t quite work up my appetite). Instead, it is sumptuous and just a tad fruity, with a lingering richness that’s more cheesy than blue-y. Its mellowness makes it an ideal (if decadent) match for picnics in stolen shade now that we’re in the throes of lazy summer, but I also want to spread it on toast, spotlight it in a pasta dish, eat it with fruit, take it everywhere… Yeah. About that locket.

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lemonworld

July 3, 2010 by Rémy Robert

It starts with an evening back in April when Kimberly and I were asked to make a pitcher of lemonade to drink alongside some fresh filets. Squeezing a few lemons and stirring in some simple syrup in exchange for juicy, medium-rare steak (something that becomes commodified the moment you buy a college meal plan)? We were happy to lend our services.

And then things went terribly wrong.

Opinions differ as to how, exactly, this happened, but somehow, the simple syrup ended up being… not so simple. Something went awry, and much, much more sugar ended up in there than anybody could have intended. To make matters worse, the two-pound sack of lemons yielded a lot less juice than we anticipated. Turns out, very little lemon juice mixed into very much sugar water does not a good lemonade make. Reactions ranged from polite to outraged, and I nursed embarrassment over messing up the easiest thing in the book (right?). The irony? I prefer my lemonade bracing and almost too tart, a break from the overly sugared Barq’s and Icees I’ll imbibe elsewhere. This was all-around catastrophic.

But then – then! – I had an opportunity to redeem myself, sort of. Found with a heaping five-pound box of blueberries, I was scrambling to find various uses when it hit me: blueberry lemonade. Away from Brown, I couldn’t yet gain forgiveness from all those people whose palates I’d offended, but at the very least, I’d bolster my own confidence – and narrow in on the perfect juice/syrup ratio so that, come fall, I will be equipped to make pitcher upon pitcher of special citrusy ambrosia. How courteous, no?

I knew I would need privacy and ample time to accomplish my goal, having been traumatized by my legendary flub, so I stole away into the kitchen with my arsenal and set to work. I puréed the blueberries, juiced a whole lot (four pounds) of lemons, made some simple syrup (or a variation on it), and kept some regular water on hand in case the syrup tried to overshadow the actual fruit. With a notebook (no, really) to track my every move, I ladled each component into a tall pitcher and tasted until it seemed right.

Oh my god, did it seem right. I was in love. I got attached. I wanted to spend every waking minute with it, to pick its brain, to whisper sweet nothings to it. That first pitcher is long since gone, but I’ve been experimenting with other flavors. Most recently, I’ve landed on a mean glass of blackberry-mint lemonade, whose recipe (“recipe”) is also below.

A trite adage coaches us to learn from other people’s mistakes, because we won’t have enough time in our lives to make all those mistakes ourselves. I realize lemonade leaves little room for error, but as with many other simple dishes – mashed potatoes, grilled cheese, hamburgers, scrambled eggs – it’s also hard to get perfect. So while you may not be making mistakes (unless you’re just not making lemonade, in which case, c’mon, it’s July! WHAT IS THIS?), all I’m saying is that maybe, just maybe, there’s a little room for improvement.

This is a recipe for people who like their lemonade zingy and fresh. Don’t say I didn’t warn you about the zing, because it’s very, very prominent. The nice thing is that, with the addition of the berries, there are two different sweeteners, so there’s also a lot of wiggle room should you feel the urge to tweak to your liking. Blueberry juice in particular is more rounded and delicately sweet, whereas the simple syrup is (as I have learned) pointed and powerful.

Blueberry juice is purple and blackberry juice is crimson. I'm here to help you work through the confusion.

INGREDIENTS FOR TART BLUEBERRY LEMONADE:
4 pounds of lemons (two 2-pound bags will give you around 24 lemons total)
1 cup of sugar
4 cups of water
1 dry pint of blueberries

Combine the sugar and water in a saucepan over low heat so that the sugar can start melting as you prep everything else.
Purée the blueberries in a blender until they’re totally liquefied.
Pour this through a fine-mesh sieve to get rid of teeny pieces of skin and seeds. I did this twice; the first run-through didn’t quite get everything, and I wanted it to be smooth.
Juice all the lemons to end up with ~32 ounces (a lot) of lemon juice. Please see if you can procure a juicer for this step; it’ll make you happy you’re alive, and your hands will thank you.
In a large pitcher, combine the lemon juice and simple syrup. Stir in blueberry juice to taste; I think I used about 2/3 cup.
If this is too tart for you, add plain water or make a bit more simple syrup. Because lemons are actually pretty high in sugar, I used regular water; there’s so much lemon juice that it really doesn’t feel like “watering down.
Pour over ice and relish the sound of the ice crackling as the liquid hits it. Drink in a sunny room, on your front porch, over breakfast, late at night after you blow out a tire in a stupid pothole… the possibilities are endless.

BLACKBERRY-MINT LEMONADE

With the addition of mint leaves, I fooled around with this before I got it right. I knew I’d have to muddle the mint. On my first go-round, I tried muddling blackberries, too, figuring that it couldn’t hurt to see if there was a suitable shortcut. This was a big fail, but it’s kind of pretty. I got shy when I added the berries, which you can see were hardly touched and only contributed a tiny bit of flavor. The two on the rim were a kitschy touch, though, and I did enjoy the lemony burst of the blackberries from the cup.

I ended up taking the same route as I did with the blueberry lemonade, puréeing and double-straining the blackberries so they made a nice, workable juice that could easily be stirred in with the lemonade. This still left some flecks, but nothing that felt weird or pulpy. Pouring it over a few spearmint leaves (still, muddle those) is super-simple… and lemonade, no matter what flavor, is always best enjoyed in a polka-dotted glass.

If you’ve got any ideas or suggestions for twists on lemonade (rosemary? spiked?), leave ‘em in the comments. Let’s explore together!

Posted in blackberry, blueberry, drinks, lemon, mint | 4 Comments »

checking out sukhothai uptown

June 30, 2010 by Rémy Robert

When I graduated from high school, I was festooned with gifts galore, most of them food-related. Let’s be honest; when someone has a “hook” (a fixation, a fascination, a fetish), it’s a lot easier to buy for them, and my love for food fits that bill. Sure, I wouldn’t be sad to get some beautiful earrings or a fancy-schmancy camera, but anyone who’s short on ideas need only take me out to dinner or lavish me with a box of chocolates (or, as it were, oodles of Savvy Gourmet gift certificates) to win my eternal affection. I was so excited to go into Savvy Gourmet’s storefront and snatch up some nifty food gadgets or one of the classes they’d offered with the fake money I’d gotten.

Imagine my surprise, then, when I was trolling Magazine Street and saw a banner outside with the familiar colors and Papyrus typeface of SukhoThai, which has heretofore been housed in a bright yellow house on a Marigny street corner. Savvy Gourmet, after shutting its doors and leaving nothing but a dubious sign, had evacuated the premises and left its spacious location up for grabs. Now, the Marigny business has expanded closer to my neighborhood, so my friend Stella and I decided to convene there and investigate the new space.

A shallow ramp runs from the doors to a hostess station situated in the center of the dining room, whose floors are a smooth, blonde wood that brings a lot of light to the room. (It doesn’t hurt that they’ve kept those gigantic windows all along the front wall.) White globe lanterns hang from the high ceiling, and saffron-yellow booths line one wall. Because the room is so spacious, there are a lot of tables, which are scattered with plenty of room all around. Sound, I found, carries… so lower your voice a tad unless you want the whole room’s attention.

The regular dinner menu is offered during lunch hours, in addition to a page of lunch specials that are pleasantly marked down. I agonized for a bit (this past semester has been a bit of a Thai love affair for me, making it extremely difficult to settle on just one plate) and settled on the drunken noodles. The same wide egg noodles that I found a bit too sweet in the dirty noodles are much better when they’re stir-fried in spicy chili with slices of chicken. A hodgepodge of crisp veggies lends color and life to the heap of tan, and a tuft of shoestring carrots tops it off like a pom-pom, adorably. I’d heard warnings about SukhoThai’s tendency to over-spice, so when they asked me how hot I wanted my lunch, I reluctantly went with medium. I wish I’d gone for hot, because the medium didn’t give quite as much of a kick as I’d have liked.

Luckily, with an $8.95 price tag, the food and service wre good enough for me to go back — soon — and adjust accordingly. The only thing I’d add would be some salads and starters to the rest of the lunch specials; it would’ve felt strange to spend as much on a som-tum (green papaya) salad as featured on the dinner menu as on my main course. Has anybody had lunch at the Marigny SukhoThai? I’m wondering if the system’s the same there. As soon as that bit’s straightened out, SukhoThai will become a favorite spot to stop and eat with a friend when I’ve just had enough sushi and St. James.

Posted in chicken, lunch, New Orleans, pasta, Thai, vegetables | 4 Comments »

i am a terrible, terrible blogger

June 28, 2010 by Rémy Robert

OR, the antics I’ve been up to in the time we’ve spent apart.

The last time I was here, I wrote about coffee inebriation and an arguably glorious chunk of sundried tomato on a fairly tasty bagel. That was, by all accounts, NOT a great way to unwittingly enter what would turn out to be a 2+ month hiatus from blogging. Those of you who have clicked on over here to check for any updates have, for 73 days, been greeted by a close-up of gooey pink cream cheese. I could’ve at least deigned to post a photo of a charming lavender and honey-glazed cupcake or still-steaming curry puffs, and spared you the feeling of vague queasiness that, come to find out, can be a side effect of looking too closely at wads of dried tomato bathing in cream cheese.

All I can say to that is: thank you to those of you who’ve kept checking the site, who haven’t unsubscribed from my RSS feed, who still follow me on Twitter, who haven’t found a way to otherwise disown me from your Internet. I’ve been flaky this past year, abandoning my various outlets for social media and networking, opting instead to focus on what was right there in front of me… and there was a lot. I’ve finished my first year at Brown, during which I took unbelievable classes and got to know insanely intelligent, interesting, exciting people. I even ate some yucky cafeteria food. Then I came home, and that was crazy, too. But I’m back in New Orleans, back in the scheme of things, finally with my bearings straight. Before I tell you all my stories about dining out and eating in, I’ll outline some of the other ventures that have been occupying my time and keeping me away from writing, from the Internet, and from you.

-I made it through my first Spring Weekend at Brown… and my first finals period.

-I missed home so much that I jetted back down for Jazz Fest, ate more food than a 19-year-old girl’s body should be able to contain, and saw music that reaffirmed my love for this city.

-I only needed to spend $30 to ship things home. As soon as I dropped my bags off, I had my first dinner back at Taqueria Corona. One fish taco, one carne asada taco… oh yeah.

-I had my second dinner back on fresh gazpacho following a trip to the dog park. This is summer!

It's probably safe to say that every beautiful photo on this blog, like this one, was taken by Caroline Panini Malouse.

-I didn’t get to see my New Orleanian best friend nearly enough before she went across the country again to be her sunshiney, saving-the-world-one-prospective-student-at-a-time self. Come back, Jennalina Cakester. We shall feast on fluffy luv patties, Camellia Grill, and that chicken from Lilette.

-I scared my (seafood-phobic) Long Islandian best friend by sending her pictures of me sucking the heads of crawfish. There is a number of things about this photo that might be jarring to someone else.

-I started working full-time at Sucré. Fellas, THIS is really where I’ve been all summer. I used to consume desserts. Now they consume me. I have dreams in which I’m frantically organizing chocolates on their gleaming silver trays, as such…

Not that I wasn’t before, but if there was any doubt, I am now intimately familiar with each of the chocolates and macaroons, entremets and fancy-schmancy beverages, that Sucré proffers. A couple of my coworkers think that I talk to the chocolates when nobody’s around, so tender is our relationship.

-In desperate search of barbecue following the discovery that The Joint is closed on Sundays, Panini, Andy and I stumbled upon Bywater BBQ. They make passable food, including a passable pulled pork sandwich, and will even serve it to you in their breathtaking courtyard if you’re willing to brave the mosquitoes. Someone had a little trouble typing up the menu, which is rife with comical typos, including this one:

“Portable mushrooms.” As in portobello, which I would be overjoyed to port with me everywhere.

-Channeling Alton Brown, I hunkered down in the kitchen with ladles, myriad measuring cups, and a notebook, and finally settled on what I consider to be the perfect lemonade recipe, with optional add-ins. Stay tuned.

This summer, Sucré unveiled a line of sundaes that are on par with the other stunning, decadent, inspiring desserts at the shop. I happen to love piling those glass sundae bowls with caramel sauce and bread pudding, mixed berries and brownie croutons, but the Neapolitan Profiterole (pictured above) is my favorite to make. Scoops of chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry gelati are piped with fresh whipped cream and cocoa nibs, then finished with drizzled strawberry sauce and chocolate sauce, all between sliced choux pastry. For most, this is perfectly satisfying (to say the very least). However, there are a certain few others who want a little something extra…

One gentleman, insisting he needed to gain weight (God, I wish I had that problem), purchased two eclairs and plied us to use them in lieu of the normal pastry shell. That’s what you see here. It is…singular.

- I WENT BLUEBERRY PICKING. That needed to be in caps. It’s something I always, always wanted to do but never found the time. As it turns out, all it took to fix this was a morning spent poring over PickYourOwn.org and an hour and a half-long drive to Lumberton, Mississippi, where the folks at Pearl River Blues blueberry farm blew us away with their warmth, hospitality, passion, and know-how. Amy Phelps, who owns the farm with her husband, Alan, showed me around, answered all my questions about farming and living in the country and what the sky looks like at nighttime, and she even cut us a bunch of beautiful flowers to take home with us.

A gallon of blueberries costs only $9, and it honestly makes for the most incredible afternoon. Wear closed shoes, bug spray, and as little clothing as you can get away with. Nibble blueberries as you pick ‘em (just not the unripe ones – I got curious and learned that there’s a reason they don’t get picked!) and head over to Flint Creek afterward to cool off in the watering hole. It’s still blueberry season for another two solid weeks! Go forth and bring home your goodies so you can make pork chops in blueberry reduction, lemon-blueberry pie, blueberry muffins with walnuts, extra-special raspberry yogurt studded with berries and cocoa-roasted almonds, spinach salad with blueberries and goat cheese…

-That photo speaks for itself.

-I initiated an out-of-towner to the intense love and fervor in this city, complete with plenty of Hansen’s snowballs, a half-and-half Domilise’s po-boy while we’ve still got those plump oysters, anecdote-filled tours, and meandering walks through the French Quarter.

-A highlight of a trip to our lovely aquarium was the Gulf of Mexico exhibit, in which toothy sharks swim amongst giant Manta rays and metallic, kayak-sized fish. Thank you to our sponsors!

Not you, Shell. Certainly not ExxonMobil. Don’t think we haven’t forgotten about that Valdez scandal. The people of Alaska still aren’t the same.

-I served wine to partygoers at an art gallery. Also, I was not wearing pants. Just one of the shirts made by the artist. This was the first time I have been paid to walk around half-clothed.

-THE ROCHER GELATO AT SUCRÉ IS SO GOOD. In what I’m convinced was a stroke of genius, I put a half-scoop in a tiny espresso cup, to minimize waste and to maximize adorability. This is not on the menu.