Sunday 15 February
Barbara's innocent-looking car carried not only veal but Canadian bacon. The real deal, known to the natives as peameal bacon, because it is rolled in cornmeal and isn't bacon. In fact, a type of very lean cured pork loin.
So for dinner rather than breakfast, classic eggs Benedict. Engmuffs, fried Canadian peameal bacon, poached eggs, lemon hollandaise, a sprinkle of cayenne. Plate-licking good.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Veal Chops and Braised Fennel
Saturday 14 February, St. Valentine's
Clever of Canadian universities to have the break over Valentine's Day, which began with a recently discovered Linear B tablet from the Mycenaean palace of Theobromopolis and a lickable Valentine (wipe that smile and the chocolate off your face): calligraphy done in vegetable oil (though now I think about, egg white might have been even better) then dusted with cocoa and powered sugar.
Barbara had smuggled a couple of Antipasto's veal chops past the ever-vigilant US customs authorities by claiming to be some girl named G. Had. These were loin chops, like tiny T-bone steaks. So we pan seared them and set them on a little Vesuvius of braised fennel. Champagne. And then to welcome Barbara back to Cincinnati, Graeters. Cetera quis nescit?
Barbara's home
Friday 13 February
We're back to the early days of our courtship, living for breaks and vacations. Barbara had a "Reading Week" (Canadian for "Spring Break," without the spring part so much) off. She arrived around eight to be greeted by a classic pork and porcini stew.
(A certain amount of snogging may have ensued before and after the meal, though not during).
Shiao Lan Kung
Saturday 10 January
We walked out by ourselves to a great Chinese restaurant - Shiao Lan Kung, found through the eagle scouts of Chowhound. We started with a pork and preserved turnip soup, perfect on a cold night. Then wonderful salt-baked seafood: shrimp, scallops, and squid, all very fresh and tasty. Also an excellent beef with eggplant. We hit the joint at 6:30, with accidental but perfect timing, as we were seated immediately and the place is insanely popular. No liquor license, but we were in the mood for tea, anyway. And we made up for it back in the hotel room with the finest bottle of champagne the Quicky Mart doth afford.
The next day we had to fly off to different cities together. Our blog, and our hearts, go back on hiatus.
We walked out by ourselves to a great Chinese restaurant - Shiao Lan Kung, found through the eagle scouts of Chowhound. We started with a pork and preserved turnip soup, perfect on a cold night. Then wonderful salt-baked seafood: shrimp, scallops, and squid, all very fresh and tasty. Also an excellent beef with eggplant. We hit the joint at 6:30, with accidental but perfect timing, as we were seated immediately and the place is insanely popular. No liquor license, but we were in the mood for tea, anyway. And we made up for it back in the hotel room with the finest bottle of champagne the Quicky Mart doth afford.
The next day we had to fly off to different cities together. Our blog, and our hearts, go back on hiatus.
Bookbinders
Friday 9 January
On Friday we went out to a dinner in honor of Barbara's old excavation director at Sardis. It was at Bookbinders (old, original), and was amazingly elaborate - there were huge platters of every kind of cold seafood appetizer, including lobster, huge shrimp, both lump crab and claws, and raw oysters and clams. We didn't want to be too rude about gobbling, but we managed to polish off just about all the shellfish we wanted, which is rare, as we just love that stuff. For some bizarre reason the people at the center of the table kept falling down on the job, and we were forced to hint that if they weren't planning on eating that mussel there were those that would.
We had a fine seared tuna and grouper, which were nearly superfluous at that point. Our glasses seemed to replenish themselves of their own accord and a fine cognac followed. We dined like Lydians, and them boys knew from food.
On Friday we went out to a dinner in honor of Barbara's old excavation director at Sardis. It was at Bookbinders (old, original), and was amazingly elaborate - there were huge platters of every kind of cold seafood appetizer, including lobster, huge shrimp, both lump crab and claws, and raw oysters and clams. We didn't want to be too rude about gobbling, but we managed to polish off just about all the shellfish we wanted, which is rare, as we just love that stuff. For some bizarre reason the people at the center of the table kept falling down on the job, and we were forced to hint that if they weren't planning on eating that mussel there were those that would.
We had a fine seared tuna and grouper, which were nearly superfluous at that point. Our glasses seemed to replenish themselves of their own accord and a fine cognac followed. We dined like Lydians, and them boys knew from food.
The Return of the Blog
Thursday 8 January 2009
Victor’s Opera Cafe
After an interminable four days apart, Holt and Barbara got back together in Philadelphia, City of Romance. Does it count as a dirty weekend if you're married? Oh, yes, yes it does.
Our dear friend Helene took us to Victor's Opera Café ("The Music Lovers' Rendezvous"). http://www.victorcafe.com/
Some places should never change. We used to go to Victor's back when Barbara was teaching in Philadelphia, and her Mom would come down from New York to visit. Florry would enter Victor's and greet every dusty signed photograph as an old friend. When the records (yes, youth, they had records then) played, she could "Name That Voice" within ten seconds. (Short pause to praise America. Is this a great country, or what, where a poor Jewish girl from Brooklyn could develop a life-long love of opera and an encyclopedic knowledge of the same, from the Texaco radio broadcasts, standing room tickets, and public TV and public libraries?)
The old photos are still there, the waiters and waitresses (usually young students at Curtis) still belt out an aria on the half hour, and the menu is unaltered since Caruso was a pup—a hundentenor—and a good thing too. The only change was that the elderly banks of 78s have been retired to a rest home somewhere upstate to make way for a few more tables.
For starters, we had crispy calamari and Victor's odd but tasty "crespelle," where the wrapper is prosciutto and the filling is of crabmeat. Then Vitello Picante Licia Albanese (veal sautéed with asparagus and fresh baby artichokes in white wine, lemon, butter and garlic), and Saltimbocca Baron Scarpia (with prosciutto, pineapple sage, and wild mushrooms in marsala). Victor's was the place where we first learned about putting a shot of lemon vodka in a cream sauce, for Pasta Prince Igor.
And now a short scientific digression. First, it turns out that all the alcohol does not burn away in cooking (yeah!). Second, there's a good reason for the booze in certain sauces, since some flavors are more soluble in alcohol. So that glug of brandy or whatever not only contributes its own trace elements but brings out complex tastes that would otherwise be lost. And don't try to tell us any different.
For dessert we shared the pistachio creme brulee. Thanks, Helene, for treating us to a classic favorite!
Victor’s Opera Cafe
After an interminable four days apart, Holt and Barbara got back together in Philadelphia, City of Romance. Does it count as a dirty weekend if you're married? Oh, yes, yes it does.
Our dear friend Helene took us to Victor's Opera Café ("The Music Lovers' Rendezvous"). http://www.victorcafe.com/
Some places should never change. We used to go to Victor's back when Barbara was teaching in Philadelphia, and her Mom would come down from New York to visit. Florry would enter Victor's and greet every dusty signed photograph as an old friend. When the records (yes, youth, they had records then) played, she could "Name That Voice" within ten seconds. (Short pause to praise America. Is this a great country, or what, where a poor Jewish girl from Brooklyn could develop a life-long love of opera and an encyclopedic knowledge of the same, from the Texaco radio broadcasts, standing room tickets, and public TV and public libraries?)
The old photos are still there, the waiters and waitresses (usually young students at Curtis) still belt out an aria on the half hour, and the menu is unaltered since Caruso was a pup—a hundentenor—and a good thing too. The only change was that the elderly banks of 78s have been retired to a rest home somewhere upstate to make way for a few more tables.
For starters, we had crispy calamari and Victor's odd but tasty "crespelle," where the wrapper is prosciutto and the filling is of crabmeat. Then Vitello Picante Licia Albanese (veal sautéed with asparagus and fresh baby artichokes in white wine, lemon, butter and garlic), and Saltimbocca Baron Scarpia (with prosciutto, pineapple sage, and wild mushrooms in marsala). Victor's was the place where we first learned about putting a shot of lemon vodka in a cream sauce, for Pasta Prince Igor.
And now a short scientific digression. First, it turns out that all the alcohol does not burn away in cooking (yeah!). Second, there's a good reason for the booze in certain sauces, since some flavors are more soluble in alcohol. So that glug of brandy or whatever not only contributes its own trace elements but brings out complex tastes that would otherwise be lost. And don't try to tell us any different.
For dessert we shared the pistachio creme brulee. Thanks, Helene, for treating us to a classic favorite!
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Ham and root vedge
2 January 2009
Did I mention the ham. But we still have this amazing, pure, clean, white goose grease. So we roasted a mess o' root vedge in it: onions, and nips, both tur- and pars-. High, high smoking temperature, so everything crisped to a turn.
And with that, dear friends, the blog goes on hiatus. Barbara is off to Canada, Holt is left behind in Cincinnati, and "What Holt Had for Dinner without Barbara" and "What Barbara Had for Dinner without Holt" are not to be contemplated.
Whenever we do get together for dinner over the next few months, we'll report to you, our eager readers.
Did I mention the ham. But we still have this amazing, pure, clean, white goose grease. So we roasted a mess o' root vedge in it: onions, and nips, both tur- and pars-. High, high smoking temperature, so everything crisped to a turn.
And with that, dear friends, the blog goes on hiatus. Barbara is off to Canada, Holt is left behind in Cincinnati, and "What Holt Had for Dinner without Barbara" and "What Barbara Had for Dinner without Holt" are not to be contemplated.
Whenever we do get together for dinner over the next few months, we'll report to you, our eager readers.
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