Trial Run: Chocolate Mussolini

The latest addition to Fidel Gastro jumped the posting gun (twice!) before I could give a proper introduction. With Che Gruyere back among the guerrillas (nary a post in years, literally), a new Brooklyn/Manhattan/Home Cook correspondent has risen to the occasion (I could say "like pizza dough," but that's just way too contrived). Welcome aboard, Chocolate Mussolini. And no, he will not be specializing in desserts. Buen Provecho.

Food Cart Take Two

Continuing my "Cart for a Day" themed Thursday, the falafel couple outside the 7-11 on 15th and JFK makes a delicious, albeit messy, falafel burrito (I call it a burrito because the pita is thin like a tortilla). Their falafel balls are not of the crunchy on the outside and dry on the inside variety. They have more of an all around chewy consistency, like a savory munchkin, or a potato croquette from Sal's in Carroll Gardens (Google it and order a few. They're the shit). The hummus is silky smooth, and the vegetables are fresh (unlike a certain food truck I've written about in the past). The only complaint is that it's not really lunch-size, but it's too big to be a snack. At $3.50, it should quell the hunger, no? And I'd overdo it with two, not to mention the fact that I'd be spending seven bucks on a meal from a cart. These things will have to be ironed out in the future, as I'm certain that I will return. Oh yeah, and these guys didn't dump ketchup all over my lunch, like that fucker from this morning. Buen provecho.

Bookends

As my Brooklyn days dwindle, I am ever eager to cram as much food in my mouth from as many locations as possible. Hovering in between nostalgia and consistency, my lovely wife and I decided on a final meal at Joya, which was actually the first place I dined upon landing in Cobble Hill. Remember that you are Joya, and to Joya you shall return.

The place is an all-around slam dunk. You get cheap ass food, local artwork, the owner's in a band, minimalist decor, and an 8 out of 10 on the service scale. If it weren't for the crowds, we'd probably eat there more often. Unfortunately, last night's food missed the mark. Maybe that's too much of a blanket statement. It was the Pad Thai (white man's Thai) and the warm beer that put the rest of what was on the table in vertigo. There was way too much plum sauce, giving the dish an unbearable sweetness that lingered far too long in your mouth, and the noodles themselves had the rubbery consistency of poorly cooked calamari. Aside from this unfortunate mishap (really the centerpiece of our meal), the rest was delicious, although the whole fish I ordered was filleted such that I spent a lot of time deboning. Moving on to dessert (which put me over the edge and made me want to deliver a food baby), we opted for the fried banana. Take a note, readers, skip the appetizer to save room for this masterpiece. It's a banana spring roll surrounded by neapolitan ice cream. The fried wrapper adds a savory note to the pile of cream and sugar, and it's a perfect ending to what is usually a perfect meal.

Overall, one hell of a goodbye meal. And for $50 all in, including booze, it's still the best value in Cobble Hill when it comes to Thai food. As a pair of bookends, I bid you adieu, Joya. I hope our paths can cross again, and soon. Buen Provecho.

What Do You Want on Yer Tombstone?

Readers (all two of you):

As you may know, I will be relocating to Philadelphia shortly (less than a week to be exact). While I certainly look forward to everything that Stephen Starr has to offer, including his Atlantic City offering of French Onion Soup Dumplings, I leave New York City with a heavy heart. I have started what I hope to be a long string of suggestions for a final meal over on Serious Eats. Nothing's too outlandish, but try and stay within the constraints. Buen Provecho.

Nobody Reads This Anyway

But I'm sorry for the literary lag here. Special updates of note to whet your appetite (for desctruction):

Five Guys still has the best burger. Goodburger (home of the goodburger) has the right idea, but next time I'll refrain from getting "The Works." Ketchup, mustard, and mayo on the same sandwich is like the suicide fountain soda (all the sodas available). It only sounds like a good idea.

I took my wife to Saul for her birthday. Holy shit was it good. The tagliatelle first course had everything I would never think to ask for in a pasta dish: bacon, poached egg, and a silky broth that tasted like a meat smoothie (that's a good thing). Follow that up with sweetbreads atop an Indian-inspired pile of potatoes and pickled cauliflower, a pale ale pairing, and you've got the best meal on Smith Street (sorry, The Grocery).

I've spent the last two weeks eating more than 3,000 calories per day. It's very hard to sustain that much sustenance.

There was a pig roast at 3rd Ward on July 20th. I didn't go.

That's all for a week or so. Buen Provecho.

Sometimes You Can't Depend on the Kindness of Strangers

Dear New Bartender at Lobo,

Quite frankly, you suck. Please don't quit your day job. Although after last night's performance, I doubt you could be good at anything. In what I consider to be a free country, why are we not allowed to have a $5 happy hour margarita at the bar and then sit at a table for dinner? We would have even been generous with the tippage. Instead, you get zero, which is what you deserved after being such a jerk, and to add insult to injury, your margarita skills are worse than Mr. and Mrs. T. Thank goodness the rest of the staff is consistently stellar. As for you, I hope your days at Lobo are numbered.

Regards,
Fidel

Memorial Day Highlights

Turns out that it's real easy to grill on my roof. Shame on me for waiting three years to test the theory, especially since it was a piece of cake. The grill came from the Rite-Aid on the first floor, a steal at $7.99. At first glance, it was a true piece of shit, but it wound up making a mean burger and breast of chicken. Added bonus: Even with the wind doing its worst, I didn't set the roof on fire.

Nachos Muchacho

Please be advised that Pete's Ale House in Brooklyn has the greatest nachos in the world. You get a perfect balance of cheese, chili, and chips, all of which are made even better when you get a jalapeno thrown in the mix. Pair it with a beer from their extensive draught selection (I recommend the Liberty Ale) and you've got the perfect accompaniment to the Mets-Phillies game, or the angry lady throwing menus across the dining room. Buen Provecho.

French Food Hates Americans

Dear Provence en Boite,
Thank you very much for running out of cassoulet. The steak frites replacement was a real shit show. The cut of meat was way too big and way too greasy. Maybe it's my own fault for already having beef in the form of a pork roll burger for lunch. Regardless, I was disappointed. Furthermore, your service was a big pile of poo. I don't speak French, but I'm pretty sure "Could we get some water?" doesn't translate to "Please ignore us and our entrees presently drying under the heat lamp."

Regards,
Fidel

The Cure

I love The Cease for being from the Midwest. I love his penchant for hard to injure quarterbacks and the irony of his lactardedness as a Wisconsinite. But his most redeeming quality has to be his ability to find an obscure foodstuff in an all too common location. The foodstuff of note this time around being the buzz meat La Quercia, a domestic porker available to purveyors only as a whole hog. Making local prosciutto has to significantly reduce the cured meat's carbon footprint, which is a grand thing for mother earth, but I was upset to see such a huge markup in Manhattan, where the premium (at Otto, natch) was double what I paid at The Jake Walk in Carroll Gardens ($5 for a single there as opposed to $10 in the big city). Granted, the fuel consumed by a refrigerated meat truck idling on 8th Street and 5th Avenue at 5am on a Tuesday might beg the premium, but I would rather Mr. Batali work it into the price of his myriad Italian wines, or any other combination of his non-local ingredients kicked out of the earthy boot that is his Disneyworld. I'm all for paying the premium associated with consuming local foods, but if your entire menu is FOB Italian, you should probably forgo the opportunity to serve domestic prosciutto, especially if you're going to charge and arm and leg (and a shank) for it. Let somebody else benefit from that gimmick. Buen provecho.

Home is Where the Heart Is

I have to agree with the rest of the food bloggers that spending 2/14 at a restaurant is best left to those who need help in the romance department. I prefer to spend it without pants and in the kitchen. For me, love is best expressed with food, and not by a silk rose purchased at a gas station counter.

The menu:

Spicy tuna hand roll

Miso Glazed Sea Bass

Flourless chocolate cake

Wine pairing: Domaine Michel Cheveau 2006

With limited time to get home from work, get the supplies, and get cooking, I went ahead and let Hana make the hand rolls (for a little cliche factor, you can arrange the hand rolls on a plate to make a heart shape), and I let Provence en Boite make the flourless chocolate cake.

The bass itself was a breeze. The glaze is a combination of light yellow miso, soy sauce, mirin, and sake. Coat the fish, chill it for an hour, then broil it for 6-8 minutes. I served this on top of yukon gold potatoes whipped with butter and greek yogurt. Finally, I added some color to the dish with a ring of seaweed salad and toasted sesame seeds. You have no idea, but if you want to come over for dinner, I'll gladly make it again.

The end result? A very happy valentine. We got to eat her favorite things from start to finish, and everything I needed for the meal was within a 5 block radius. The sea bass came from Fish Tales, where the fishmonger was happy to place a special order for me. The wine and sake came from Smith & Vine, and the Beaujolais pairing was spot on. And as mentioned above, two local restaurants were also happy to lend a hand. Sometimes, it takes a village. Buen provecho.