A double-edged morning

This morning I was on the prowl for a breakfast sandwich and briefly considered the egg and cheese biscuit I could economically procure with my $0.99 Dunkin Donuts coupon.  Another option was a personalized breakfast sandwich from a local deli for a very affordable $2.99, coffee included.  But as the saying goes, there are breakfast sandwiches and there are breakfast sandwiches, and having absented myself of one for some time, my inclinations leaned toward the latter.  That, in addition to its proximity, wireless, and faded brick walls, was how I wound up at Darwin’s (see previous post).  Thankfully, thankfully, my sandwich was achingly good — eggs over medium, with perky, intensely bright yolks, crunchy grassy asparagus, fresh tomato, and savory brie oozing between toasted sourdough.  The bread crust shattered on contact, its chewy innards yielding to such a heady flavor that I put down my book and succumbed to its absolute godliness.  And this was a good book.  Someone recently told me that good art is painful, and I would argue that the experience of eating really great food can be painful too.  It makes you wince, if not physically then in other ways.

The original subject for today’s post was not the breakfast sandwich I just described but something less delicious, less delicious because sadly it never existed.  Before my pursuit of a breakfast sandwich I woke up itching to make banana and granola pancakes with cranberry compote.  To be honest, the thought started the night before, as I was storing away a fresh batch of granola.  I had some bananas in the freezer, milk and fresh cranberries in the fridge – the stars seemed aligned.  The only thing missing, but the limiting ingredient, was someone to share my pancakes with.  I wanted someone to share my pancakes with, in both senses of the word.  My breakfast sandwich was outstanding but it didn’t entirely erase the image in my head of what could have been.

Darwin’s Ltd.
1629 Cambridge Street
Cambridge MA 02138

Homemade granola: victory is sweet

I attempted to make granola a number of times last year but never met with success. I would typically just forget about tending to it until the telltale scent of overcaramelization sent me scurrying to the oven, inevitably minutes too late. Since granola needs a stir every 10 or 15 minutes to ensure an even toast, there’s not much room for absentmindedness.  Dismayed, disheartened, discouraged, I had all but given up on that elusive batch of homemade granola until a recent post by David Lebovitz inspired me to give it one more go. I am thankful I did.

In review: Don Ricardo’s

Don Ricardo’s is a family-run Brazilian/Peruvian restaurant in the South End. When I went there on Thursday night, my dining companions and I were greeted by Don himself. We got there around 7:30 and the restaurant was completely empty, which gave me pause. Don was friendly enough and patiently addressed our queries about the food, but still, only one other couple patronized the restaurant that night, making me wonder how Don’s stays in the game in a really strong restaurant neighborhood. My conclusion by the end of the night: the apps and the sangria.

Unable to decide between the sweet and green plaintains (Don prefers the former and I the latter), we naturally ordered both. The maduros (fried sweet plaintains) with “carrot sauce”:

Homemade tomato soup

Dusk continues to encroach on the afternoon hours and as warmth becomes increasingly precious, more is more. Sandwiches, salads, things petite and dainty are out; chunky stews, steaming vats of soup, creamy curries, heaps of pasta, pho, and potatoes are where it’s at. But all in due time. This past weekend I made tomato soup, not quite in the “cream of” category but with a balanced mouth-filling richness to neutralize the potent acidity of the tomatoes.

The soup base incorporated roasted cherry tomatoes, tomato puree, onion puree, butter, milk, and garlic, to which I added a melange of other ingredients including salsa, balsamic vinegar, mustard, basil, oregano, and brown sugar. Part sweet, part tart, intense tomato flavor, though the recipe still needs tinkering with. But paired with a couple thick hunks of good bread (and if Cambridge knows one thing, it’s good bread), this soup satisfied my needy stomach this time around.  There’s really no problem that good bread can’t solve, no heart it can’t win over except the devil’s and the carbophobe’s (one and the same), and that’s why I love it so.

Operation Olecito: success

I was planning to cook dinner for J last night, but a tiring afternoon at work combined with an uninspired peek inside the supermarket left me thinking “takeout.”  Call it laziness or call it luck, but Olecito is irresistably close. Since the first night I moved here and had a fantastic meal at its more upscale sister restaurant, Ole, Olecito has been at the top of my takeout list. For a smidgen under $6, you leave this joint with complimentary chips and salsa, both homemade, and an ample, high-quality burrito impregnated with rice (I refrained), creamy black beans, and the usual fixings (including a killer pico de gallo), along with your choice of steak, pork, chicken, or grilled vegetables. For dinner in Cambridge, that is an absolute steal.  The burrito tortilla was smooth, chewy and pliant, no doubt made in-house; the meat tender with welcomed nibbles of flavorful fat; the pico de gallo valiantly standing up against the richness of the other ingredients, a curmudgeon cutting through a sea of philanthropists, with great effect.  I also emphasize the fresh, crisp tortilla chips and drinkably delicious salsa that are clearly several cuts above your everyday Tostitos and Garden of Eden variety, and manifest the restaurant’s commitment to getting even the small things right.  To me, that reflects devotion both to one’s craft and customer, and I am more than happy to reward them with my continued patronage.  I am adding Olecito to my “bang for buck” list of worthy neighborhood takeout joints, alongside Pinocchio’s and Oggi’s $5 Monday night pizzas.

Olecito
12 Springfield Street
Cambridge, MA 02139
(617) 876-1374

Thumbs up for Tamarind House

About a week ago I lamented to a friend the apparent lack of quality Asian restaurants in the Cambridge/Somerville area.  Not that I’m an expert on Asian food here after a month, but up to that point I’d been decidedly unimpressed with the Asian places I had been to (and inquired about): an inconsistent Cantonese meal in Chinatown (which my dad suffered a parking ticket for), a mediocre Americanized buffet lunch, and some unmentionable takeout.  I was starting to wonder what the deal was for a place overrun with Asians.  But recently, things have been looking up.  Last weekend I had really beefy pho at Pho ‘n Rice and today my coworkers introduced me to a Thai place a short walk away from the Press.  I ordered the Gai Gaprow and was very pleased with my dish.  Minced white meat chicken and plentiful, expertly sauteed bites of peppers and onions in a fragrant chili-basil sauce.  I especially appreciated how uniformly my vegetables were cut, an overlooked art in the age of Asian-style fast food.  The sauce was spicy and flavorful without being overwhelming, lending itself magnificently to being sopped by the well-cooked rice that accompanied it.  We also ordered some fresh and fried spring rolls, which were solid, though I’m generally not a huge fan of either.  The pad see ew earned praise, as did a tofu dish bearing the title “tofu extreme” or something equally awesome.  I’m sensing that the place isn’t aiming to be exquisitely authentic, considering it carries dishes with names like “exciting tofu” and “ocean madness.”  Still, it was evident to me that at least today, the food was made with attention and care.  Add to that some fish sauce and garlic, and tasty Thai-inspired food can’t be far away.

Tamarind House
1790 Massachusetts Ave
Cambridge, MA 02140

Freakalicious pasta

A couple days ago this recipe from Tamarind and Thyme caught my eye. There was nothing special about it, no exotic ingredients or novel cooking method, so maybe its simple and unassuming nature was what appealed to me. Given the occasion to whip up something for a crowd, I jumped at the chance to try it out. This dish obviously bears resemblance to pasta carbonara and the taste profile is arguably similar. But frying the eggs before combining them with the pasta gives the cook some leeway. Since the heat of the pasta doesn’t bear the full responsibility of cooking the eggs, there’s less pressure to coordinate the cooking of the pasta with the other ingredients. Capiche?

I think this pasta is some of the best I’ve made, which sounds like a grand statement but really isn’t b/c I don’t cook pasta as often as I should. It’s delicious in a robust and full-flavored way, so beware, those with faint hearts and tepid palates. There’s a lot going on with the creaminess of the eggs, the bacon umami, sharpness of the cheese, and pleasant little explosions of pepper granules, but this dish is so easy to make. Despite deviating from the traditional carbonara way of generating the eggy sauce, I still believe the magic is in the timing — cooking the pasta just right, sauteing the bacon long enough to let it do its thing, and most importantly, making sure the eggs do not overcook. Do all this, and you’re guaranteed one immensely satisfying peasant meal.

Cereal monogamy

I saw the term in a magazine today (not a food magazine, mind you – I do have a life outside of food) and it got me thinking.  While serial monogamy is a whole different story, I am quite the cereal monogamist.  Right now I‘m with Total, though I haven‘t really eaten much cold cereal since the weather took a turn for the nippy.  But it‘s okay, all relationships have their off moments.  Sometimes you just need the time apart. In the past, I‘ve been in serious relationships with Honey Nut Cheerios, Honey Bunches of Oats, Reeses Puffs, and Cinnamon Toast Crunch, to name a few.  Sure, flings happen (like my passionate affair with Life), but for the most part I find myself in stable, loving, monogamous partnerships.  I can‘t remember the last time I‘ve stocked two different kinds of cereal simultaneously, let alone eaten them at the same time (maybe Honey Nut Cheerios and their original counterparts way back when?).  Though I know many who are fans of the mix and match method – cereal polygamists, if you will – I prefer not to defile the sanctity of my romantic relationships.  How about you?

Sunday brunch for two

In my excitement to get cracking on all those newly picked apples, I invited J over for Sunday brunch, most cleverly killing two birds with one stone in the process, the birds being catching up with a mate and using up some apples. While I considered making it an exclusively sweet brunch menu consisting of nothing but a motherload of apple crisp, I ended up throwing together a frittata at the last moment as well – a good move, as I discovered J is fond of eggs. I ran into a slight problem over what to put in the frittata, as I found little more than sweet potatoes, yogurt, gochujang, shredded parmesan, and prepared spicy korean fish cakes (from H Mart, which might be my new favorite place on this sweet earth) in the fridge. I briefly contemplated putting sweet potatoes and then the fish cakes in (not together!), but decided to keep it simple, making a parmesan frittata with some dried herbs, finished with freshly ground black pepper (recipe at the end).

Cider donuts, apples and fried seafood

against the backdrop of picturesque New England autumn.  After some early morning showers, the day brightened beautifully, allaying my initial concerns of being soaked and being grumpy as a byproduct of being soaked.  I was still grumpy, but only then because that’s just who I am

I digress.  Today I lost my virginity.  My apple picking virginity, to be precise.  I tagged along with a buttload (nearly a full hayride’s worth) of Asian people to Russell Orchards, in Ipswich, MA, about an hour’’s drive from Boston.  Unfortunately, the Honeycrisps were long gone but there were still plenty of Macouns, Cortlands, Galas, and MacIntoshs to go around.  I enjoyed sampling all the varietals, indulging in the freedom to bite and toss as I please.  It’s only recently I’ve cultivated a deeper appreciation for apples and the incomparable first bite of a fresh, crisp, clean, juicy specimen.  I think the reliable Galas and Fujis are still my preferred snacking apples, although I discovered today that the Macoun is nice as well, firm and crisp with a gorgeous white flesh.  I also picked up a few Cortlands that will hopefully make their way into an apple crisp on tomorrow’s brunch menu.