Sheddy's... Almost

So, I was going to give you my first look at Sheddy's. As you may know, the space is around the corner from my apartment, and over the 3 years that Bodega De Cordova was there, I became a serious regular, and Kenny, the bar's owner, became a good friend. So, of course I'm curious about the new bar.

I was going to check it out Friday night, but unfortunately, I, along with quite a few others, were met with closed doors. Apparently the owners are having alcohol license issues, so they had to postpone their opening. Bummer.

Nonetheless, I can tell you a few things. They had a private event on Thursday night, but Raul the stalwart bartender -- been there since the first night the Bodega opened -- kindly let me sneak through. They've kept some of the old fixtures, but swanked up the place with red walls and dim lighting to give it a cozy bordello feel. They've fenced off a bit of the back for a small smoking patio. And, we learn from Thrillist that they'll be going for quality with their beer selection: Maudite on tap and Delirium Tremens in bottles, just to name a few. Sheddy's will even have some Spanish wines on hand, as a throwback, for us throwbacks.

I will also say that I've been seeing people trying to go to the bar all weekend. Whenever I've passed by, there've been people in bar clothes reading the note the owners have left in the window. There's certainly interest and buzz. While I certainly miss the mellow vibe of my very own Spanish wine bar, and the friendliest one in town at that, I look forward to hobbling home from Sheddy's as soon as they let me in.

[Oh, and for those who care, Kenny is now living in Miami, working for ASCAP (he's a musician and barkeep -- a winning combo), and proud father to a brand new baby girl.]

Sheddy's is at 361 Fairfax Ave., between Blackburn Ave. and 4th St.

The Science of Delicious: A Molecular Gastronomy Demonstration

When it comes to my relationship with food and my relationship with science, I'm a little quirky. I'm avidly interested in both, but in general, I don't really want them to mix. I love reading about technology, and have reverence for the scientific method, but still have a soft spot for the story and drama of the kitchen. I'm pretty much willing to believe anything any grandma tells me about cooking, lab-tested or not (although, once, when my own grandma tried to tell me that the bugs that we discovered in a sealed bag of noghl, Persian almond candy, just appeared there (no mention of eggs or anything -- just appeared, out of nowhere), I had to raise an eyebrow). After all, generations of satisfied families can't be wrong.

But, when I was graciously invited to a talk and demonstration by Hervé This (pronounced 'Tees'), the father of molecular gastronomy, which is the study of the chemistry behind food and cooking, I jumped at the opportunity. Granted, as stated, I am a food luddite. But, I must admit, I'm fascinated. I had read about This a while back in this fascinating article about how, when you cook an egg at exactly 67C, the yolk turns, essentially, into Play-Doh. It's this combination of technology and whimsy -- the same combination that turns out 'olives' fabricated from olive puree at El Bullí, bound into spheres so that when you bite into them you get a burst of juice, or turns a short rib into a miniature forest wonderland at Alinea -- that catches my eye.

So I ditched the office for a couple hours to check it out. Before Mr. This entered the picture, I was already fascinated -- turns out that for a food-obsessed civilian like myself, the world of culinary school is pretty damn cool. The event took place at the California School of Culinary Arts, a Cordon Bleu academy right in Pasadena. As soon as I entered the parking lot, all over the place were droves of students in black checkered pants, white coats and hats. Aspiring chefs in all shapes and colors were everywhere, and it was pretty awesome. As I stepped into the building, the concentration of people in this uniform increased, and I slowly felt myself being on the outside of a rich culture. As I stepped into the bustling 'lab' -- a large kitchen with a presentation area complete with 2 flatscreen monitors hanging from the ceiling for Food-Network-like close-ups of the action -- I could sense a certain innate rhythm among the students (as well as their superiors, in fancier coats and taller toques), and I just did my best to stay out of their way.

Once the presentation began though, everyone in the room focused on the same thing: the spritely French man at the front of the class. Herve Thís is an extremely animated speaker. He talks fast, but you want to latch on to every word: he is, after all, the eminent expert on his field, and his passion for its details is obvious.

Through a slideshow presentation, we learned a bit about the history of molecular gastronomy, what it is and what it isn't. Mr. This emphasized the difference between molecular cooking, which is done in restaurants like Alinea and El Bullí, and molecular gastronomy,which is the gathering of knowledge through scientific experimentation. He's spent years breaking down the chemical compounds in all manner of vegetables, testing thousands of well-known kitchen wives' tales (putting to rest many of them, of course), and, as he puts it, 'playing' with food in very technologically sophisticated ways. His aim is often to deconstruct: Why do we sit on chairs to eat? Why do we use a whisk to whip things? (After all, an ultrasonic box gets the job done far more efficiently!) And more pointedly, why do we believe old masters like Brillat-Savarin? He was a lawyer, not a chef, and according to Mr. This, "this guy was lying all book long!"

Towards the end of the demo, things got a bit weird. Mr. This was proud to have come up with a simple formula from which we could extrapolate an infinite number of new recipes, and a bit later on, showed us photos of a machine that could be programmed to follow these recipes -- basically a robot chef.

So, do I think this is crazy? Not really. While I do respect the grannies, and I did find myself wondering throughout this presentation what Mr. This's mom must think of all this, I'm glad there are people taking food into more avant garde directions -- and getting positively giddy over finding a new compound in onions and not yet knowing what it is. And I have no doubt that if we paid attention to research by people like Hervé This, we'd gain tips to make our own cooking more efficent, more effective, and probably more tasty. Besides, the man is certainly not unhinged; he said it best himself: "Solving equations is easy. But the chef has to say I love you -- very difficult."

Chermoula, Without the Soapy Residue

I'd never expect a fancy North African spice blend to make its way into a quick work-night meal in my kitchen. But happily, it did. Chermoula is a North African condiment that blends spices, olive oil, and fresh herbs (typically cilantro, but more on that below). It's got a texture not unlike pesto, and really bright and fresh flavor.

What's amazing about a condiment like this one is how easy it is to achieve complex flavor. You just keep adding spices to the blender, and with each one, you get a new layer of flavor, without chopping a single vegetable (especially the saffron -- just the tiniest pinch, and without overpowering, its contribution was pretty spectacular). It seems indulgent, really. How can such grandma-slaving-away-in-an-exotic-foreign-kitchen deliciousness be so simple? Truly within reach of the modern homemaker like myself.

And then you just smear it all over some fresh fish, stick the whole thing in the toaster oven, and voila: near-instant healthy, enticing, delicious dinner (well, with the addition of a couple tomatoes stuffed with pangrattato breadcrumbs and steamed baby broccoli sprinkled with sea salt and good olive oil (both super easy)).

It's true, my chermoula didn't have cilantro. The thing is, although I'm becoming more tolerant, I am one of those people who firmly believes that cilantro tastes like soap. Besides, all I had in the house was parsley, and not even flat-leaf, but curly, which lately has been shunned like so much leafy sacrilege. My ever-so-erudite dinner guest was quick to suggest that I don't call it chermoula (although one Algerian chef vindicates my parsley). Really, I don't care what I call it. The point is we ate, and we ate well. And long after the kitchen table had been abandoned -- after dessert, tea, and French homework -- my kitchen still smelled like some serious cooking had gone down.

Tilapia with Chermoula
My chermoula recipe came together after consulting the one referenced above and Clotilde's version. There seems to be quite a bit of variation allowed, so feel free to take a little license.

2 tilapia filets
olive oil

Chermoula:
1 clove garlic
1 tsp cumin
1 tsp whole coriander seeds
4-5 threads, or 1/8 tsp saffron
1/2 tsp sweet paprika
crushed red pepper to taste
peel from half a preserved lemon (or juice and zest of 1/2 fresh lemon)
2 Tbs olive oil
about 1 cup of parsley leaves
salt to taste (less if you're using preserved lemons)

Sprinkle one side of fish with salt; set aside. Preheat oven or toaster oven to 400F.

Make chermoula: Place all ingredients in blender or awesome mini-chopper. Blend into a thin paste. Taste and adjust seasoning if necessary.

Spread the bottom of an oven-proof dish with a thin layer of olive oil. Place fish filets in dish, salt side down. Spread filets generously with chermoula. Bake until fish is just cooked through, about 8 minutes.

Eat Mickey's Face

So, your family's smiley almost-2-year-old is obsessed with Mickey Mouse (not that he would turn his nose at 'wubby' (Wow Wow Wubbzy), 'hanny manny' (Handy Manny), 'wubbub' (Spongebob, obviously), 'giggo' (The Wiggles), or my personal favorite, 'Talioola' (Charlie and Lola, which you should really check out, regardless of your age, because they are adorable). Obviously, when his birthday comes around, there's gonna be a Mickey Mouse party.

For the party, my sister thought it would be fun to have her son's munchkin friends decorate Mickey Mouse cookies. And why buy cookies when you (or rather, me, along with my mom) can make them at home? My sister loaded us up with recipe (Martha Stewart's amazing sugar cookie recipe from her Baking Handbook (a really gorgeous and comprehensive book, by the way)), ingredients, Mickey cookie cutter, and shiny red KitchenAid, and we went to town. My sister's kitchen became a cookie factory: while Mom cut out one batch of cookies, I checked the ones in the oven, and another hunk of dough chilled in the fridge (I dare you to make this recipe without eating any of the raw dough, by the way: totally impossible).

Well, love Martha or hate her, the cookie dough was irrestible, and the cookies were perfect: not overly sweet, crispy around the edges of the ears with that delicious brown butter flavor, but tender and buttery in the middle.
They were a hit with the kids, whose artistic renderings with frosting and sprinkles and little Hershey's Kissables (have you seen this cute M-n-M-like things in Hershey Kiss shape?) were quite avant-garde, and I'm pretty sure the grownups snuck a big circular ear or two when no one was looking -- I know I did.

an esteemed guest and her masterpiece

Martha's recipe happens to be posted online here. Our tips: be generous with vanilla. Be generous with flour on your work surface and rolling pin: makes the dough much easier to handle. Do not overlook the chilling step between cutting out the cookies and baking them. Roll the dough thicker if you want chewier cookies, thinner for crispier ones.

Auspicious Beginnings

I have it on good authority that Langer's pastrami is something very special. By good authority I mean more than one lovable nebbish, and believe me, these boys know their pastrami. Staunch east coast partisans have called it the best stuff in the country. I love pastrami, and love when Los Angeles wins any food-off (especially something this sacred), so I had to get there.

sweet macarthur park mural #1 (note our hero's ak-47)

Los Angeles is at its most magical around Christmas. While the rest of the country is shoveling snow, we enjoy some of the most beautiful days of the year. The gloominess that will take over towards the end of winter hasn't set in yet, and the city is so clear and bright that it's sparkly. And so many people are home for the holidays that traffic is actually a non-issue -- a serious LA miracle.

December 31 was pretty much made to round up a few sandwich friends and go to Langer's. In the sharp winter sunlight, you totally forget that MacArthur Park is a crack park; it just looks like the lush verdant promenade it once was. Even the murals on neighboring buildings of Selena, the Pope, and other esteemed subjects seemed particularly vibrant.

gone, but not forgotten

So, you'll already be smiling by the time you walk into the deli, but when you are greeted by wood paneled walls, fake plants, and a portrait of someone's adorable 70s-era grandson, you'll be positively joyful. This is good stuff.

The menu is really long but it becomes very clear from the moment you walk into the door that you're supposed to order the #19: the renowned pastrami, with cole slaw and Swiss cheese, served hot on rye. I went with a slight variation, the #1, which has all of that except the Swiss. Good lord. The meat, in unorthodox thick slices, is so richly flavorful that it might bring a tear to your eye. Its moist, meaty deliciousness is incredibly satisfying. The bread defies logic: it's fresh and very soft, but the crust is perfectly crisp (it might be the perfect sandwich bread: toast-like crust without cutting up the roof of your mouth). Even the cole slaw and not-too-sweet cream soda are transcendent. And the sleeper hit of the day? Sweet-and-sour cabbage soup. I'm telling you -- try it. (But seriously though, the pastrami. Wow.)

So, a good time was had by all, everyone was deeply impressed with their lunch, and we knew that with such auspicious beginnings, 2008 simply can't go wrong. On the last day of the year, we reached new levels of pastrami bliss.

Langer's is at 704 S. Alvarado at 7th St.
Note that they're only open 9am - 4pm, Monday - Saturday.

Happy Valentine's Day

seen on third east of sweetzer

Tea Fest

So, what did we see at the Kulov Tea Festival on Sunday? Let's see, the room that I've always known to house dance classes at the Electric Lodge was converted into a mini-convention of sorts, milling with people, and with a focus on all things Chinese Tea. From the ceilings hung decorative umbrellas and lanterns, and each corner of the airy space promised exotic flavors: samples of inventive flavored teas like after-dinner-mint (with chocolate chips somehow incorporated into the blend), caramel, or blueberry white at one table; iced greens and oolongs, sake and plum wine at another; the dim sum table, where we sampled crunchy-chewy sesame balls filled with a sweet lotus root paste.

And there was plenty to do (besides eating and drinking). There was the raffle drawing, where one lucky winner would go home with the DVD set of the latest season of China Idol. There was a calligraphy demonstration, a woman who would do some sort of herbal assessment, and a traditional tea ceremony with rare pu-erh tea. In the Electric Lodge's theater were musical performances (Chinese zither and the like). Interesting tea-minded adults and kids (some in adorable Chinese dress) filled every corner of the Lodge and sipped -- not a bad way to spend a bit of time on the summeriest winter Sunday of the year.

open shop: grotesque ltd.

Last night I went to Open Shop, an art and music event at Grotesque Ltd., a purveyor of various 'objects of obsession & pop-couture fetishism'. Wine and beer and nosh, a sweet kittycat, a ramshackle studio space, and two old Apple computers chilling outside dressed like Spy vs. Spy. Local artist Evan apRoberts, among others, had some art on display, including his rad featherbeards (as seen to the right), then he and some others played some tunes -- a soft folksy harmony of acoustic guitar, trumpet, and flute -- damn near perfect for a balmy February night in Echo Park.

Tea Festival Sunday

Everyone knows how much I love tea. So you can imagine my glee upon hearing about a festival on Sunday devoted to tea. It's the eighth annual Kulov Tea Festival in Venice's Electric Lodge (which, ironically and awesomely, runs on solar power). Nestled squarely between Chinese New Year and Valentine's Day, everything about this event sounds great: tea tastings & ceremonies, dim sum & other food specialties, calligraphy & herbal medicine workshops, music & dance, plus art, interactive performances, installations, raffle prizes and other surprises.

It sounds like a great event. Rock down to Electric Avenue on Sunday, and I'll see you there.

the details:
Kulov's 8th Annual
Valentine’s Tea Festival
featuring teas & flavors of China

Sunday, February 10, 3 - 8pm
at Electric Lodge Performing & Visual Arts Center
1416 Electric Avenue, Venice, CA 90291

The House Banana

I knew something was odd when the driver had us get out of the van to disinfect our shoes. We were en route from La Fortuna, a town in Costa Rica's central highlands, to Tortuguero, a tiny village on the Caribbean coast built on a soggy strip of land between a river and the sea, and accessible only by boat. We'd planned to take a private bus to a town called Siquirres, then catch the boat there. But the guy at our hotel offered to book us a bus/boat package that would afford us a hefty discount (I should note here that the 'guy at the hotel' is the driving force behind Costa Rica's burgeoning tourism industry: the constant planning, machinations, instant translations, phone calls that they put in -- well, we'd have gotten nowhere without them). The price was right, so without asking questions, we'd agreed.

So here we were, standing before a gate, pressing the soles of our shoes into an odd orange square that was saturated in a white liquid. Had we paid closer attention to our surroundings, we'd have realized that we passed the main port several miles ago. Instead, we were entering a banana plantation. Uniform rows of banana trees surrounded us, with their giant flat leaves and heavy clusters of fruit wrapped in blue plastic bags. Ominous signs with warnings to stay out during aerial pesticide drops alternated with signs prohibiting all photography.

The driver dropped us off at a rickety wood hutch on the riverbank and told us to wait an hour for the boat. The whole thing was quite odd, but what could we do? We trusted that everything would be fine, and we waited. In the meantime, I pulled out my trusty Lonely Planet -- maybe it knew about this odd La Fortuna to Tortuguero via banana plantation route? It didn't, but I happened on an article about the costs of Costa Rica's banana industry. Evidently, for the last century, bananas have been the country's second-largest industry (after tourism), but between noxious pesticides and poor working conditions, there's lots of room for improvement. These ubitiquous blue bags hold a chemical compound designed to protect the bananas from pests (after all, as all farmed bananas are clones, they are highly susceptible to infestation). One chemical pesticide, DBCP, has a particularly dastardly past: it's manufactured in the US by Dow Chemicals, and while it was banned domestically in 1977 for being linked to birth defects, sterility, and tissue damage, it was still sent to Costa Rica until 1990. It was distressing to learn that a fruit that is so integral to the country's economy, not to mention delicious to eat at home, was mired in so much trouble.

After all, bananas (and plantains) were everywhere on my trip. Most meals came with a pile of salty patacones: slices of savory plantain flattened into discs and fried. Our hotel in the Caribbean beach town of Cahuita offered unlimited bananas and coffee to its guests. A cheery batido of banana, coconut, orange, and pineapple led us back to Ingrid's restaurant more than once. And it was a banana daiquiri (ok, maybe two) that did me in one particularly boisterous night of our journey.

But the major winner was the House Banana -- a dessert whose name we couldn't resist at the Coral Reef restaurant in Cahuita. It was quite a number: a banana sliced in half, browned in butter and redolent of dark rum, served warm with chocolate sauce, caramel sauce, and a big scoop of ice cream. I wanted to recreate it at home, but there were pangs: after reading about the banana issues, and spending a weird moment at the very site where the troubles go down, could I in good conscience purchase and eat a conventional banana?

Today at Trader Joe's I discovered organic Dole bananas. Then at home, I discovered Dole Organic's website, and was fascinated. Granted, Dole is not producing organic bananas in Costa Rica, but they are doing so in 5 other countries, and -- this is the cool part -- there is a 3-digit code on each banana label that links you, on the website, to photos and information about the specific farm on which your banana was raised. Check out the blog: there's an adorable email exchange between a US consumer and a smattering of workers from her banana's farm. This pleases me immensely.

After an hour of anxious waiting, a tiny blue boat arrived. The curly-haired punk steering the thing didn't do much to quell my anxiety, but when a local man wearing a guayabero shirt and a semi-toothless smile walked confidently to the back of the boat, whistling a carefree tune all the while, I immediately felt silly for worrying. Our young captain got us safely to Tortuguero, and as Guayabero disembarked, he turned to me with a quiet "Buen viaje, reina" and went on his way.

You try snapping a pic of this stuff before it turns into an oddly suggestive mess!

The House Banana

This dessert is very sweet, and with ice cream, quite rich. One serving is plenty for two people, and a cup of strong Costa Rican coffee served alongside hits the spot. Go dark here: dark rum, a well-browned caramel sauce, and good dark brown sugar (molasses sugar is my favorite) will really deepen the dessert's flavor.

1 tsp unsalted butter
dark brown sugar
1 ripe banana (not too ripe though -- you don't want it to fall apart in the pan), peeled and halved lengthwise
1/2 tsp vanilla extract
about 2 shots dark rum
1 Tbs chocolate sauce of your choice
1 scoop vanilla ice cream
1 Tbs caramel sauce of your choice

Melt butter in medium saucepan over medium heat. When butter is melted, sprinkle with brown sugar, and cook one minute. Place bananas halves in pan, cut side down. Sprinkle bananas with more brown sugar. Add vanilla to melted butter in pan. After about 2 minutes of cooking, when the bottoms of the halves are well-browned, carefully flip them, and cook for 1 minute longer. Meanwhile, spread chocolate sauce decoratively on the bottom of serving plate. Pour rum over bananas and allow to heat. Ignite carefully by pooling rum in one 'corner' of pan, and bringing a long lit match close to the rum. Swish the flaming rum around the bananas in the pan. When the flames subside, carefully remove the banana halves and place them in the plate, cut side down. Pour remaining sauce over top. Place a scoop of ice cream between the two halves, and drizzle the whole lot with caramel sauce. Serve immediately.

[Thanks brandonwilhite for the banana plantation photo.]