15. The Gastrobus

It seems like it’s been awhile since my last food truck. I realized though, that I had better hop back into it as I have less than two months (with holidays sprinkled throughout) to complete my mission. I have been extremely fortunate in the past 24 hours; two of the trucks I have been pining away for have both been in my hood! Yesterday I was able to try the Gastrobus for lunch, and today I finally checked out Mattie’s Southern Kitchen (review coming very soon). Happy days, I tell you.

The Gastrobus was set up on Sunset at Cole, yesterday for lunch. Perfect. I can park in the Staples parking lot, recycle my old ink cartridges and grab lunch. A friend met me so I could try a few different things, which is always appreciated.

The Gastrobus hit the streets this past July, run by husband and wife, Antonio (former chef for Wolfgang Puck) and Lana Medina. They serve up classic gastropub fare (obviously, minus the booze), pulled pork, skirt steak and BLT sandwiches, sweet potato (which are rumored to be phenomenal) and regular fries with homemade aioli, along with a constantly changing menu of specials. And they do something very impressive in my opinion - all of their produce is from the Sunday, Los Feliz farmer’s market and they do a special Sunday menu at the market, as well.

I sidled up to the bright yellow bus, all a flutter, to order the wild mushroom soup ($4) advertised via tweet. Yep - no asking for suggestions today, folks. I also ordered another special, the roasted turkey and cranberry chutney sandwich ($6). Had I ordered the special soup and grilled cheese together it would have only totaled $6, just so you know.

Okay. This soup was FANTASTIC. I consider myself somewhat of a soup aficionado (and I make a super mushroom soup as well) and really, this was a show-stopper. Served in a Styrofoam cup, with a plastic spoon and a drizzle of basil oil on top, this piping hot, rich, elegant soup was probably the best thing I have ordered from a truck to date, and would rival most soups I’ve had in a bowl with linens, in the finer establishments in town. I thought there was sherry in it, but apparently no (I asked). They used milk instead of cream and beyond that perhaps we can thank the market-fresh, wild mushrooms. I actually wanted to race home with it to pour into a bowl, dip crusty bread into it, and pour a glass of Margeaux.

The sandwich was pretty impressive as well. The turkey was plentiful and cooked perfectly, retaining its moisture. Their homemade cranberry chutney was a beautiful, and timely, accompaniment, but I found its ratio to other elements in the sandwich a bit much. That being said, I am normally not one to order things with jams, chutneys or really, with any gooey, fruit related items involved. So I can’t really speak to that. The caramelized onions were a wonderful surprise and the warm brioche was a perfect choice for the bread. And it was all Thanksgiving-y!

My friend ordered the BLT ($6), which was damn good, and sizeable considering it’s a BLT. The bacon was nice, thick, smokey, and soft-cooked. The stand out element, though, was the homemade herb aioli. God is in the details in this beautifully simple sandwich classic. Nicely played, Gastrobus.

Fantastic fare, enormous portions, good prices, and big smiles from the Medinas in the van… The Gastrobus gets mad accolades from F for Food. I will, without a doubt, return. Hopefully they will share that soup recipe with me… 

Jogging

It’s an exciting day here at F for Food. A wonderful bakery, Sweet Square Dessert Bars, has recently contacted me to review their sweets – so flattering! While I do enjoy the occasional nugget of chocolate, I would be fooling you all if I claimed to have the most refined dessert palate.

So I have called in the troops.

I have wanted to bring my foodasaurus friends into the fold for some time now, and have finally found the perfect platform to do just that.

Yes, of course, I did taste a few of these scrumptious bars made by the lovely Samantha Page and Camilla Yates, owners of Sweet Square. But I knew to give them a fair trial I would need to pass the baton to my favorite dessert expert, Yvonne. 

So read on, my friends...

-Elliott

Love their look!

My favorite food blogger, F for Food, knew about my incurable sweet tooth and was kind enough to ask me to sample and review an entire box of dessert bars from Sweet Square. What joy! Days like this, where my tastes buds are called into dessert action, are what I live for.

As I walk up to Elliott’s house I’m already anticipating the dessert heaven that awaits me to devour. I am handed this little brown box which when opened reveals an assortment of sparkling dessert bars sitting there staring up at me. I thank Elliott and tell her that I need to go home and do some much needed jogging. I think Elliott might have been impressed with my jogging determination and now thinks that I have discipline and control in my life.

But when I got those lovely little dessert bars into my car, I stuffed one into my mouth at the first stoplight. It happened to be the S’mores Bar – a chocolate chip base lined with soft squishy marshmallows and topped with a graham cracker crust - not bad, actually pretty good.

 S'Mores Bar

Now I’m at the second stoplight and the Peanut Butter and Jelly Bar gets eaten – I really enjoyed this one; the peanut butter contrasted the sweet jelly and I loved the additional peanut butter crumble - a must get and yes, a big glass of ice cold milk would go lovely here.

 Peanut Butter & Jelly Bar

I wasn’t even half way home when the Toffee Brownie fell victim to my dessert binge – a rich chocolate punch with bits of crunchy toffee bits mixed throughout (I think I’ll run an extra mile today). 

Toffee Brownie

At Hollywood and Highland I thought someone was honking at me but no it was just those bars calling my name again. This time I went in for the Oatmeal Fruit Square – it was OK. I couldn’t tell what kind of fruit was in it although the buttery crumble on top was the real highlight of this sweet treat.

Oatmeal Fruit Square 

At this point I have the entire box sitting on my lap as I’m driving. I realize I’m in full dessert gluttony and make a conscious decision to just go with it. So I eye this little blond number sitting amongst the rest of the bars, and I’m thinking it’s a Blondie Brownie of some sort. But when I bite into this little treat I’m taken on an unexpected flavor ride when bacon pieces start exploding in my mouth! It was definitely a salty and sweet combination –The Makin’ Bacon Bar was interesting but not my favorite. 

Makin' Bacon Bar

Now I’m a block away from my home and the Magic Cookie Bar was the last man standing and needed some affection. Well, it found all the love it would ever need in my stomach. I liked the balance of white and dark chocolate that went well with the shredded coconut. (***Another sign of a good day is when you eat dessert for dinner.)

Magic Cookie Bar

Considering I ate the entire box of dessert bars before I even made it home, I have to give Sweet Square 2 thumbs up. The first thing I did when I got home was not immediately go jogging but instead I went straight to Sweet Square’s website, and discovered that they had even more dessert bars to try. (Note: All of the brownies look like a chocoholics dream.)

Today I may have skipped out on exercise but instead I was able to flex my dessert muscle. I am proud to report that muscle is now well toned and ready to take on anything that the Sweet Square ladies throw at me, and yes, I will definitely go jogging tomorrow.

P.S. If you have been tempted here, don’t fret. You can find these geometric delectables here.

Going down the only road I've ever known.

Each time I return home I can expect an entirely different experience than the time before. I can always count on the familiarity and comfort factors, but I never really know what, or who, I will stumble into when I’m here. Sometimes I seek out old friends and sometimes I hide. Sometimes when I seek out old friends I don’t find them, and sometimes when I hide my old friends stumble across me. Sometimes there are even tiny, unexpected romantic dalliances with mysterious people from random chapters of my past. Returning home is always interesting, as I can rarely control how my visits will unfold. I like this.

My previous visit featured a surprise reunion with a very old and very dear friend with whom I had not had contact for over 5 years. Her absence in my life was not my choice and I was always bemused about it. But when we bumped into each another on the street one afternoon, it all felt fine, good - familiar. There seemed to be no need to discuss anything about the past. A couple of hugs and the promise for a glass of wine later was more than sufficient.

That glass of wine was lovely. Seeing her again felt like a thought being picked up after an ellipsis. When she left, I stayed behind to have a moment and finish my glass of wine. Then, surprisingly, I was approached by someone with whom I attended both elementary and middle schools. We shared mutual friends throughout high school and beyond. Apparently we were even in the same crowd that met up each year, on Christmas night, at our old watering hole (aptly called “Hole in the Wall”). I suppose it was our “St. Elmo’s Fire.” Honestly, I didn’t remember him very well. So it was wonderful to spend some time with him throughout that week, reminiscing, and learning about who and what we have become over the years.

And here I go again. Back in Richmond.

Yesterday, as I was staring blankly into the cheese section at Kroger, debating whether or not to buy my favorite packaged pimiento cheese, someone touches my hand and, both literally and figuratively, shocks me. It was an old friend from my very early youth.

I remember a Halloween slumber party at her house when we were about 9 or 10-years old. We watched “Hush, Hush, Sweet Charlotte” (her parents wouldn’t let us rent a real horror movie), which seemed dorky at the time, but completely scared the life out of me (and it is a great film, by the way). I made the mistake of falling asleep before the other girls and awakened to Tootsie Rolls stuffed in the back of my underpants. I learned a valuable lesson, and never fell asleep before anyone else at a slumber party again.

I actually recall quite a few Halloweens with Kelly. She was also the person who approached me in our middle school hallway to advise me that maybe I should start considering wearing a bra (I was mortified!).

And so there we were, with our shopping carts parallel, in the cheese aisle of Kroger, all grown up. As she was talking about motherhood and I, rainbow chard from my garden, I could see a fly-on-the-wall perspective, still image of us. It all seemed surreal, and slightly scary, like a shot from “The Stepford Wives”. As she guided me to another aisle to look for hazelnuts, I suddenly wanted to go have 23 kids OR go to a bar and have 23 shots of tequila.

I did neither. I went home, put on my pine-cone jammies and dad’s slippers, put some John Lee Hooker & Miles Davis on the stereo, and made this dish while I contemplated the trajectory of my life.

Scallops With Wild Mushroom Risotto and Rosé Fonduta

(adapted from CD Kitchen)

2 servings

INGREDIENTS

1/4 cup minced shallots, divided

3/4 cup rosé wine

1/4 cup heavy cream

1/4 cup brie cheese

Salt and pepper to taste

3 cups chicken stock

1 cup dry, white wine

2 Tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil, divided

4 Tablespoons butter, divided

1 cup arborio rice

1 cup chopped wild mushrooms

1/2 cup grated Parmesan cheese

3/4 pound sea scallops

DIRECTIONS
In a saucepan over high heat, combine half the shallots with rosé and reduce until rosé is almost completely evaporated. Add cream and bring to a boil. Remove from heat. Add brie and gently stir with a wooden spoon. Season with salt and pepper, cover and set aside and keep warm.

In a saucepan, heat broth and keep warm.

In a large saucepan over medium heat, combine 1 tablespoon olive oil and 1 tablespoon butter. Add the rice, mushrooms and remaining shallots and sauté without browning. Add 1/3 of the broth, 1/3 of the wine, and increase heat to high and stir constantly. When broth is completely absorbed, add the next 1/3 of the broth, 1/3 of the wine, and reduce until absorbed, stirring constantly. Add final 1/3 of the broth, 1/3 of the wine, and cook until absorbed. Remove from heat, allowing the risotto to remain soft. Add 1 tablespoon butter, Parmesan and salt and pepper to taste. Stir to combine. Cover and set aside.

In a large saucepan over high heat, combine remaining 1 tablespoon olive oil and 2 tablespoons butter. Allow butter to become slightly browned. Spread scallops evenly over the bottom of the pan, but don't stir. Add additional butter if necessary to coat the bottom of the pan. Cook until brown on one side. Turn over and cook for 2 minutes. Season with salt and pepper.

To assemble the dish, divide risotto onto two plates. Divide and arrange scallops over the risotto. With a spoon, drizzle cheese fonduta over scallops and risotto as desired.

Fondle my sweaters? No, I said fondue the cheddar.

I’m headed back to Richmond to help my dad in recovering from his second back surgery. Actually, I am currently in the Cleveland airport having a glass of sauvignon blanc to make the most of my layover. I hope there’s time for a second glass. I haven’t quite recovered from the medical emergency someone had mid-flight from LA. It was the first time I had ever heard someone say, “is there a doctor on board”, in any context. But I feel like hearing it over a loud speaker, 14 zillion miles above the ground, while I am sandwiched in the middle seat with my knees touching the seat back in front of me, is probably the worst time. Additionally, you should know that - for me - the period of time between the plane landing and my feet carrying me off the plane, is by far, the most agonizing 74962 minutes of travel. So imagine how we all had to stay in our seats an additional 28465 years as the paramedics met us on the tarmac to assist the ailing flyer. Not happy times.

So yes. Maybe even 3 glasses of wine.

Tonight Dad and I are staying in for dinner. I’d rather go out. But he is feeling a little scared about his surgery tomorrow and wants to keep it local (comfy and snuggly). He tells me it’s really rainy and cold there. We will make beef stew.

We all throw the term comfort food around quite a bit (and certainly in the autumn and winter months) but usually to reference something filling and hearty. Fried chicken, meatloaf, chili, mac and cheese, potatoes and stews are a few standard comfort foods. But we all have our own dishes that literally make us feel comfortable, safe, and warm. Food that feels like Mom tucking you into bed at night. These also usually need to be dishes that you can prepare fairly easily, or at least, that you know how to make. Something that you’re comfortable with.

April came over for dinner the other night and, as you may recall, she is a vegetarian. I am often stumped with menu planning for her because vegetarian meals don’t usually feel like they have a main course. And no, I am not going to make a faux meat, football-shaped concoction. 

In reverence to Gourmet’s demise I dug up a recipe from their November, 2008 issue and did some re-working. It is a beautiful centerpiece to any meal and also works well as a shared side dish. I kept it pretty standard for April - but gave it a major overhaul after, using chicken stock rather than vegetable, and adding a number of my own touches.

What I am referring to are individual, roasted sugar pumpkins stuffed with a strata of toasted baguette, aged gruyere and Emmental, and a creamy mixture of chicken stock, allspice and a dry rosé. What you get is a fondue-soufflé-like, bread pudding-ness inside of that roasted pumpkin. Each spoonful has a bite of the rich cheesiness with the roasted pumpkin scraped from the sides. It’s pretty amazing, totally comforting, snuggly, warm, substantial and delicious. It’s like a bear hug. It’s also surprisingly easy to prepare. I will serve this lovable, hug of a dish for my dad during his recovery in beautiful, chilly Virginia.

You can substitute the sugar pumpkin here with an acorn or kabocha squash. You could even use one large pumpkin that everyone can be served from, which is more in the style of traditional fondue. This recipe doubles or triples very easily.

Roast Pumpkin with Cheese “Fondue”
(adapted from Gourmet November, 2008)

Serves 2 (as main course) or 4 (as a side dish)

INGREDIENTS

1/2 (7-inch) baguette, cut into 1/2-inch slices
2 small sugar pumpkins
3/4 cups heavy cream
1/2 cup chicken stock
1/4 teaspoon grated allspice
2 Tablespoons dry rosé wine
1 shallot, finely chopped
1 garlic clove, finely chopped
2 teaspoons fresh sage, chopped
1 1/4 cups coarsely grated Gruyère
1 1/4 cups coarsely grated Emmental
1 Tablespoon olive oil
Salt & pepper to taste


DIRECTIONS
Preheat oven to 450°F with rack in lower third.

Toast baguette slices in 1 layer on a baking sheet in oven until tops are crisp (bread will still be pale), about 7 minutes. Transfer to a rack to cool.

Remove top of pumpkin by cutting a circle around stem with a small sharp knife. Scrape out seeds and any loose fibers from inside pumpkin with a spoon (including top of pumpkin; reserve seeds for another use if desired). Season inside of pumpkin with 1/2 teaspoon of salt.

Whisk together cream, broth, rosé & allspice, 1 teaspoon salt, and 1/2 teaspoon pepper in a bowl. Mix together cheeses, shallot, garlic and sage in another bowl.

Put a layer of toasted bread in bottom of pumpkin, then cover with about 1/2 cup cheese and about 1/4 cup cream mixture. Continue layering bread, cheese, and cream mixture until pumpkin is filled to about 1/2 inch from top, using all of cream mixture. (You may have some bread and cheese left over.)

Cover pumpkin with top and put in an oiled small roasting pan. Brush outside of pumpkin all over with olive oil. Bake until pumpkin is tender and filling is puffed, 1 1/4 to 1 1/2 hours.

Note: Pumpkins can be filled 2 hours before baking and chilled.

14. Fishlips Sushi Truck

10/28/09

Well, you all knew I had to do it eventually. I have been postponing this for far too long. And to be honest, I would have pushed it to yet another day had there been any other truck nearby that I had not yet hit. Not the case. So it was me and the Fishlips staring each other down.
 

The menu is mostly in “sets” of rolls and a few sushi items. On the suggestion of the man taking my order I selected the “Crunchy Set” with a couple of pieces of Unagi ($8.35). As you can see, quantity-wise it was a gracious plenty.

A couple of things here: Number one, I have already expressed my diffidence with regards to consuming raw fish served from a moving vehicle. Second, it is somewhat difficult to eat sushi “on the go”. I found myself sitting on a cement block, in the sunshine and wind, trying to work with mixing the soy sauce, from packets, with the wasabi in a corner of the plastic tray, chopsticks, etc. It reminded me of the day I realized that peanuts are actually a really bad idea for road trip snacks. You end up getting peanut skins and crumblies all over your front, they require two hands, and leave a big pile of shells to deal with. Then all the salt makes you thirsty, so you drink a ton of water, and have to pull over 23 times to pee. But it seemed like a good idea at the time. Such was the situation with the sushi on the sidewalk. I did, however, enjoy staring at this billboard while I ate.

The actual food was not that bad, and certainly not scary. I will say that it was superior to that which would be purchased at, say, Ralph’s, but about on par with the sushi served at Bristol Farms. The pieces of sushi were in ball shapes instead of the little rectangles. That was kind of fun. The fish was fresh enough, and the flavors were there, but there is something that happens to the rice in the refrigeration part of everything. That fish needs to hit the rice and jump into my hands, seamlessly, or it just isn’t going to be right.

There is a certain place in the world for sushi available in stores. We have all done it before, and will probably end up doing it again one day. So, as far as that route goes, you will do just fine with Fishlips. And you can say that you lived to tell the tale.

Hey, guess what, y'all? Only eleven more trucks to go! (until I never get into my skinny jeans again)

13. The Grilled Cheese Truck

10/27/09

 By 8:30pm

Yesterday was really windy. It was scary, beautiful windy. It was American Beauty, plastic bags windy. It was also the night The Grilled Cheese Truck FINALLY took it to the streets. After two months of incessant Tweeting (even I was getting crabby about them), they opened their order-here and pick-up-here windows last night at The Brig in Venice. The plan was for them to have a short and sweet maiden voyage, from 8:30-10:15pm, and then make way for Kogi.

The firsts in line (note the avid reader and her PARKA (wind))

I arrived at 8pm (I was supposed to get there at 7:30, but that darned wind knocked out a bunch of traffic and streetlights). It was fun to drive across town at rush hour and encounter the intersection of Sepulveda and Venice without a traffic light (sarcasm). So the leisurely glass of wine with friends before grilled cheese times was cut short. I really hate being late.

About 9:30pm. (Hi Zack!)

Turns out I could have been as late as I wanted. The truck's grill was down and their opening was postponed about an hour and a half, until a part was delivered to get it up and running again. Did I mention the wind? So a very long line formed around the parking lot, people were reading, texting, chatting, their dogs were even co-mingling. Hair was blowing. Some folks got into the communal spirit of the affair. Some people were irritated and left. The line shortened a bit. Chef Dave Danhi’s (of Water Grill fame) partner, Michele Grant helped to placate the hungry hundreds with samples of their tomato and pumpkin soups, tater tots, and caprese grilled cheese sandwich bites. All very tasty and ideal snackables for the brisk evening.

And then, at 10pm, the line began to move and the melting was a go.

Note the "ahhh, our grill is fucked!" scurrying going on in the truck.

 Michele Grant's scramble for happy-time samples for everyone.

At one point, I walked to the non-serving-food side of the truck and bumped into The Brig’s owner, also named Dave. He and chef Dave are buddies. He was getting his complimentary Cheesy Mac and Rib: macaroni and cheese with sharp cheddar, bbq pork and caramelized onions ($7). Wanna hear something cool? He gave me half! I guess I looked all professional with my camera and tripod. Oh, that reminds me, I know I said I was going to solely use my camera phone for this project – being consistent with the whole mobile theme – but this was a night shoot, and I needed to break out the fancy stuff. I digress…

Dog and hair

The menu

The Brig's Dave holding The GCT's Cheesy Mac and Rib.

 

A close-up of the Cheesy Mac and Rib (photo courtesy of the Grilled Cheese Truck)

So here’s the deal. That is a mean grilled cheese! Perfectly grilled, crispety crunchety toastedy bread, and hot gooey beauty inside. The bbq pork was savory yet slightly sweet, and devilishly good. It’s hard not to have a joker-esque smile whilst eating this steaming delight, in a cold parking lot, with a hundred other happy folks (and wind), at 10pm. Watch out LA food truckers, because the GCT is takin’ it to the streets. Danhi has taken his honed chef skills and found a creative and delicious way to share it with the people. And what better cuisine than the cheesy, goodness (and little slices of Americana and nostalgia) of a perfect grilled cheese sandwich. Kudos!

Plucky Breeda Lumple

My mother has a way with words. She boasts an impressive vocabulary and an imposing grasp of syntax. More interestingly, my mom has an entire vernacular that she has created over the decades. I hear that this property actually originated with my grandmother. She used to refer to anything that was small or delicate as Breeda.

My mom and her best friend of almost 30 years both refer to one another as Breeda. At Christmas time there were gifts under the tree that were labeled “To Breeda, From Breeda.” My friends sometimes thought they were calling each other “Burrito.” To this day, and forever more, they are The Breedas.

My mom calls me Tweeters, which is fine. Occasionally I become Tweetette. People probably think it has something to do with the whole Twitter thing, but I have been Tweeters for as long as I can remember. When I slouch, she says to me, “Tweeters… SHODLERS.” This is her endearing (and sometimes nerve-racking) way of telling me to hold my SHOULDERS up. When there was lint in my belly button, she called it Miss Belinda. Sleepy crusties in my eye were referred to as yuckadoonies, and whenever I was blue, she called it the nannybooskies. Every night when she tucked me into bed she would say to me, "I love you bigger than the sky."

Instead of swearing in exasperation, she would say things like, “Oh, for garden seed!” or “Mother of Pearl!” If they don’t make sense, just say them out loud in a frustrated way – like if you just stubbed your toe.

My mom also used to name everything we owned. We had an old thrift store couch, upholstered in red velveteen, that she lovingly called John Glenn. She thought it felt like John Glenn’s hair probably did. He always had that perfect crew cut. She had a blue pick-up truck named John John the Nissan, named because the truck’s shade of blue was identical to that of JFK Jr.’s jumper at his father’s funeral.

When she ran her beautiful little café in Richmond, she did all of the cooking and baking. She served scotch eggs, wonderful delicate sweet onion tea sandwiches, café breads, soups and pastries -- to name just a few items. Her food followers were loyal. One day she was making up a batch of scones for the café. Something went terribly awry. They ended up looking like sad, lumpy dough globs. She was literally in the process of walking them to the trash to dump them, when her business partner suggested she go ahead and serve them anyway.

Well whaddaya know, these little foster children of pastry turned out to be a roaring success, and not only in the café: They were named one of Richmond Magazine’s favorite little desserts. She sold out every day.

She called them Lumples.

Mom’s Lumples are simple, classy, subtly sweet and downright adorable. They have an ever so slightly harder exterior and a delicate, crumbly, comforting, forgiving interior. They are warm, nurturing, and, dare I say, a bit maternal. I feel compelled to hold my shodlers up when I eat one.

My favorite of her Lumple varieties, and the one I am sharing with you here, is the Lavender Lumple. We recently prepared a batch of them with one beautiful ripe blackberry inside, and one on top. They are topped with a Meyer lemon glaze.

It’s funny, when I was a littley, I thought her language was charming, funny and normal. Then, from my teens through college, it was, like, so dumb. But not only do I love her for her quirky, plucky little patois, I have inherited it. I still have the nannybooskies when I'm blue. If something is put together poorly, it's chooch. When I stub my toe, I call it Toelio. If my knee hurts, I have Kneasles. I refer to my car as The Storm Trooper (it’s all white and imposing). And everyday, around 6pm, it is wine o’clock.

Lumples

My mom prefers using King Arthur flour, raw milk, raw or cultured butter.  Not necessary but she does insist on whole milk; skim or reduced fat milk will make for a "weaker lumple," she says.

Makes 7 to 8 lumples

INGREDIENTS
2 cups unbleached all purpose flour

1 teaspoon salt

3 teaspoons baking powder

3 Tablespoons sugar

1 egg (slightly beaten)

3/4 cup milk

6 to 7 Tablespoons chilled, unsalted butter

DIRECTIONS

Preheat oven to 375.

Sift flour, salt, baking powder and sugar together

Cut butter into small pieces and blend (you may use a pastry blender or fork, but Mom uses her hands) into above mixture until consistency of cornmeal (if you are using lavender buds, this is the time to mix in 1 1/2 teaspoons of the buds).

Add egg and milk; mix quickly with fork until just blended.

Add blackberries, raspberries, blueberries or strawberries if you want a berry lumple.  My mom usually makes lavender, blueberry lumples and adds only 3 or 4 blueberries to each lumple; she puts in the berries after the lumples are formed and on the cookie sheet).

Bake 15-20 minutes.

Meyer lemon glaze

INGREDIENTS
1/3 cup confectioner's sugar (sifted well)

3 Tablespoons of butter at room temperature

juice of a little less than 1/2 of a Meyer lemon

DIRECTIONS
Mix well until smooth-if mixture is too thick add another tablespoon of softened butter.  As soon as lumples come out of oven, put a heaping teaspoon of the glaze on each lumple.  It will self-drizzle because of the heat and meld beautifully with the lumples. 

12. Let's Be Frank

10/23/09

I woke up with a hankering for a hot dog yesterday. I have been reading and hearing so much about Let’s Be Frank, from so many different sources, for so long, that my path was clear. All the way to Culver City I went. I’m not sure what was going on in the world, but, my lord, every way I turned, and every lane I chose seemed to be a bad idea. Friday. LA. I wasn’t in a hurry, so it wasn’t that big of a deal. Plus, I could use this jaunt as an excuse to zip into, my Heaven-on-Earth, Surfas, which is super close by, to pick up some rendered duck fat!

Let’s Be Frank opened, in 2005 under Sue Moore and Larry Bain, in San Francisco. They expanded to Los Angeles in the fall of 2007. The currently have a truck set up, weekdays, in Culver City, and a cart parked in front of Sliverlake Wine, on Thursday nights, during their wine tastings.

Previously, Moore was the meat forager for Chez Panisse. They serve only pasture-based livestock free from hormones, steroids, nitrates and nitrites – and all from local producers. These are earth-friendly hot dogs.

I ordered the Frank Dog ($5) with grilled onions and their homemade bread & butter pickles. The woman working, who was a bit frazzled, but as sweet as can be, told me that I MUST try the Devil Sauce as well. Clearly, I did. I really enjoyed my dog. It was substantial and fresh and snappy. The meat was thoughtful, with robust flavor and dimension. The Devil Sauce was thick, smoky and spicy, and almost chili-like. This dog also completely filled me up.

Actually, while I was eating my Let’s Be Frank frank, I overheard a father and son talking about how much they liked their dogs, but (father to son) “your mom wouldn’t like these. She hates the snap. We won’t tell her.” This reminded me that in this world, there are two types of people: pro-snap in their dog and anti-snap in their dog. What causes the snap is the meat’s natural casing (in this case, lamb). Kosher hot dogs are all beef and made under rabbinical supervision. They are skinless or stuffed into collagen casings, because natural casings are not permitted.

At the end of the day, I’m really not a snapper. I still think a Dodger Dog is my personal favorite. I don’t need homemade, gourmet condiments – just the standards: ketchup, mustard, onions and relish (or chili and slaw if I can find a good Carolina dog). I appreciate everything that Let’s Be Frank is doing and will support them by returning, but frankly, I prefer a different breed of dog.

11. The South Philly Experience

10/20/09

While I was standing in line to get a free pass to a Flaming Lips show last week, I overheard the guy in front of me talking about food trucks with his friend - specifically the cheesesteak truck, called The South Philly Experience. I had been waiting to see them along my route that week and was excited to try them out. You see, I know nothing about that which is the cheesesteak. I like steak. I like cheese. I like bread. Sounds like a great equation to me.

So a few days ago, when I saw them in my world, I went to get my cheesesteak on.

Just hitting the streets last month, SPE is run by, recently-transplanted, cousins who worked together in an Italian restaurant back in South Jersey (right across the river from South Philly). To create an authentic product their sandwiches are made on bread that is shipped from the popular Amoroso’s Baking Co. in Philadelphia.

Upon my usual request for suggestions, the man in the truck simply said, “cheesesteak”. I quickly learned that cheesesteak consumption has its own etiquette. When ordering, there are two critical questions to answer: First, what kind of cheese do you want? (Whiz (yes, Cheese Whiz)? Provolone? American?) Second, do you want onions? (“Whiz wit?”) The correct way to respond is “Wit” for “Yes, I would like Whiz and onions,” or “Widout” for “No, just the cheese.” Then, ask for any other toppings or condiments you desire.

I ordered a “Prov wit”.

The sandwich (am I allowed to called it a sandwich?) was pretty good – and very huge (which is a good thing as it clocked in at $9.30!!). The bread was a nice combination between soft and hard (insert joke here), the onions were lightly grilled, and the meat was frizzled to perfection. The provolone was sharp and tangy. I only would have liked a bit more of it on there. It was not as prominent an element as I would have thought a cheesesteak would have. I mean, it is the first word, out of two, in the sandwich's namesake. Oh, breaking news! This was not messy, at all! Impressive. 

All in all, I enjoyed my South Philly Experience. But, I’m sorry guys, $9 and change for a sandwich, no matter the size, simply does not cut it for me.

The darndest thing happened while I was in line to order. Remember the guy that was in front of me, in that Flaming Lips line, talking about food trucks? Well, he was right behind me in the SPE line! What are the chances? He's actually the second guy in line in the first picture. We had a laugh, chatted briefly about the show, and went our separate, cheesesteak, ways. Don’t you just love it when that happens in this big, metropolis of ours?

The truck also sells a little nostalgia: Philly’s own, Tastykakes, Peanut Butter Kandy Kakes, and Butterscotch Krimpets for deserts.

For an educational cheesesteak experience, I suggest watching Bobby Flay throw down "wit" Philly’s famous, Tony Luke.

 

Two Intrepid Travelers and One Pizzeria Bianco

It isn’t about the pizza, here. 
Well, it is. 
But see if you can follow me here…it…isn’t.

Last weekend, beginning Saturday morning, in a span of 36 hours, about 14 of which were spent in the car, I clocked over 800 miles, crossed state borders, and sat on countless truck stop toilet seats (yes, with the covers!) before crawling into my bed on Sunday night. For what, you ask, dear readers? For food, of course.

My tolerant and curious friend, Heather (whom I have known for 20 years), and I went on this kamikaze mission for... pizza. To be specific, we traveled from LA to Phoenix to experience The Pizza; Pizzeria Bianco. Well, Heather probably went more for the spirit of adventure and BFF times, but so what – at least she went with me. Hard to believe, but it’s not easy to get someone geeked about driving six hours merely to arrive at dinner. Let’s not even go into the awareness that we would, more than likely, have a multiple hour wait. But it’s all about the excitement, the journey! Right? 

Hello, is this thing on?

Heather is great with travel escapades as she excels in departments that I don’t even consider. Directions, hotel accommodations, reservations, hotel and restaurant proximity (directions), car stuff, and directions (although we almost had a situation en route to Bianco’s from our hotel. See more below.). She doesn’t care as much about the meals as long as they exist and that she have a nice place to stay and a cocktail upon arrival. Me, I would have driven my car, which would have broken down (no dinner for me), gotten lost (no dinner for me), and stayed in the scariest hotel ever (think Norman Bates) no dinner for me)). I mean, we were already in the car and on the way before I asked if she had dealt with maps and directions. It had not even occurred to me. Don’t worry, she had it covered.

After a Chick-Fil-A stop (who knew they had any SoCal locations?!), a couple of gas ups, some curious signage and driver switcharoos, we arrived at our hotel around 4pm. I had called the restaurant to inquire as to the ideal time to show up to ensure a seating. They do not take reservations, you see. I was told that it would be best if I showed up after 9pm. Good news. This meant Heather and I could lounge by the pool and enjoy a few libations and explore the hotel before heading to dinner. Everything was smooth like butter.

Our hotel was in Scottsdale, “15 minutes from our restaurant in Phoenix”. Maybe it was the tired factor, maybe it was the booze, let’s blame it the iPhone’s GPS, but - bless her heart - Heather was having a time finding our restaurant in this new landscape. I did get to see Chase Stadium; home of the Diamondbacks, though. Twice. I would have been having a small anxiety attack but we stumbled across the most amazing, old school, hip hop, radio station that saved the day and distracted me from acting like a ball of neurosis in front of poor Heather (they played Lords of the Underground's "Chief Rocka", for Christ's sake!). Hindsight being 20/20, we were fine all along and could have gotten even more lost, if we wanted.

And then there it was, beautifully illuminated with a cluster of happy-wine-glass-holding-people outside, on a bewitchingly, temperate evening. For me, it was like seeing one of the great wonders of the world because I had TRAVELED and RESEARCHED and PLANNED for this. The hostess told us we’d have about an hour wait – no problem. We just sauntered over to Bar Bianco next door to have a glass or two of wine during our dally. The bar shares a lot with the Pizzeria and was established for the extreme wait that most of the pizzeria’s loyal customers endure. There are benches outside where we sat, enjoyed our wine and watched the goings on. It was a beautiful environment, and I could have sat there for a few hours and sipped my wine before dinner. I actually had a glass of Muscato that that blew my mind which I need to call and inquire about. Come to think of it, I also had a glass of Zinfandel I wanted to find again. I believe it was from the Green & Red Vineyards.

It was right about an hour when the hostess asked if we would like the two available seats at the bar or if we wanted to wait a hair longer for a table. Well you guys know I usually prefer to dine at the bar. Heather wasn’t as thrilled about it but she conceded knowing this was my special time. At the bar I feel closer to the energy of the restaurant, I can interact with the people that work there, the people around me, things seem paced more leisurely, and it’s all a bit less formal. It’s about the recreation of the food, the wine, and the atmosphere.

The menu is tiny, and we ordered about half of the things on it, on the suggestions of the staff. We also ordered a bottle of the Titus Old Vine Zinfandel, 2006 (Napa Valley) ($36). Food wise, here we go:

Small Plates:

Antipasto – Wood Roasted Vegetables, Soppressata, Bite of Cheese … $13

Spiedini – Italian Fontina wrapped in Prosciutto di Parma, served warm … $9

Pizza:

Margherita – Tomato Sauce, Fresh Mozzarella, Basil … $12

Sonny Boy – Tomato Sauce, Fresh Mozzarella, Salami, Gaeta Olives … $14.00

Biancoverde – Fresh Mozzarella, Parmigiano Reggiano, Ricotta, Arugula … $15

Wiseguy – Wood Roasted Onion, House Smoked Mozzarella, Fennel Sausage … $15

Even the staff thought this was a bit of an obscene amount of food for us to order. But-I-drove-six-hours-for-it-and-planned-it-for-weeks-so-lay-off!! I will add that as perfect and delicious as it was (actually BECAUSE of that), I really over ate. Think two Thanksgivings in one day. My stomach is still a little distended.

Seriously, this food was celestial – down to the baby arugula upon which the Spiedini rested. Without giving a bite by bite play of the meal (or you will have computer butt), I will just say that upon tasting that first bite (and every bite following) of that margherita pie, every mile driven, every hour in the car, every minute waiting outside, and every second anticipating was more than worth it. I can say essentially the same for everything I tasted, but I think it’s all very clear at this point.

Brooklyn-born Chris Bianco hand makes every pizza that comes out of his kitchen. Maybe I should repeat that. Chris Bianco makes every pizza that comes out of his kitchen. Once that has sunk in, also know that he makes his own mozzarella cheese and grows his basil and other herbs on the grounds surrounding the restaurant. They do not take reservations and they do not offer delivery or carry out service. This is all to preserve the integrity of each pie. I suppose when you are the namesake behind the establishment and responsible for each and every pizza being produced, you had better make sure you don’t let any external element affect your product. Maybe that’s why the New York Times and Vogue (to name a few) have named his pizza “among the world’s best”. Respect.

For the last 30-45 minutes of the meal, Heather found herself so much in the throes of a food coma (read, "over-served") that she went to “get some air” (read, sleep in the car). This was perfectly fine with me as I was able to sip my Zin, finish off the margherita, and chat with the staff as they closed down the front of the house. In fact, the woman I spoke with on the phone remembered me (I was “that girl on her way in from LA for pizza”), and gave me a great brunch recommendation for the next day.

The next morning, Heather and I sipped mimosas and watched the Food Network in our room. We giggled with Paula Deen, y’all. We also had a blast cooking with The Neely’s. That Pat is always gettin’ at Gina’s sugar! Anyway, from there we took the Pizzeria Bianco folk’s advice and had brunch at The Orange Table before we hit the road leading back home. Brunch was great, by the way. Good Bloodys, really nice, thick sourdough toast and impressive corned beef hash. Our server was the sweeter than the sun inviting the moon over for tea. Sweet tea, of course.

With our bellies full of food and the appropriate, pre-noon, libations, Heather and I hopped back in our little car and headed back to the City of Angels. I was fecund with food, love and happiness. We even got to stop in Quartzsite, AZ for some super fresh jerky to aid us in our salt requisite for the remainder of the way home.

Around 8pm last night, I walked through my front door to find my roommate, Chris, standing in the kitchen. “I have something for you”, I chirped. He looked at me inquisitively. That’s when I handed him a pizza box, clearly labeled “Pizzeria Bianco”. “What the…” he responded. “I told you I was bringing back pizza”, I told him. He replied, “Well, yeah, but I didn’t really think you were going to bring pizza back from Arizona!” To which I smugly replied, “Told you so.” I was probably responding more to the fact that most of the people who heard tale told of this adventure, just stared at me, blinking their eyes; either thinking I was a bit nutty or simply stupid obsessed. Perhaps I am a little of both. But I tasted and experienced something amazing and I will never forget it. And, as most things, the journey was half the fun. Fete accompli!

And you know what? It's fun to get away from the camp, even if it's just for 36 hours.

P.S. I have Chris Bianco’s recipe and will be trying it out soon (jealous much?!). I will certainly keep you posted. And here are some fun tips from Chris on Jimmy Kimmel.