I scream, etc.

I have just returned from a business trip/junket to San Francisco, where I learned about marketing law regulatory issues, saw lots of friends, enjoyed amazing hospitality, and ate the best ice cream I'll probably ever have. Bi-Rite Creamery. Go there. The nice people will let you taste whatever you want, and feel free to do that, but once you've tasted the gorgeous Strawberry Balsamic and the Brown Butter Pecan, and maybe shared a crisp chocolate cookie ice cream sandwich filled with Mint (and I don't even like mint ice cream), just do yourself a favor and pick up a pint each of Honey Lavender and Salted Caramel and hide yourself away in a closet where nobody can find you (so you don't have to share) with a spoon. Nirvana.

Snack Report Update

I have a deep need to report on two excellent developments in the snack area.

First, the fine makers of Pirate Booty (a staple if you're a yuppie parent of small children, like myself) have come out with Cocoa Booty, which tastes like Cocoa Puffs, only you can eat it by the bagful and pretend it's good for you.

But second, and even better, Snyder's pretzels have come out with Buffalo Wing flavored pretzel pieces, and this is simply the best snack food ever developed, or at least since Wasabi Peas. Broken pieces of sourdough pretzels (obviously repurposing factory waste, but who cares! it's recycling!) coated with spicy, vinegary Buffalo Wing flavored stuff. Seriously, they are the best thing ever.

Grande Fatbomb Italiana

Last night we headed down to the beach in our town for our annual pilgrimage to that celebration of fat and sugar, the local Grande Festa Italiana. They've got all the seedy carnival rides that make you wonder about inspection certificates and general liability policies, even as it's kind of thrilling to ride up on the Ferris wheel, bumper cars, you know, that sort of thing.

But the real purpose of going to the carnival is to eat all the horrible stuff that you aren't supposed to enjoy eating any more, but will never disappear because it's effing awesome. I speak, of course, of the corn dogs, the steak and mozzarella sandwiches on garlic bread, the candy apples, the blooming onions, the giant platters of red-sauced Italian dishes at the Sons of Italy tent, and of course, the greatest pleasure of all, fried dough, here in the form of the zeppole.

We limited ourselves to one bag for three of us, but it was hard, I tell you. If I'd gotten near the cappuccino/espresso tent, I am certain I would have been forced to get another bag. Not to mention the funnel cakes. And the "fried oreo zeppole," god help me.

My Kind of Restaurant

The two young Gateaux and I spent the long weekend with my parents, sister, brother-in-law, and their kids in the Berkshires in western Massachusetts, where my parents have a house. It's a decent size group, even with Mr. Gateau stuck at the office all weekend, and now includes four people under the age of six. Fortunately, my parents recently happened upon Jack's restaurant, in the tiny old mill town of Housatonic, Mass., which has in the last number of years developed a small but sort of hip gallery and loft scene in the old factory buildings. Jack's is the kind of place that has old Life magazines in the waiting area and shelves crammed with old toys, lunch boxes, figurines, and so on, though neatly displayed and not dusty, as these things so often are. Very family friendly, with big tables and ample space. Young Master Gateau was quite taken with the electric railroad suspended from the ceiling, and was thrilled when we were being seated to go behind the bar and operate the train whistle.

I was more taken with the fact that the menu includes comfort food standards made with good local ingredients, like pot roast with garlic mashed potatoes, chicken pot pie, meatloaf, and the ultimate appetizer: pigs in blankets with two kinds of mustard. They offer several of these dishes served family style, and the dessert menu (if you have any room left at all) includes chocolate pudding and other homestyle treats. There is a whole list of $13 wines, and they make two kinds of sangria by the glass or carafe. I had the sparkling white wine version, and it was delicious and not too sweet.

I will note that the women's bathroom was decorated with old photos of babies and children, while the men got to have vintage pinups and movie stills of Elizabeth Taylor in a slip. Not fair.

Tonight on Masterpiece Theatre, Upscale Downscale

Just back from a nice weekend with the family in Philadelphia. Since we were with kids, we didn't get to check out the exciting places in the Philly food scene, like Morimoto or The Fountain at the Four Seasons, but we did very well with places specializing in upscale versions of downscale food. Saturday night, we went for very tasty BBQ at Devil's Alley, which had a great old industrial vibe and a fun atmosphere. I shared a platter of St. Louis style ribs with Young Master Gateau, which came with two sides (excellent beer battered onion rings and cole slaw were my picks), while Mr. Gateau had a turkey burger (buh?) with bacon and blue cheese, and the baby had a nice cheese quesadilla with good fries (note to New York area restaurant owners: there is no reason on earth why a child's entree should cost more than the $3 or $4 or $5 pricing we encountered in Philadelphia, and portions should be scaled to match. Also, put the regular menu food on the kids' menu, not just endless fried nuggets. I saw a menu for a place there that offered an English cut prime rib for kids, for the love of pete). Mr. Gateau talked me into sharing a whole pitcher of ale with him, which proved to be a good move, as it was excellent (from the Yard's brewery, which apparently has just disbanded).

On Sunday, we avoided the misery known as the "free, cooked to order" hotel breakfast and went out for a fun brunch at the Continental Mid-Town lounge, which had a groovy retro-future look and a terrific menu reminiscent of the great Norma's at Le Parker Meridien in New York. Mr. Gateau had a good cheddar and bacon omelette, I had poached eggs with smoked salmon hash, with exceptional coffee and a Bellini, which was just what I needed, and we ordered "The Big Bang" platter for the kids to share, which included a short stack of pancakes, scrambled eggs, toast, applewood smoked bacon, very flavorful turkey sausages, and probably the best breakfast potatoes I've ever had. These were just what you want in a potato side -- well seasoned, and cut into thin ovals that we potatoey and tender in the center, but crispy everywhere else. This more than adequately fueled a long walk around the historical sites, and then an endless trip home fighting the Jersey shore traffic/certain people's repeated failures to read properly the instructions displayed on a certain person's GPS device that a certain person's spouse gave him for Father's Day.

All in all, Philadelphia did right by us.

Foodie Musing

Listen, I know it's all horribly foodie and bobo and privileged to be all "darling, simple dishes using the best possible ingredients is the only way to eat" but I got a really good dinner together last night using that method. I'm fortunate in that we have this great, weird independent supermarket in town that carries local produce, lots of weird European and Latin American imports (jams! oils! spices! rose water! fruit nectars!), and a great homemade take-out area, with everything from 6 flavors of hummus to complete entrees. So I got some pita chips, tapenade, and spicy feta dip from there, and made a Caprese salad with fresh mozzarella made there (still warm when I got it), some of my own basil, and two giant amazing tomatoes I bought for a king's ransom at the Saturday farmer's market. I topped that with the good California extra virgin olive oil from Trader Joe's someone had tipped me off about ($6 a bottle, and could have been over $20; I got 4) and some fig vinegar that was $12 a bottle, which I hadn't noticed until after I got it home. Good thing, or I would never have bought it.

I asked Mr. Gateau to grab some red wine from the basement, and I never can keep track of what's good and what's table wine, but I suspect he opened a bottle of the good stuff. Which is fine with me, why save it only for dinner guests?

Gimme a Break

I finally had a little time this weekend to dig into a recent addition to my cookbook collection, Eric Gower's The Breakaway Cook, which is a gorgeous and inventive cookbook emphasizing full flavors from around the globe and a pantry stocked with unexpected ingredients that quickly become staples. I've already become addicted to his flavored salts, which take about 30 seconds to make in a spice or coffee grinder (sea salt blended with lavender, dried tangerines, smoked paprika, or Japanese green tea powder).

Yesterday I made a chicken dish that is basically marinated and then sauced with a pureed mojito, with the addition of some onion, garlic, and cilantro, and was just succulent and wonderful. This morning I followed his instructions for fluffy herbed scrambled eggs, where the tip of the day was to use a few spoonfuls of Greek yogurt where I otherwise might have used milk. Delicious. Even my picky husband and kids ate with gusto.