click here

I wish I could tell you that I haven't posted in weeks because I've been too busy with tango lessons and late-night dinners and warm summer air, but such is not the case. Vacation is over, and Gruel for Dinner will now return to its regular schedule of infrequent posts featuring complaints about the weather and recipes for soup.

Complaints about the weather

It's cold, it's gray and gloomy, we're supposed to get a foot of snow tomorrow. I'm so tired of winter, I can't even find the energy or humor to make a joke: This weather just sucks it. Sucks what? You know what.

Recipes for soup

Do you really think that if I can't even manage a crack about the weather that I can pull together a soup recipe? Bitches, please. I'm living off the frozen portions of lentil stew clogging my freezer. Since we returned from Argentina I've been working, looking at our vacation photos when I should be working, and wishing I lived in Buenos Aires. Not a morsel of food has been cooked in my kitchen.

I may not have a lot to offer you in the way of laughs or nourishment, but if you came to this website to kill some time on the internet, maybe this or this or this will keep you occupied.

If you really want a recipe for soup, this and this and this are among my GFD favorites.

And I'm hoping to one day soon make this and this and this (if you get to them before I do, which at the rate I'm moving seems quite likely, let me know how they turn out).

I may not have missed winter or working or waking up early, but I've sure missed you.

Hi there.

there's a nespresso machine in the apt. where we're staying

And I have every intention of squirreling it away in my bag to take home. Other things I plan to steal from Buenos Aires: our tango teacher, Anabella

(we've taken lessons nearly every day but still dance like a pair of monkeys, which is a huge improvement over when we first arrived and danced like a pair of donkeys); a recipe for licuados, a juicy, fruity drink that's like a smoothie without the dairy;

the open terrace doors of this apartment and the warm air that blows through them;

a milonga or two for late-night dancing;

a life of sleeping late and eating late and drinking malbec and dancing every day.

Fuck it, bitches, I'm staying.

donde esta evita?

Recoleta Cemetery is by far the most touristy place we've visited so far, popular perhaps because it's basically a beautiful little neighborhood with stunning architecture, mausoleums instead of mansions flanking the walks. Or maybe it's because Evita "Like a Virgin" Peron resides there.

melocoton

It's like riding a bike: no matter how long it's been, you'll remember exactly.

lo siento, no habla espanol

At this restaurant a security guard attached my bag to my chair with a zip tie to prevent its theft and instructed me to free it using a steak knife. Or at least that's what I imagined he said. At another the Spanish-speaking waitress fetched the English-speaking manager in alarm when we ordered chorizo. "You don't have this in your country," the manager explained. "It's like...how do you say...a hot dog without bun? Pork in tiny parts? Are you sure?"

hola, como esta?

The yachtsman and I have traded salted caramel ice cream for dulce de leche, a snowstorm for midsummer. GFD will be posting live from Buenos Aires for the next week or so, perras -- photos mostly, and only one at a time due to technical constraints. Just what you were hoping for, I'm sure: someone else's vacation photos. This one is of the keys to the beautiful apartment we're staying in.

Wish you were here...

how i spent my summer vacation

We return now to our regularly scheduled programming.

eating portland, maine: the gfd guide (part 1)

There is a lot of good food to be eaten in Portland, Maine, and when we were there a couple weekends ago, the yachtsman and I did our best to sample as much as we could. What's here represents only what we were able to consume in one 48-hour period; there are many places we plan to go on future visits, but for now I can vouch for the following.

On our way into town we stopped at Hot Suppa! for their famous corned beef hash. While I'm still a vegetarian at heart (or a vegetarian who eats heart; see Hugo's, below), I have a serious weakness for the breakfast meats (it was bacon that broke me), and this is really, really good hash. Plus, my over-medium egg was perfectly cooked, the toast was homemade, and the yachtsman recommends the Cubano sandwich.

It was nearly impossible to decide where to eat dinner each night, but I don't think we could have chosen wrong. Friday night we went to Hugo's, which was très chère, and also très good. There was a "molecular gastronomy" element to many of the dishes, which involved things like "prosciutto gelée" (I'm nervous) and "peanut-butter powder" (forget licking your plate; snort this shizz), but everything we ate was deeply flavorful, including the beef heart the yachtsman ordered. You read that right: beef heart. On a Caesar salad, natch. In spite of the fact that I gagged when the waiter was describing the dish, I tried it, in the hopes that by doing so I might one day convince the yachtsman to let a bite of nonscrambled egg cross his lips (pure folly, as it turns out; see Bresca, below). While I found plenty to eat that didn't involve organ meat, Hugo's is not for vegetarians. But it sure was good for a pseudo vegetarian who eats things like fresh pea soup with eucalyptus foam and prosciutto gelée; asparagus with a 149-degree egg and teeny, tiny little Japanese mushrooms; and also halibut with allium risotto and a sweet-onion ring. Did I mention that the yachtsman ate beef heart? And should we take a moment here to acknowledge that "beef heart" means "cow heart"?

There is an abundance of lovely little bakeries in Portland. On M. LaBee's advice we went (twice) to Standard Baking Company, where we tried the croissants (heavenly, phallic),


the morning bun (without nuts, of course),


and a funny cheese thing that the yachtsman selected and I bogarted. We also stopped at Two Fat Cats , where we bought a cupcake and whoopie pie to bring home, both of which were scrumptious, though the whoopie pie filling did not appear to include marshmallow, which means it was not really a whoopie pie, it was a tasty chocolate-sandwich dessert that I would definitely eat again. And again.


Remember when I told you to save your Parmesan rinds to flavor soups? At Micucci Grocery on India Street they actually sell them, people, but if you've followed my advice that's one thing you won't have to shell out dough for when you're shopping at this little Italian market.


What you will want to shell out dough for is the dough being made and sold in the back of the store, namely amazing pizza with possibly the best crust you'll ever eat;


sfogliatelle, a creamy, flaky pastry involving phyllo dough and sweetened ricotta cheese;

Taken with the yachtsman's Hipstamatic.

and something called Luna bread, which the ladies literally lined up for and insisted the yachtsman and I buy a piece of (they didn't exactly have to twist our arms).

Did you think we spent the whole time eating? Well, that was mostly the case. But in between meals we went for cold, rainy walks, around Portland and at a couple beaches/state parks nearby.


There was also a little shopping, including at Longfellow Books, an indie bookstore with a large selection of magazines and new books, as well as a nicely curated collection of used books. And if you, like me, love books and food equally (or, as my mother used to tell Mojie and me, "the same amount, just differently"), you must go to Rabelais, a bookstore that sells "fine books on food and drink." While we were there I drooled over Ad Hoc at Home and wondered whether The Flexitarian Table might be the answer to the culinary dissonance between the yachtsman and me, but ultimately settled on A Homemade Life, which I read in bed at the hotel in between walks and shops and meals.


Our favorite meal of the weekend was at Bresca, a cozy, candlelit place


where they serve food for both the gruelish palate (braised Tuscan kale with a soft-boiled egg, crispy pancetta, kombu butter, and charred multigrain bread ) and beef-heart eaters (the yachtsman had spaghetti with veal-ricotta meatballs, which he said was out of this world). When Gruelish Palate asked Beef-Heart Eater if he would like to try a delicious bite of kale, egg, and toast, Beef-Heart Eater said no way. When Gruelish Palate pointed out that she'd tried the heart of a cow, for god's sake, B-H E said he'd rather eat nothing but beef heart for the rest of his life than consume undercooked egg yolk. All the more for me, then, not that I needed more: the kale and egg was an appetizer that could have been a meal, yet I went on to eat a delicious piece of local cod and a panna cotta, the sweet memory of which I'll carry with me to my possibly-early-if-I eat-panna-cotta-on-a-regular-basis grave.

I may have spent my Sunday mornings growing up singing in the choir at the Cathedral of Immaculate Conception, but nowadays I prefer the New York Times and a bagel to the bible and a communion wafer. Sunday mornings are meant for bagels, don't you think? When we're at home we go to Myer's and eat them Montreal-style; in Portland we drove over the bridge to 158 Pickett,


where the tattooed pirates made us egg-and-cheese sandwiches served on homemade bagels that are so popular customers are limited to three per person on weekends, six on weekdays. And while I usually prefer my bagel with cream cheese only, the egg-and-cheese version here was so good, I wished I'd ordered three.

After the bagels we went to confession (gluttony), and then drove home. But we plan to return soon, and after we do I'll write part 2 of the GFD guide to Portland, Maine. In the meantime, this New York Times article and this piece in Bon Appetit are great resources, as is this. And perhaps the Down East Dilettante and his posse can leave their suggestions in the comments?

getting there

Soon I will describe for you every last morsel I ate in Portland, Maine, over the weekend. But first, a few photos of our drive there.


The snow was pretty in a it's-mid-April-where-the-hell-is-spring kind of way.


And Portland was delicious. More on that later.

unstoppability

The y-man and I are off early tomorrow to Portland, Maine, where we have 48 hours to eat our way through that fair city. I will not be stopped. Neither will C. Arthur Miller.

Look for a full report next week; until then, happy weekend.

at night

& lot's of this.

postcards from sarasota

We've spent most of our time so far by the pool,


though there have also been bike rides


and cupcakes (which, frankly, we ate by the pool).


The bad news is that my master plan, in which my mother cooks all my meals while I'm Florida, is not going according to master plan, so at this point we're subsisting mostly on Chipotle. Soon, though, I will leave the side of the pool and enter the kitchen. Tuesday, maybe.

the mark bittman minimalist club: do you like pina coladas?

I made this citrus rice salad because I'm leaving tomorrow to spend a couple of weeks at my mom's house in Florida. Why not wait to make it until I'm at my mom's, where I can pluck fresh citrus fruit from the trees in her backyard? Because I'm counting on the fact that once I arrive in Florida my mom will do all the cooking. Naw, I'm just kidding: My sister will probably help her out.


And maybe they will make this dish, which is from a column on rice salads Mark Bittman did last year (the piece also featured Indian, Japanese, and pad-thai-style rice salads). It's one of the recipes I was referring to earlier this week that could easily be either gruel de la semaine or a component of a meal that you might actually serve to other people. I think we all know which option I chose; see my serving suggestions after the recipe.

Citrus Rice Salad
from the New York Times

1½ to 2 cups any rice [I used 1 cup of uncooked long-grain, brown rice, which made ~2 cups of cooked rice.]
s&p
½ cup extra virgin olive oil
3 tablespoons freshly squeezed citrus juice, or more to taste (lemon, lime, orange, tangerine, grapefruit, or a combination [I acutally used all five])
2 tablespoons grated citrus zest
1 tablespoon sugar or honey [honey]
1 cup chopped citrus flesh (or whole segments, if small)
½ large red or mild white onion, minced [I minced half of a smallish red onion and didn't even use all of it; the raw onion could easily overpower the other flavors.]
½ cup chopped fresh mint
½ cup or more grated Parmesan [or not; see notes below]
chopped almonds or pecans, optional [pecans, definitely]


1. Cook rice in abundant salted water, as you would pasta, until it's just done; white rice will take 10 to 15 minutes, brown 30 or a little longer. Drain, rinse in cold water, drain again, then put in a large bowl. [I cooked the rice according to the directions on the package and didn't do all of the draining and rising at the end.]

2. Combine olive oil, citrus juice, zest, sugar or honey, salt and pepper in a blender and turn the machine on; a creamy emulsion will form within 30 seconds. Taste and add more citrus juice a teaspoon or two at a time until the balance tastes right to you.

3. Drizzle vinaigrette over rice [do this to taste; I didn't use it all]. Use 2 big forks to combine, fluffing rice and tossing gently to separate grains. Stir in citrus flesh, onion, and mint; taste, and adjust the seasoning or moisten with a little more dressing.

4. Serve, sprinkled with Parmesan and chopped nuts, at room temperature, or refrigerate for up to a day, bringing salad back to room temperature before serving. [See my serving suggestions, below.]


I, of course, made a batch of this on Sunday and ate it for lunch all week. But because variety is the spice of life, I tried it two ways. Sometimes I ate it as directed, with grated Parmesan. But on a couple of days I went rogue/tropical, skipped the Parmesan, and added avocado instead, which is about as exotic as things get around my house. Either way, this makes for a nice gruel de la semaine; the bright citrus flavors are perfect on a gray fall day, and both the Parmesan and avocado give the salad a richness that balances the tang.

As a component of a fancier meal this would serve quite nicely as a bed on which you could lay a piece of fish, which you could then top with an avocado salsa. This kind of bold nüfüsion cüisine will surely impress your friends. It would impress me, anyway, and we're friends. Right?

Citrus rice would also go well with the yachtsman's famoüs French Chicken in a Pot, if you eat those nasty birds (I'll try to get him to whip one up while we're in Florida so my mom can take the night off and I'll have something to bl*g about). And there's something a little risotto-ish about this dish (could be the rice, I guess)—it might be nice topped with shrimp, if you like pieces of fishy rubber for dinner.

Actually, the risotto idea is a good one; perhaps I'll ask my mom to make a citrus risotto with chunks of fresh fruit added at the end, plenty of Parm, possibly some asparagus, served sprinkled with pecans. And then I will hope that I'm not sent to my room without dinner.

the gfd guide to san francisco

We were eating until the very end, munching on tiny, sweet champagne grapes from the farmers market in the cab on the way to the airport at 4:30 a.m. (damn you, yachstman, and your early-flight-booking ways).

Here's a list of my favorite San Francisco, food-related places, as well as a couple of other spots I visit whenever we're in town (feel free to add your own in the comments; we're still looking for the best taqueria, if anyone has an opinion).

Food
There are lots of good, famous restaurants in San Francisco -- we had a great meal at The Slanted Door, the yachtsman's favorite is Jardiniere, my dad loves Gary Danko -- all of which you can read about in a guide book or at chowhound or tablehopper. If you're like me, you'll pick one of these places for a fancy night out, and spend the rest of your time eating Mexican or sushi or at A16, then stopping somewhere on your way home for dessert. The places listed here are the ones I want to visit not every few times I'm in the Bay Area, but on every single visit.

A16. If there are two of you, order four starters. If there are four, order twelve. Order a pizza or a pasta or an entree to share -- they're as amazing as what comes first, but you'll be so full on things like mozzarella burrata with olive oil, sea salt, and crostini; arugula salad with nectarines, fennel, walnuts and housemade ricotta salata; roasted asparagus with walnut crema and pecorino tartufo; caponata of tuna conserva, housemade friselle, early girl tomatoes, cucumbers, capers, and basil, that your entrees will come home in a body doggie bag.

I'm not an ice cream freak, but we went twice to Bi-Rite Creamery. The first night I got the brown sugar with ginger caramel swirl, the second I got the salted caramel. The yachtsman? Vanilla and balsamic strawberry.

Brown sugar ice cream with ginger caramel swirl from Bi-Rite Creamery

(If you're looking for a bountiful grocery store or prepared foods to eat in Dolores Park or on the plane on the way home, check out Bi-Rite Market across the street from the creamery, or Rainbow Grocery, the ultimate co-op.)

Dottie's True Blue Cafe was in my original San Francisco post, it'll be in my next, and so on. Every. single. time. we go to San Francisco, I'll be eating breakfast at Dottie's. Twice. I suggest you do the same. Do you need a reason? 1. Perfectly cooked, crispy, salty home fries. 2. Thick slices of buttermilk-dill toast. 3. A creamy frittata with avocado, tomato, jalapenos, feta, and corn. 4. Black bean cakes with eggs cooked your way and griddled cornbread. 5. Seriously, do you need FIVE reasons to go there? Just jump on a plane and go get in line already.

When the yachtsman worked for Greenpeace, he often stayed around the corner from El Metate. I can attest to the fish tacos, the yachtsman can speak to the carnitas. Both very, very good. They don't have a website, but you can find them at 2406 Bryant St., between 22nd & 23rd, in the Mission.

The Ferry Building Farmers Market made me ugly with jealousy. I wandered through those stalls and I coveted like those grapes and pluots and tomatoes and French yogurt were my neighbor's wife. I want to move to California.

Things I drooled over at Miette: homemade graham crackers; dark chocolate cupcakes with meringue frosting; gingerbread cupcakes with cream cheese frosting; burnt caramel coated with dark chocolate and topped with gray sea salt; pots de creme in pretty glass containers; homemade marshmallows; little pannacottas topped with tiny bits of chopped strawberry ... I could go on. What I bought: two (delicious) macarons.

Chocolate lavender macaron for me, vanilla macaron for the vanilla chris milla.

Popalote was highly recommended, we've been there on several visits, and it's a good taqueria, but here's the thing: they have vegetarian chorzio on the menu, I'm looking for lard in my refrieds.

Samovar is a tea lounge with several locations, though their original spot in the Castro/Mission is my favorite. I especially like to go for breakfast: the rice bowl with tofu and poached eggs (you're just going to have to trust me on this) is delicious, and I'm such a fan of the downy sprout white tea, I brought some home.

I don't know why it's good, but it is: the Egg Bowl at Samovar.

According to the yachtsman, Sanraku has the best sushi in San Francisco. I liked it, too, but according to the yachtsman, spicy tuna rolls don't qualify as sushi, and my opinion doesn't count.

Tartine, for baked goods and pressed sandwiches and a nice cup of tea. Both of the male employees who were there when I was had huge handlebar moustaches that may have been ironic, but they sure weren't pretty. Stare instead at your croissant.

Etc.
Places to go between meals.

If I were rich, I'd open a bookstore. But I'm not, so instead I spend my time in other people's bookstores. One of my favorites is Green Apple Books, in the Richmond.

Kabuki is a Japanese bath house in, well, Japantown. Pay $22 for all-day access to the baths (and sauna and steam room) or splurge and get a massage, too. I got my first-ever shiatsu massage this past visit and the massage therapist actually slapped me. In a good way. But if you're not into that kind of thing, go with the Swedish.

Kinokunia Bookstore is heaven for anyone into pens. That's right, pens. They can be a fetish. And I'll admit it, I'm a pen fetishist. I originally visited Kinokunia because they're the only store in the U.S. that sells my favorite pen in the world, the Pilot Hi-Tec C. I've since found the Pilot online, but I still visit Kinokunia every time we're in San Francisco and spend at least an hour browsing. Japanese pens, pencils, erasers, notebooks, and other office supplies are much cooler than anything they make in the U.S. So if you're into pens, or you think you might be but aren't sure because your experience so far has been with Bics and your granddaddy's fountain pen (borrrrring), check this place out. And now I will stop talking about pens.

Rare Device is a little hipster/craftster store that's been curated more than it's been stocked. Lots of pretty (but not too pretty) things.

Disclaimer: I'm not from San Francisco, and other than a brief stint living with a drag queen/performance artist and a leather daddy/phone sex worker in SOMA before SOMA was a neighborhood with its own name (let alone its own acronym), I've never spent more than a week in the city, so there's obviously lots I'm missing. But those are a few of my favorite things.

postcards from san francisco

We are slowly eating our way through the city. Meal by meal, we will conquer San Francisco.

Breakfast at the Penny Cluse West (or maybe Penny Cluse is Boogaloos East):

Although the best breakfast in town the world can be found at Dottie's True Blue Cafe.

You'll wait in a long line for the breakfast you've been waiting for your whole life. I've been twice so far. And on a side note, I used Google Maps on my iPhone to figure out how to get from Dottie's to my next destination, which sent me traipsing through the Tenderloin. My favorite comment (and I received many): "Hey, Snow White, can a black brother be your dwarf?" I told him I'd have to check with the head dwarf, who subsequently indicated we're not accepting applications for dwarfs at this time: my dwarf harem is full.

The booze in our minifridge has been replaced with fruit from the farmers market. This is a pluot, my friend. Part plum, part uot, all delicious.

The sweetest grapes, nestled in a Le Meridien (or as the yachtsman likes to call it, The Le Meridien) towel:

Strawberries dipped in yogurt eaten over the bathroom sink:

Dinner at A16, creator of the asparagus and walnut crema I made five hundred times this past spring:

Macarons from Miette:

Sea lion: delicious.

Seriously, he appears to be a distant cousin of my dog -- I know that coy look well.

And lest you think we're high rollers, please know that we put on our high heels (or I do, anyway) and take the bus to even the fanciest restaurants. Because that's how the yachtsbusman rolls. (Round and round. The wheels on the bus go.)

Wish you were here...