Biscuitly

So, I'm fully settled back into the ville and in the process of over-scheduling myself into a sure-fire melt-down in my last semester. Might as well go out with a bang... Food-wise, I have made good on my promise to myself that I would ingest a biscuit or two in as expedient a manner as possible upon my arrival in the South. Said biscuit was eaten at Blue Moon Diner and served alongside a sausage, apple and blue cheese omelet and home fries. The omelet was good though a little disconcerting because the apples were crispy granny smiths and I'm just not used to fresh/non cooked things in my eggs. Think about it, you're not either. The tots were fry-tastic--especially after I drenched them in siracha sauce. Outside of that, I haven't eaten out but have instead been living off a bangin' batch of chicken vegetable and rice soup that I made in the first days I was back. I also made a decent batch of fiery, roasted bell pepper pasta sauce that has helped sustain me. Saturday i hope to have people over for a Southern food fest. I got a twofer on frozen e-z peel jumbo shrimp at Teeter so maybe I'll make a huge thing of shrimp and grits? Boil up some greens to go with... who knows. Maybe I'll cook some of the recipes featured in the Gourmet Magazine on Edna Lewis.

Can You Tell I'm a Women and Gender Studies Major?

I have been horribly remiss in updating this blog choosing instead to fill my free-time with the wonders and frustrations of furnishing a college apartment (think weekly trips to the Salvation Army.) Yet the time that has passed (four months) since I last blogged has been marked by many a wonderful food experience and I find it a shame that I have not shared these experiences here. As this is a blog about food in Charlottesville, however, I will spare you the details of wild boar sauce on pici pasta in Medieval Italy and I will refrain from gushing to you over the Istanbul's tea bazaar and the world's most perfect lamb kebob. In fact, I won't even talk to you about my continued love affair with San Diego's The Linkery (if ever you find yourself craving boutique charcouterie). I will instead reinvigorate this blog with a discussion of gendered bites. Thus, I present to you:



FROM FALLACY...

TO OVATION:

A Redemption Tale

So, you all get it and I really don't have anything all that interesting to say about these pictures outside of the fact that I was tickled to discover that in a period of less than twenty-four hours the symbolism of my two main meals was glaringly lewd.

The Wurst Sampler plate was eaten over a Friday night birthday dinner at The Bavarian Chef in Madison which I would recommend if not only for the experience. Highlights included two liter beers in boot shaped glasses and never ending veggie side-dishes. The wurst themselves weren't all that bad, though the fat red one in the center tasted a lot like a ballpark frank and the browned white one was suspiciously slimy and even in texture. The sauce and the garlic mashed potatoes on which the wieners lie, however, were exemplars of the definition of flavorful. The figs were then picked the next morning on Steph and my way back from Pancakes for Parkinsons (good-eat in and of itself.) They came from the tree on the south side of Pavilion 9--I think...I often get my UVa geography confused. As the suggestive split in these ovular little gems indicates, they were deliciously ripe. We went home and sprinkled honey and sunflower seeds over the figs and a good dollop of Greek yogurt. A combination I highly recommend.

Next time look out for my entry on the Nelson County Sorghum (that's molasses to you) Festival...

During Finals One Orders a Lot of Pizza.

Not much exciting going on in my food world other than the revelation that, if Mellow Mushroom delivers to your area, you should always order from them in place of Domino's or Papa Johns. The medium 14" pizza I had delivered to my place the other day is the same size as a Domino's large and cost me a mere $13.69. Taking into consideration the five fresh toppings decorating my Kosmic Karma and the fact that the crust is made with spring water (!!!!) and a mix of whole wheat flours, a Domino's pizza that would surely cost as much and would never include fresh spinach and pesto seems paltry in comparison.

Ode to a Biscuit

The Bluegrass Grill and Bakery is tucked into an inconspicuous corner of the Glass Building on Second Street. It serves up hearty three egg omelets and makes all its breakfast pastries in house. I have dined there twice. On the first occasion, I and the lovely Ms. Julia Schumann indulged in the more starchy offerings--I with the honey wheat pancakes and she with the French Toast. The pancakes were the size of 7 inch vinyls and made with buttermilk--a delightful combination of hearty texture (whole wheat grains) and fluffy satisfaction (the acid in the buttermilk reacting with the baking soda--a leavening agent.) Topped with strawberries, butter and real maple syrup, my pancakes were an experience worth returning for and the next day I did exactly that. This time, however, i set out intent on tasting the three-inch tall biscuits I had seen the day before.

I ordered my biscuit alongside a cheddar cheese and sausage omelet and a side of cheese grits. (A heart healthy breakfast...) The grits and omelet were fine but the biscuit...oh the biscuit. It was, as I have mentioned, three inches tall and endearingly lopsided. At some point in the baking process it had reached a point where it could no longer support a vertical climb and veered off to the right like an extended jack in the box. What's more, this biscuit was made with a good portion of whole wheat flower and looked like a scrumptious nugget of earth. Steam fogged my glasses as I broke the biscuit in half and spread butter atop it's cloud-like layers of buttermilk pastry. I liberally drizzled each half with honey before the first bite, which once taken, resulted in my most cherished of masticatory sensations--when what you are biting into is so thick and airy that a condensed version of it ends up stuck between your front teeth and your upper lip. There is, in my opinion, nothing more indicative of true comfort food than the need to swipe away food lodged in said space with a thorough sweep of the tongue.

The impression this biscuit made on my taste-buds was otherworldly. So, I leave you with a little haiku, the form and content of which is intended to express my serenity and contentedness in having had the privilege to eat such a glorious feat of American cuisine.

three inches giant
broken in two, honey topped.
I eat all of you.

God Bless America

I am usually the type to laud the merits of things locally produced, organic and whole wheat. But sometimes one gets sick of this sort of politically sensitive ingestion and craves things bleached, colored and lacking in nutritional value. So it was that yesterday morning I, feeling gustatorially irreverent, ate a grilled egg sandwich with bacon and American Cheese on White. Genius.

Seriously though, when was the last time that you, a food snob, indulged in something a little bit plebeian for breakfast? Screw the granola made with unrefined sugar and no trans-fat, ditch the rBGH free yogurt and grab yourself an American classic. Cap'n Crunch, Pop Tarts, Wonder Bread and Welches grape jelly--they are all pleading for you to jump off the high horse and take a trip down memory lane. And I promise, if you throw aside your preconceived expectations, you will, as I was yesterday, be thoroughly pleased with your choice.

For a dining experience that serves up all things Bisquick with a side of chintz, be sure to hit up the Italian Villa.