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.

Giving You Flack for Flax

I'm back in Charlottesville as of 11:30 pm yesterday and am using my settling in time for rumination and organization. On the organization side of things, I spent four hours in front of my computer and Food Network today sending emails and setting up appointments. (Turns out that 10am Wednesday is not only the time at which I will be meeting with Joy but is also when Sandra Lee will be enjoying a "yummy" cocktail--you go girl.) Concerning rumination; I'm missing San Diego, it's weather, it's food, my home-town friends and my fambly. Before leaving the idyllic bay town, the mamas Cory and Coleman took us kiddies out to lunch for our last health-obsessed SoCal meal of winter at the newly opened Cilantro Live! in Hillcrest. Cilantro Live! is raw, vegan and adept at dishing out surprisingly edible fare. My mom's "nacho nut cheese Enchilada" and Mrs. Cory's "rawviolis" made of slow roasted tomatoes filled with "pine-nut, basil, cheese and pesto sauce" were wonderful (Though I do wonder what they mean by "cheese" here.) Other items (the name-sake soup, for instance) relied to heavily on Flax seed oil which I happen to think tastes like toilet water. I was appeased when the server brought me my Coconut Water because, for every degree to which flax-seed oil is vile, coconut water is delicious--a delectably confusing combination of warm nuttiness and cucumber coolness. In the end, Cilantro Live turned out to be just what the doctor ordered as all those intact and uncooked vitamins and enzymes made my hung-over self feel a lot better about life and the gigantic carne asada quesadilla I had consumed at 3AM that very day...

The next day I dragged my parents downtown to see American Gangster and eat at Cafè Chloe where I completely nullified any of the health benefits reaped at Cilantro Live! and took a head-first dive into cholesterol and saturated fat (which feels and tastes a lot like animal infested custard.) I started off with the bistro salad which was a delightful combination of Frisee tossed in a vinaigrette made from bacon grease and topped with bacon, butter drenched croûtons and a poached egg for good measure. I continued in this this ovular vein with my second course: a savory lobster custard with buttered toast. All the while I made sure to help my dad finish off his steak frites (oh the frites...) served with a side of cauliflower gratin and assisted my mother in eating her lightly battered fluke served with a celery root puree and a mustardy, red winey, vinegar sauce (the fancy french name of which I cannot impress you with as it escapes me. Started with a "b" I believe.)



San Diego has so much to offer foodies and I am sad to leave it having left so much untouched: Nobu San Diego in the Hard Rock Hotel; Bradley Ogden's new jazz and supper club, Anthology; the Pho houses in Kearney Mesa; the Linkery's new sister site, The Ritual Tavern... But any regrets concerning unconquered San Diego dining experiences were easily and appropriately dismissed in transit from SoCal to THE South when I read Edna Lewis's posthumously published piece, "What Is Southern" in the most recent Gourmet. Her foodie answer to that question effectively knocked the regret out from under me and got my mouth to watering over the biscuits, hush puppies, fried chicken, corn bread, virginia ham, shrimp and grits, sweet potato pies... I would be loving myself with in the coming months. :)

My Egregious Error

Allie correctly pointed out that I forgot about PIZZA NIGHT. Two weeks ago now, The Carmels hosted a pizza making party using their new wood-fired brick oven. Upon arrival, us lucky guests found the kitchen counter covered in little bowls full of potential toppings: lamb sausage, a variety of cheeses, stewed tomatoes, herbs of all colors, truffle oil (!!!), mushrooms, smoked salmon and so much MORE. Mr. Carmel had prepared personalized -pizza-sized balls of simply delicious dough, the subtle sweetness of which, upon cooking, manifested the chef's investment in its proper kneading and leisurely rise--so well done.

The evening was spent amongst friends and marked by culinary firsts. For starters, both Mrs. Carmel and Lulu effectively convinced me of the merits of pairing champagne and pizza. Of note, also was the opportunity to cook something in an oven that reaches 750+ degrees! I can't tell you how fun it was to slide an uncooked pie into the oven using a pizziaolo's shovel thingy (yes, this is the culinary term), rotating the pizza as it cooked, and then taking it on out within two minutes of having put it in. It made me feel rather competent.

The specimen pictured above is one of the meaty "man's pizzas" put together (I believe) by elder brother Carmel.

a little ketchup

So, here's the lowdown on memorable food experiences over my winter break:

I guess I'll start with Christmas when Mom and I fed 13 of our peops full of a Martha Stewart Ham bought at Costco (hormone free, organic, etc. go Martha) with an apricot/ mustard seed glaze, the never fail potato fennel gratin (includes 2+ cups heavy cream and a pound of gruyere), maple brandy sweet potatoes, green beans (the blah dish of the evening) and DESSERT. Here it should be noted that, in our fambly, dessert dishes ofttimes outnumber dishes served at dinner and that Christmas was no exception to the rule. For my part, I contributed a pumpkin cake with caramel cream cheese frosting--delish but super sweet--and a peach pie special for Ole Tex (my Texan Grandfather). Sister pulled through with three-layer chocolate, hazelnut, mousse cake and a simple fruit tart and mom delivered with the finishing touch of a double batch (read: > 4 lbs) of fudge. Oh decadence.

Two days later the Flocke and Coleman Ladies celebrated Mama Coleman's Birthday with Dim Sum brunch at Jasmine in Kearny Mesa. Truth be told, dim sum is always simultaneously over and underwhelming for me as the amount of choice is confounding and I always end up saying yes to things I don't want and don't like. Somehow we were barraged in the early stages by carts serving all things shrimp and outdid ourselves on crustaceans without getting a chance to sample the pork buns or the bok choy with the delicious mystery sauce. The Highlight of the day, however, was dessert (notice a trend). After dim sum, Mrs. Flocke drove the kiddies across the street to Yogurt World where we helped ourself to the self serve machines (numbering more than 10)featuring flavors such as green tea coconut and tart mango, and the plethora of unusual toppings. The yogurt here is reminiscent of pinkberry and its spinoffs but the texture is undoubtedly less crystalline and delightfully creamy.

New Years featured the grandparentals, Fran and Tex, back at the Coleman Cabana for texas-style cornbread (read: dense and without sugar, oven baked in a griddle and topped with a healthy amount of butter and honey. mmmm), blacked eyed peas cooked with onions and the the leftover Christmas ham hock, and stewed greens of course. (we gussied up the greens a bit with some balsamic vinegar)

About a week ago, I convinced my parents to take me to Clay's atop Hotel La Jolla. I ordered cassis braised duck breast lain across sautéed vinegary spinach and flanked with butternut squash ravioli. The bechemel-type sauce on the ravioli needed salt, the cassis flavoring on the duck was nice, but as I'm not a huge fan of soggy, thick, gelatenous duck skin, this flavoring was mostly lost on me. Everything we ate was cooked to perfect doneness and my mom's ceder plank smoked salmon also suffered from a lack of seasoning. By far the highlight of my meal was the SCRUMPTIOUS Chilean Pinot I ordered. It is worth noting that Clay's has an awesome and bustling bar attached that serves more affordable food such as decked out, thick burgers and features live music nightly.

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.