Mondays at the office are like some kind of bad energy tornado, so I try to keep my head down make myself look super annoyed and busy, thank you George Costanza. Best thing to do is read from the proliferation of food-related websites and blogs (it looks vaguely work-related in case anyone catches a glance at my screen). This list came up and I cannot resist. Of course, I have to put my 2 cents in, so the back half of the list will follow in another post.
The Omnivore's 100
1) Copy this list into your blog or journal, including these instructions.
2) Bold all the items you’ve eaten.
3) Cross out any items that you would never consider eating.
4) Optional extra: Post a comment here at http://www.verygoodtaste.co.uk/ linking to your results.
The VGT Omnivore’s Hundred:
1. Venison
But never truly wild venison. Hunters, please contact me. You kill it, I'll cook it.
2. Nettle tea
3. Huevos Rancheros
A good option on otherwise lacklustre brunch menus.
4. Steak Tartare
Horse tartare is better
5. Crocodile
6. Black or blood pudding
We grew up on this, but my sly parents called it by its French name, boudin, to trick us into loving it. Worked.
7. Cheese fondue
8. Carp
9. Borscht
10. Baba ganoush
11. Calamari
12. Pho
I live in a wonderful city where pho is one of the cheapest eats available.
13. Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich
To truly represent the genre, it must be on uber-processed white bread with uber-processed Kraft peanut butter and grape jelly.
14. Aloo gobi
15. Hot dog from a street cart
One of my favourite eats on a NYC weekend
16. Epoisses de Bourgogne
If it was hygenic or in any way seductive to slather this on myself, I would gladly do so. Nothing so stinky ever tasted so sublime.
17. Black truffle
18. Fruit wine made from something other than grapes
Sure, but why? Grapes do just fine.
19. Steamed pork buns
Excellent hangover food.
20. Pistachio ice cream
21. Heirloom tomatoes
Out of the garden, still warm from the sun, dribbling down my face....yes.
22. Fresh wild berries
23. Foie gras
We nibbled through a tasting menu of foie gras a few years ago (not recommended for those with heart conditions or weak stomachs). My favourites were the simple applications like torchon with rhubarb compote, or seared in a mofo hot pan till it's all yummy crusty on the outside and wobbly melty on the inside. But foie gras cheesecake? No thanks.
24. Rice and beans
YES!!
25. Brawn or head cheese
Veal head cheese from the Testaccio market in Rome, eaten with a plastic fork in the square. Bliss.
26. Raw Scotch Bonnet pepper
27. Dulce de leche
28. Oysters
Raw Caraquets from New Brunswick are my favourites, but battered in panko, deep fried and served with jalapeno mayo at Oyster Boy also floats my boat.
29. Baklava
Used to make this by the 2ft x 4ft slab for a catering company. Bleh.
30. Bagna Cauda
Whenever I make this it splits. Help?
31. Wasabi peas
32. Clam chowder in a sourdough bowl
33. Salted lassi
34. Sauerkraut
Mrs Jackson, my "second mom" (our neighbour and my mom's best friend) came from German stock. Her mom, the formidable Mrs Spindin, made a freezerful of sauerkraut every year.
35. Root beer float
36. Cognac with a fat cigar
37. Clotted cream
38. Vodka jelly
39. Gumbo
40. Oxtail
A "Top 10 Meals of My Life" list will come eventually, but a sneak preview: gnocchi with braised oxtail at Sora Marguerite in Rome.
41. Curried goat
42. Whole insects
Once I unwittingly swallowed half a spider out of my oatmeal (3 of his legs remained in the bowl). And I'm pretty sure I ate a fried cricket from a street stall in Bangkok.
43. Phaal
44. Goat’s milk
45. Malt whisky from a bottle worth £60/$120 or more
One new year's eve I was back in my university town (population 1500 souls) and we gathered at our old pub. For some reason they were selling Johnnie Walker Blue (upwards of $200/ 750 mL) for $5.95 a shot. I am proud to have become intoxicated on such lovely booze.
46. Fugu
47. Chicken tikka masala
48. Eel
49. Krispy Kreme original glazed doughnut
50. Sea urchin
Monday, August 25, 2008
The List, 51 - 100
Since I've been writing this on the sly at work I had to parcel it into 2 posts. But I thought about it all night. I love lists!
51. Prickly pear
52. Umeboshi
53. Abalone
54. Paneer
Surprisingly easy to make at home.
55. McDonald’s Big Mac Meal
...but I believe the last time I had one I was 15.
56. Spaetzle
Here is a word that no waiter seems able to pronounce. Other big offenders: bruschetta and risotto.
57. Dirty gin martini
Sure, but why not have a Gibson instead?
58. Beer above 8% ABV
59. Poutine
The only possible justification for a mess of poutine is intense physical exertion (or heavy drinking -- it makes excellent "soaking up" food). So the ideal situation is to order a giant poutine as lunch in the middle of a day of skiing. Eaten with a 2-pronged wooden fork, of course.
60. Carob chips
I am embarrassed. My mom went through a hippie stage when our "treats" were these and banana chips. Call the psychotherapist.
61. Smores
I have never understood this.
62. Sweetbreads
63. Kaolin
I had a clay mask on my face once, does that count?
64. Currywurst
No, but sign me up.
65. Durian
A lasting memory from my childhood in South-East Asia is the iconic signs of crossed-out durian in the vicinity of hotel lobbies and on public buses. They always said "smells like hell, tastes like heaven" but I would locate the flavour closer to creamed onions.
66. Frogs’ legs
67. Beignets, churros, elephant ears or funnel cake
And we must add Canadian beaver tails to this list.
68. Haggis
69. Fried plantain
70. Chitterlings or andouillette
71. Gazpacho
Nana's secret ingredient: a tin of V8
72. Caviar and blinis
73. Absinthe
74. Gjetost, or brunost
75. Roadkill
My brother was a cop and tells a great story about coming across an accident scene involving a car + driver (hale and sound) and a deer (now dead). A few discreet phone calls later, a guy showed up with the proper tools and proceeded to divvie up the carcass. Please see item #1.
76. Baijiu
77. Hostess Fruit Pie
78. Snail
79. Lapsang souchong
80. Bellini
81. Tom yum
82. Eggs benedict
83. Pocky
84. Tasting menu at a three-star restaurant
Others involved in this wee project have mentioned 4-star NYC restos as comparable to Michelin 3 stars. For me, the tasting menu at Le Bernardin was as spectacular as dining gets; we wept from sensual pleasure, and that has to count for something.
85. Kobe beef
And some Kobe beef kidneys too.
86. Hare
...and the adorable little bunny in the garden is getting plumper by the day!
87. Goulash
88. Edible flowers
The bunny eschews the flowers so we eat them.
89. Horse
Yes!
90. Criollo chocolate
91. Spam
92. Soft shell crab
93. Rose harissa
94. Catfish
95. Mole poblano
96. Bagel and lox
97. Lobster thermidor
98. Polenta
99. Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee
100. Snake
51. Prickly pear
52. Umeboshi
53. Abalone
54. Paneer
Surprisingly easy to make at home.
55. McDonald’s Big Mac Meal
...but I believe the last time I had one I was 15.
56. Spaetzle
Here is a word that no waiter seems able to pronounce. Other big offenders: bruschetta and risotto.
57. Dirty gin martini
Sure, but why not have a Gibson instead?
58. Beer above 8% ABV
59. Poutine
The only possible justification for a mess of poutine is intense physical exertion (or heavy drinking -- it makes excellent "soaking up" food). So the ideal situation is to order a giant poutine as lunch in the middle of a day of skiing. Eaten with a 2-pronged wooden fork, of course.
60. Carob chips
I am embarrassed. My mom went through a hippie stage when our "treats" were these and banana chips. Call the psychotherapist.
61. Smores
I have never understood this.
62. Sweetbreads
63. Kaolin
I had a clay mask on my face once, does that count?
64. Currywurst
No, but sign me up.
65. Durian
A lasting memory from my childhood in South-East Asia is the iconic signs of crossed-out durian in the vicinity of hotel lobbies and on public buses. They always said "smells like hell, tastes like heaven" but I would locate the flavour closer to creamed onions.
66. Frogs’ legs
67. Beignets, churros, elephant ears or funnel cake
And we must add Canadian beaver tails to this list.
68. Haggis
69. Fried plantain
70. Chitterlings or andouillette
71. Gazpacho
Nana's secret ingredient: a tin of V8
72. Caviar and blinis
73. Absinthe
74. Gjetost, or brunost
75. Roadkill
My brother was a cop and tells a great story about coming across an accident scene involving a car + driver (hale and sound) and a deer (now dead). A few discreet phone calls later, a guy showed up with the proper tools and proceeded to divvie up the carcass. Please see item #1.
76. Baijiu
77. Hostess Fruit Pie
78. Snail
79. Lapsang souchong
80. Bellini
81. Tom yum
82. Eggs benedict
83. Pocky
84. Tasting menu at a three-star restaurant
Others involved in this wee project have mentioned 4-star NYC restos as comparable to Michelin 3 stars. For me, the tasting menu at Le Bernardin was as spectacular as dining gets; we wept from sensual pleasure, and that has to count for something.
85. Kobe beef
And some Kobe beef kidneys too.
86. Hare
...and the adorable little bunny in the garden is getting plumper by the day!
87. Goulash
88. Edible flowers
The bunny eschews the flowers so we eat them.
89. Horse
Yes!
90. Criollo chocolate
91. Spam
92. Soft shell crab
93. Rose harissa
94. Catfish
95. Mole poblano
96. Bagel and lox
97. Lobster thermidor
98. Polenta
99. Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee
100. Snake
Thursday, August 21, 2008
My new local
Glorious world! I moved to my new apartment last weekend and my new local pub is everything a girl could ask for. I've been every day since I moved in.
Day 1: Moving Day itself. Overwhelmed by boxes, weary from heavy lifting and swirling emotions, damp from the rainstorm, Mary Elizabeth and I tucked into a snug table, drank pints of Guinness and ate crispy, hot fish & chips (generously hosed with malt vinegar) amidst a buzzing Friday night crowd. The waiter flirted with us, the food was excellent and a cutie on the tv won a gold medal in wrestling. Bliss.
Day 2: Cordless drills and paintbrushes. While my tireless, made-of-gold brother painted and hung shelving and heavy mirrors, his Michele and I purchased and assembled IKEA puzzlers. By 7pm we were ready to demolish a bottle of bubbly; by 8pm we had showered and settled into a table at the local. The daily specials are renowned, so we all ordered horseradish-crusted beef tenderloin with veg and rosti. Salutary; enriching; life-giving. The flirty waiter took one look at me and simply asked, "Guinness?". Bliss.
Day 3: Hitting the unpacking plateau. I can live in the place as it is, without all those last boxes unpacked, so I'm out and about. Matt came by to collect all my now-empty boxes (he's moving next weekend, love the circle of box life). We had a wander then perched on the patio at the local for another set of Guinness. No food; it didn't matter.
Day 4: Monday, getting home late from work...and I still haven't bought groceries. The only solution? A drink and a light supper at the local. Another special du jour: expertly seared trout with an iceberg-watermelon-bocconcini salad swimming in excellent lemon-poppyseed dressing. How perfect? My already-limited home cooking may be about to suffer another blow. How can I cook when there is such good food, drink and company a mere block away?
Day 1: Moving Day itself. Overwhelmed by boxes, weary from heavy lifting and swirling emotions, damp from the rainstorm, Mary Elizabeth and I tucked into a snug table, drank pints of Guinness and ate crispy, hot fish & chips (generously hosed with malt vinegar) amidst a buzzing Friday night crowd. The waiter flirted with us, the food was excellent and a cutie on the tv won a gold medal in wrestling. Bliss.
Day 2: Cordless drills and paintbrushes. While my tireless, made-of-gold brother painted and hung shelving and heavy mirrors, his Michele and I purchased and assembled IKEA puzzlers. By 7pm we were ready to demolish a bottle of bubbly; by 8pm we had showered and settled into a table at the local. The daily specials are renowned, so we all ordered horseradish-crusted beef tenderloin with veg and rosti. Salutary; enriching; life-giving. The flirty waiter took one look at me and simply asked, "Guinness?". Bliss.
Day 3: Hitting the unpacking plateau. I can live in the place as it is, without all those last boxes unpacked, so I'm out and about. Matt came by to collect all my now-empty boxes (he's moving next weekend, love the circle of box life). We had a wander then perched on the patio at the local for another set of Guinness. No food; it didn't matter.
Day 4: Monday, getting home late from work...and I still haven't bought groceries. The only solution? A drink and a light supper at the local. Another special du jour: expertly seared trout with an iceberg-watermelon-bocconcini salad swimming in excellent lemon-poppyseed dressing. How perfect? My already-limited home cooking may be about to suffer another blow. How can I cook when there is such good food, drink and company a mere block away?
Monday, August 18, 2008
Food on the move
Twice a year my day job requires me to travel for several weeks. A colleague and I go across the country and make a presentation all morning followed by a lunch previewing about 20 of the new products our company is working on. We do about 13 shows over the course of 2 to 3 weeks. It's brutal.
Travelling for work sounds oh so glamourous and fun, but consider this schedule: get up at 6am in a less-than-luxurious hotel, try to grab a workout on a crappy hotel treadmill, put on your game face for 5 hours chatting to guests and making a dynamic (ha) presentation that you've already done 12 times, eat the same lunch of the same 20 items (but you have to eat everything so the guests think you like it all), speed to the airport for a 2pm flight, arrive in the next city by 5pm, check into yet another hotel, grab some dinner, drink too much, sleep too little and wake up and do it all over again the next day.
Naturally, for me the worst part is the food. I can't go on stage without breakfast, and when I'm stuck in a hotel my standard -- 1 soft-poached egg, whole wheat toast, tea and OJ -- sets me back about $25. Hotel breakfasts are hit-and-miss; sometimes the poached egg comes set in a cereal bowl with 1/2 cup of warmish water, other times it's perched on a slab of Texas toast soaked in margarine. There are always home fries, even if you don't order them. I often succumb to the temptation of the little packet of Kraft peanut butter.
This is followed by the aforementioned set lunch, of which I ususally eat three bites, then find myself at the airport and starving, truly one of the modern food lover's worst predicaments. I won't even go into the atrocities sold as "food" at airports; you've been there, you've been humiliated by a $10 sandwich filled with 25 g of turkey , a softened piece of iceberg and a triangle of cheese-product. And that's better than the food you can buy on board.
We try to find a half-decent place for a cheap dinner (the company gives us a whopping $50/day for all meals and after that breakfast I'm down to $25). More often we just want a salad and a shitload of booze. Somehow travelling makes you so so tired. But then sleeping in hotel beds is perpetually uneasy-making. Thank heavens the two of us get along like bacon and eggs.
Travelling for work sounds oh so glamourous and fun, but consider this schedule: get up at 6am in a less-than-luxurious hotel, try to grab a workout on a crappy hotel treadmill, put on your game face for 5 hours chatting to guests and making a dynamic (ha) presentation that you've already done 12 times, eat the same lunch of the same 20 items (but you have to eat everything so the guests think you like it all), speed to the airport for a 2pm flight, arrive in the next city by 5pm, check into yet another hotel, grab some dinner, drink too much, sleep too little and wake up and do it all over again the next day.
Naturally, for me the worst part is the food. I can't go on stage without breakfast, and when I'm stuck in a hotel my standard -- 1 soft-poached egg, whole wheat toast, tea and OJ -- sets me back about $25. Hotel breakfasts are hit-and-miss; sometimes the poached egg comes set in a cereal bowl with 1/2 cup of warmish water, other times it's perched on a slab of Texas toast soaked in margarine. There are always home fries, even if you don't order them. I often succumb to the temptation of the little packet of Kraft peanut butter.
This is followed by the aforementioned set lunch, of which I ususally eat three bites, then find myself at the airport and starving, truly one of the modern food lover's worst predicaments. I won't even go into the atrocities sold as "food" at airports; you've been there, you've been humiliated by a $10 sandwich filled with 25 g of turkey , a softened piece of iceberg and a triangle of cheese-product. And that's better than the food you can buy on board.
We try to find a half-decent place for a cheap dinner (the company gives us a whopping $50/day for all meals and after that breakfast I'm down to $25). More often we just want a salad and a shitload of booze. Somehow travelling makes you so so tired. But then sleeping in hotel beds is perpetually uneasy-making. Thank heavens the two of us get along like bacon and eggs.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Food for the Sick
A new development: in the past few weeks my computer desk has become my eating space. I've been writing lots, sure, but I discovered this little thing known as tv on the internet, and now I'm as likely to be writing as watching an episode of Mad Men. Meals just naturally happen here (such as they are... herewith leftover quinoa, yellow beans and tofu with fried onions eaten with a cereal spoon and an Anchor Steam beer). I'll try to keep the crumbs out of the keyboard, but I'm more worried now than ever that I'm becoming a loner geek.
It doesn't help that I spent the entire long weekend quarantined in the apartment with a bout of strep throat. Searing pain on swallowing, throbbing pain in the throat at all times, headaches and a rollercoaster fever meant I had lots of time for tv and movie watching. But not for eating; the worst part is barely being able to swallow. Last time I had strep I survived on Cream of Wheat, applesauce and room temperature licorice tea for 7 days.
So, starving and needing food to help the antibiotics go down, and knowing that swallowing anything chunkier than hand lotion was an impossibility, I busted out my 14-year old and still kicking Braun hand blender and puréed the mason jar of chunky chicken soup Mary-Elizabeth had brought me. (She also brought dvds to put an end to the unfortunate Chuck Norris marathon I had been reduced to watching on tv.) That purée and a few litres of homemade ginger tea kept me alive on Saturday. Lucky me, Sunday brought 2 handsome men, one with more chunky chicken soup and season 2 of Rome and the other with eggs and Marsala for zabaglione. (I still can't decide who I love more.) But may I recommend zabaglione as the ultimate food for the sick. Its sweet, boozy frothiness comforts all wounds and takes the edge off to boot.
By Monday night I was ready for and craving solid food. Kate had brought the perfect thing: 2 of her homemade garlic-herb sausages. Yes, bless her culinarily enterprising soul, she makes her own sausages and they are tremendous (her kitchen adventures put me to shame and I love it). I roasted and sliced them then sautéed lots of garlic in olive oil, added 2 of my freshly crushed Roman chilies, a head of steamed Swiss chard, the sausages and the rest of a bottle of white wine. Served over my new favourite, utterly swallowable ultra-smooth polenta and now I'm back in business.
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