I am on a hiatus of sorts. My writings are likely going to travel to other dimensions, not strictly related to food & a life of (un) luxury but more explorations of music, movement, and meanderings to which I will direct you. Please do be well.
All my best
Allison
French fried potatoes are by far one of my most favorite foods. The control you have over the shape of the potato, the crispness, the saltiness. Most restaurants do it poorly, some don’t do it enough, some don’t deliver them to me, which makes me sad in my moments of loneliness and stomachachiness. So I decided to do them myself. Start with the perfect French fry recipe, take it as it comes, eat and be merry.
But I’m the only person cooking for me. So I made with one Idaho potato. And I didn’t realize I had less than a quart of oil when I poured it into the preheating Dutch oven with my brandy new candy thermometer. Oh well, I thought—I’ll fry in small batches.
And amazingly it worked, though I was so impatient I fried in only two batches. Did you know the secret to making your own French fries is to fry them once, let them drain, then fry them again after they’ve cooled down a bit? Oh, and let’s not forget le petit secret ingredient, the presoaking of the cut potatoes. I soaked for an hour an a half, God suggests a half a day. But when you’re God you can probably get French fries whenever you like, eh?
My mortality gives me the pleasure of making much better French fries than half of Manhattan. Eat it, and weep. (You can pay me to make you your next batch. Or I accept by method of bartering. Things like freshly roasted batches of coffee beans and hand molded chocolate bars.)
Note: The above image is a picture of the fries with a little hand-doodling. Brings a whole new meaning to “handmade.”
You don’t know Jersey diners until you’ve had cheese & cinnamon bread to begin your meal. Mastoris Diner is the diner to beat all diners. While it was the scene of my second to last serious boyfriend breakup, it will always have a place in my heart as the place to go when I need a serious meal. While size doesn’t mean better or tastier, I can’t say I’ve ever had a terrible meal there. Their French fries are big wedges of potatoey goodness, large, rectangular, and crispy on the outside, soft mashed potato inside. Homemade breads (including a fantastic Texas toast which they serve grilled cheese on. And they even have a bowl of fresh strawberries with whipped cream on the menu; albeit for $4.95, but you pretty much get a pound of strawberries and a cup of whipped cream. Always come hungry.
Mastoris Diner
144 Highway 130
Bordentown, NJ
Last week I conjured up a four course meal for my brother and his wife as a delayed Christmas present. They’d already drank their special red wine I bought especially for the meal (from Italian Wine Merchants), but had only used half the bottle of exquisite extra virgin olive oil. The can of oil packed tuna still lingered in their cabinet, but since it’s summer, I figured it could sit for an extra couple months. This day begged for fresh fish.
I scheduled the date with them and waited until the night before to prepare the menu. I didn’t write down any recipes, but brainstormed ingredients and techniques a la Jamie Oliver—for a little inspiration. Proudly, without following anyone’s procedures, I devised four courses, and barreled my way through the Union Square Greenmarket, cash in hand.
And the results? (Keep in mind they did not have a working fridge at the time.)
Italian gazpacho [beefsteak tomatoes, yellow tomatoes, heirloom cherry tomatoes, basil, garlic, pine nuts, sun-dried tomatoes, salt, pepper, a pinch of cayenne]
deep-fried Sicilian chickpea crackeres with parsley and oregano, topped with lemon ricotta and kalamata olives [chickpea flour, water, Italian parsley, oregano, salt pepper; ricotta, lemon zest, lemon juice; chopped kalamata olives]
Germanic.
I want to learn German. I’ve tried. I took a year of it in college. A boyfriend bought me a Get Fluent In German Quick 12-CD set (which solidified the fact I would never get through it all). He always used to remind me that I had it and that he spent a lot of money on it. Because the higher the price, the more guilty I’m supposed to feel about it, right?
The Germans have the salty and meaty sausages, the large plates of food, the 32 ounce glasses replete with the beverage I didn’t drink until this past summer. They have the cute-or-gay men, you can either be a brunette or blonde, even the girls who speak in German sound like they have a major attitude. In black and white everyone looks good, everyone looks interesting (ever see Wings of Desire?). And also, in Germany, most people know English. So I feel even closer.
But when you hear a language and know it’s made for you, you just want to learn it. Oh, but I guess English, Italian, French, and Chinese all fit the bill, since I have books on learning them all. (Yes, I count English since I’m sure I have a youngin-type picture book somewhere in my stacks.) I’d give this to my list of new year’s resolutions, but 1-10 are already filled with the push to be more patient. And since I’m trying to be more patient, maybe German will have to wait until June or July.
So… you can’t hold me accountable to this. Just call me Frau Hemler by the end of 2010.