A hasty re-Tweet

It's determined: I'm a good eater, bad blogger. I'm not somebody who thinks every nugget that pops into my head is a winner, and when I do have a tasty tidbit it's always too much work to dress it up for public consumption. But you know what I suck at less? Twitter. 140 characters, I can manage. Check me out: @MLabrise. I've been posting about where to eat, what to eat and good food writing to read.

The best fried bananas in the world:

Yes, that's a giant vat of boiling oil in the middle of a boat. At what must be floating market rush hour, the canal gets jammed with these boats, their skippers poking and hooking the others with long curved sticks (pulling potential customers closer, of course). You know, I just need a solid hour to sit down and write about all the sensual aspects of it: the shouts, the miasma of fried and boiled deliciousness, the sound of water lapping at the stone steps. At this rate I'll be back to Thailand before I deliver the promised blog post.

In the meantime, I've joined Twitter. 140 characters a pop? I can commit. Check me out: @MLabrise.

Southeast Asian Adventure

My Southeast Asian Adventure column is still on newsstands... until tonight. But you can always check it out at Dinehudsonvalley.com. I'll post more photos—and write down all the foodstuffs that couldn't fit/potentially calls for expletives—soon. What a place to eat! If you ever have the chance: go.

Upside down/Boy, you turn me

Pretty much anything can be turned into an upside-down cake. I've made fennel and cherry and pineapple, of course; rhubarb, too. I'm usually a banana bread-maker, but after a particularly tedious recipe from that huge, green Gourmet Today cookbook that called for sifting the cake flour (seriously?), I retreated to my old steady, Lucinda's Authentic Jamaican Kitchen. Lucinda's Jamaican Banana Cake recipe is spot-on. This woman gets around: she's also the author of Lucinda's Rustic Italian Kitchen.

To make any cake recipe an upside-down cake recipe, discard any instructions for a topping. These are the instructions:

1. Get a cast-iron skillet (10-inch pref.).
2. Pour sugar all over it, covered with pats of butter.
Alternately: Pour melted butter all over it and then douse with sugar.
Or even: Mix up softened butter and sugar in a bowl and then spackle it all over the pan.
3. Slice up your fruit and arrange it on the butter-sugar in a decorative pattern of your choosing. Concentric circles are truly fancy.

With bananas, they're going to brown if you leave them all exposed and sitting out like they're waiting at a bus station. Make your cake batter first; follow the recipe. Then: BANANATIME. Slice them, throw (i.e. gently place) them in the pan and top them with dollops of cake batter. The dollop bit is important. If you try to spread and smear your cake batter on top of the fruit, you will ruin your dainty handiwork. Dollop, and then gently even out the batter.

Throw (i.e. set) it in the oven at 300-325 degrees F until it smells really good.

I had some fancy bananas, so they came out yellow and purple. Thank God I happened to have a yellow-and-purple plate handy. (But I ended up eating 1/3 of it with my hand, anyway, so it's not like it had to look nice for company.)

Three years, three million calories

Maybe 3 million calories is a little hyperbolic. That would be 2,740 calories a day for the last three years. Sure, there have been some 2,740-calorie days—I'm one of those people who measures the success of a Thanksgiving dinner in sticks of butter—but, by and large, I'm your average girl. Your average Hudson Valley print journalist food columnist girl, who will pretty much eat anything and everything* in the name of newsprint: seared scallops, food-cart tacos, snake, eel, cricket, umeboshi, live clams, raw potatoes, Brussels sprouts and habaneros by the handful.

Dan Barton, editor and friend, began this blog in 2007 in response to a request to get my column, "Small Potatoes," up on the company website (Ulsterpublishing.com). I ended it abruptly in July 2007 when the column finally got put on the company website. I apologize to the 3-7 people who actually read it/noticed I stopped posting. I will make amends by offering the first reader to return to this blog three ice pops from Zora Dora Paletaria next summer, my treat. If you live on the West Coast, I will buy you a delicious microbrew; Malaysia, a crunchy scorpion on a stick.

Why should you trust me this time? Well, our company is working on a new website featuring links to writers' blogs and I'm conspicuously missing from the foodie list. I do eat, drink and participate in a great number of Hudson Valley food events, and not everything makes it into the column. Perhaps this will be a forum for those recipes, restaurant recommendations, seasonal produce scores, tips and tricks that never make it into print.

Speaking of: I am loving the TuthillHouse at the Mill Restaurant in Gardiner. Go, and order the osso buco. I'm planning to give all the delicious details in a forthcoming column.

Thanks for reading. See you soon—I promise.

Megan

*Not brains.

Back to good

I’m only half Italian but it’s the half with which I identify. During my first six years of life, we lived in Howard Beach, an all-Italian neighborhood ten minutes from JFK International. I learned to speak there, adding “cannoli,” “ricotta” and “sfogliatelle” to my lexicon a decade before I’d be able to spell them (“What’s ‘manicotti’?” I asked my fifth grade teacher on a school trip to the Elmsford Dinner Theater. I knew it only as “managawt.”). When my mother wasn’t cooking x parmesan, we ate greasy triangles of Gino’s pizza, mussels and clams with white wine, butter and garlic sauce, and thirty flavors of Italian ice. Bakeries and delis abounded, sandwiching jewelry stores selling 14K gold Cornu necklaces to protect us all from the “evil eye.” I learned to tie my shoe at Our Lady of Grace Catholic preschool, and the first famous person I ever saw was our neighbor John Gotti.

It took some time to get adjusted to Marlboro, which is where we moved on my first day of first grade, but it wasn’t a total culture shock. We had Pizza Town and the Marlboro Bakery, which best captured the old world flavor and personal touch to which we were accustomed, and many last names still ended in vowels. When I left for college on the west coast, however, I was plumb out of luck. I stayed for six years, writing letters back to family in Brooklyn and Queens, detailing my efforts to find cannoli—or just one, any one, not even a good one—in the State of Oregon. Aunt Tess, the family matriarch who still lives in Canarsie, had a suggestion about how to change my luck. “Move back,” she said. “There’s no place like New York.”

Aunt Tess was right. Shortly after moving back, my luck changed. One element in the quest to get back to good was the discovery of Mama Theresa’s Italian Specialties at 357 Old Forge Hill Road in New Windsor, just north of the five corners, right off of Route 32.

Opened in December 2001, the deli is owned and operated by the DeStefano Family, former restaurateurs from Brooklyn who offer the closest thing to a New York City Italian deli experience this side of the five boroughs. Smoked mozzarellas hang over multiple counters stuffed with Boar’s Head cold cuts and Land o’ Lakes cheeses, prepared salads, take-out entrees and fresh ground meats. Fresh mozzarellas, salted and unsalted, are made every two hours and cannoli are made to order, the cream hand-piped into a plain or chocolate-covered shell as you wait. Forget Maine—this is the way life should be.

The colorful rows of imported Italian canned goods, clear jars of pickled vegetables and roasted red peppers and the smells of spiced meats, garlic and oregano at the counter, crowded with workers waiting to take your order, are enough to give you sensory overload. For novices, I suggest you begin with one of Mama Theresa’s stupendous hero sandwiches—the main reason for my two-pound weight gain during this week’s column research.

Heroes come in three sizes for three reasonable prices: roll ($5.95), mini hero ($6.50) or hero ($7.45). The roll is definitely enough to satisfy on a lunch break; the mini hero will leave you stuffed and the full-sized hero should not be attempted by anyone with a heart condition or difficulties lifting heavy objects. Do not be fooled by their clever names and invitingly colored abundant meats—these are serious sandwiches.

My favorite is the “Napoletano,” a cornucopia of prosciutto, sopressata, ham, fresh mozzarella, fresh roasted peppers, lettuce, tomato and homestyle Italian dressing. The balance of salty prosciutto, tangy sopressata and sweet ham is perfection, wrapped in thick soft Italian bread. I give my 100 percent guarantee that nobody can dislike this sandwich—except, perhaps, a vegetarian.

Though I grew up associating “vegetarian” with “picky eater,” I am working on building a bridge of understanding between our worlds. Happily, vegetarians will find several options on the heroes list and, yes, I even tried one. I had the “Italian Princess” on a roll and, I must say, the flavors are so complete that I forgot I was eating a meatless main course. The sandwich consists of marinated eggplant, roasted red peppers, provolone, sun-dried tomatoes, lettuce and tomato. I recommend substituting the house-made mozzarella for the provolone because that cheese is so subtle and satisfying that it would be a crime to pass up the opportunity. The marinated eggplant, which is the other star of this show, has a sharp taste of garlic and a whiff of brine that is countered by the soft mozzarella.

“One Hot Italian” is hot capicola, spicy sopressatta, prosciutto, Genoa salami, fresh mozzarella, roasted peppers, onions and Italian dressing. It’s not too spicy at all, but that doesn’t mean it’s not intimidating. The solid cross-section of meat sans vegetables, wearing a mozzarella hat, may be overwhelming to some. Even if you love meat as much as I do, this one will have you done for the day.

I suggest washing these down with a San Pellegrino Aranciata, an airy orange soda that lifts the palate and easily settles the stomach after a cold cut bonanza. For dessert, Manhattan Special pure espresso coffee soda offers a deep flavor and sweet twist on the traditional after meal drink. If you are one of the fortunate few blessed with a “dessert stomach,” an alternative storage space for sweet things even though you’re full to the gills, don’t forget to try fresh cannoli ($2.25/ea. large), covered in powdered sugar. Or you could always take the cannoli…to go.

Megan Labrise

(Orig. pub. date: July 3, 2007)

Baking speaks louder than words

When my friend’s father passed away unexpectedly last week, I didn’t know what to do. Even though I currently make my living with words, they fail me when called upon for clarity and sobriety. I’m not much of a philosopher and writing a sympathy card becomes a tall order, even though my sentiments are true. So, instead of attempting to express my sympathy through sullen words, I decided to bake.

When I was younger and a relative, friend or neighbor passed away, my mother would make a long heavy tray of eggplant parmesan to take over to the immediate family of the deceased. Everyone else in our neighborhood made lasagna, which is the classic selection, though it tends to grow tiresome midway through the third tray and excludes the rare but real Italian vegetarian, who must then scavenge for breadsticks and salad. I liked how my mother put in extra effort to prepare an inclusive dish.

The early example of food as a conveyance of sympathy and support stuck with me. I considered making eggplant parmesan for my friend at first, but logistics vetoed the impulse. I had to take public transportation down to Staten Island and thought a large disposable aluminum tray might be a little unwieldy for the long voyage. By comparison, breads, loaf cakes, muffins and other hearty baked goods could weather the Oregon Trail. Dessert foods also appeal to a broad spectrum, especially during times when there are more important things to worry about than caloric content.

I settled on a recent family favorite adapted from a traditional recipe: Mexican Chocolate Cake. The dense, dark confection has a complex taste that transcends traditional chocolaty sweetness with hints of cinnamon and orange. It contains coffee, a natural chocolate flavor enhancer, which may be used in lieu of vanilla extract in chocolate chip cookies, with palpable results.

Thinking of my friend, I began to bake with ritualistic concentration, preheating the oven to 350, evenly greasing the loaf pan and dusting it with rich brown cocoa powder, fine talc which felt silky on the pads of my fingers when I pressed them together. For the double recipe batch, I placed an obscene amount of butter in a warm saucepan, stirring gently until the most stubborn chunks had melted into submission. I combined the wet ingredients, then the dry. When both were united, a bag’s worth of dark chocolate chips rained down and was swiftly incorporated. The batter was extremely fragrant, the heady note of orange extract sustained over a symphony of butter, flour and chocolate.

While the cake baked, I packed my bag for the long weekend. While it cooled, I had dinner with my parents, which was a special privilege in light of my friend’s sad news. Though I try to be grateful for what I have each day, tragedy always enhances my appreciation. I wrapped the cake in wax paper, foil and three layers of plastic before placing it in my bag and heading for the train.

I trundled the cake down to Manhattan, to spend the night with another friend. We awoke at six o’clock the next morning in order to make it to the funeral on time. My host friend, the cake and I took the A train, the J train and a shuttle to the Staten Island Ferry, where we stood on the bow as we slowly made our way south, past the Statue of Liberty, the bay breeze whipping our long hair across our faces. We took the Staten Island Railroad ten stops south, to where our friend was waiting for us.

The cake did not make its appearance for a long time. The family met at the funeral home; a brave sister gave a well-composed and moving speech; the priest said Catholic mass in a thick Hispanic accent; I watched my friend, his pinstripe-suited back to us, the last one to linger at his father’s grave. Everyone met at an Italian restaurant afterward; my other friend, vegetarian, ordered eggplant parmesan. After a car ride down to the Jersey Shore, we were hungry once more. I made you a cake, I told my friend and his mother, who had invited us to her summer home to unwind. We had it later with tall glasses of cold milk, a brief reprieve from the long weekend.


Mexican Chocolate Cake

1 c. unsalted butter
1/2 c. Ghirardelli unsweetened cocoa powder
1/2 c. water
1/4 c. strong brewed coffee
2 c. sugar
2 eggs
1/2 c. buttermilk
2 tsp. vanilla extract
2 c. all-purpose flour
1 tsp. baking soda
2 tsp. cinnamon
1/2 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. orange extract
6 oz. Hershey’s Special Dark chocolate chips

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Grease loaf pan and dust with cocoa powder.

Melt the butter completely in a saucepan and transfer it to a large mixing bowl. Add cocoa powder and whisk until smooth. Add water and coffee, sugar (I recommend going scant.), eggs, buttermilk, vanilla extract and orange extract, whisking thoroughly after each ingredient is introduced.

In a separate mixing bowl, blend flour, baking soda, cinnamon and salt. Dry ingredients may be sifted, but I prefer mixing with a spoon for a denser cake. Gradually add dry ingredients to wet ingredients, stirring until smooth. Add chocolate chips and blend gently. Once all ingredients are united, pour the batter into the prepared loaf pan, filling approximately halfway. Bake for approximately 55-60 minutes, until the cake’s top springs back when touched or a toothpick comes out clean or with minimal crumbs when inserted into the cake’s middle.

Any additional batter can be poured into cupcake liners placed in muffin tins and baked for approximately 20 minutes.

Megan Labrise

(Orig. pub. date: June 20, 2007)