Get outta town

When my friend Rachael announced she was getting married, we were all a bit shocked. Sitting here at a crumbling Mac laptop in Seattle, waiting to pick up our friend from London at the airport, I’m still reeling. She’ll be the first of our college clique to tie the knot, after a yearlong whirlwind romance with a tall, dark and gangly man she met through mutual friends a few years after college. He does seem kind and he’s from New York, so he’s got at least two things going for him. I’ll be throwing the bachelorette party later in the week — a three-hour cheese and wine tasting at a fancy shop in Portland, Ore., in a private room overlooking a garden that should be in full bloom. I eschew traditional gag gifts and awkward encounters with adult entertainers, so I thought this might be a nice alternative. Rachael does love cheese.

After the wedding, I’m packing up the vestiges of my West Coast life and driving them back to the Hudson Valley in my car, which has been in storage for the better part of eight months. I enjoy road trips and all they entail: speeding down an open highway; watching the scenery change from verdant hills to rocky mountains; even the obligatory window washing every 200-300 miles. But most of all, as you might imagine, I enjoy making my way from diner to dive to drive-thru across the U.S.A. There’s no better way to see how the other half eats.

In that spirit, I thought I’d profile two little eateries beyond my usual half-hour radius for the next couple of columns. They’re both good enough to serve as end destinations on mini-road trips if you're looking for a local adventure; also, you never know when you might find yourself in Ellenville, let’s say, hungry for some of the best borscht you can find this side of the Crimean Mountains. Coincidentally, I just happen to know of such a place.

The glow of the golden arches across from European Deli at 54 North Main St. (Route 209) in Ellenville may cause those not in the know to overlook it. It is a rather plain pinkish building with a quick-stop mart look to it but, as usual, its appearance is deceiving. Behind its glass doors lies a rather comprehensive stock of eastern European groceries, a meat counter heaped with kielbasa and wursts of all shapes and colors, and bronzed baked goods, like Danish rings teeming with heavy pastry cheese. Behind the register are letter boards with an eat-in/take-out menu and hand-lettered signs boasting the specials of the day. In the middle of the room, heavy mauve tablecloths top small tables, perfect for two or three.

I recommend you start the meal with a bowl of Ukrainian red borscht ($2). This stellar version of the hearty soup gets its vibrant color and sweet finish from heaps of shredded beets. The addition of celery, potato, cabbage, carrot, parsley and fresh dill adds variety in texture and color, keeping every bite exciting. While borscht is usually topped off with a dollop of strong sour cream to balance the sweetness of the beets, the little white cap is absent from this bowl. However, judging by the color, it appeared to me that the sour cream was pre-mixed in, which would account for the balance of flavors in this dish. Borscht is served with a thick-crusted hard roll, buttered generously but not overwhelmingly, excellent for dipping.

The Polish Platter ($6.95) is the main event, a sampling of European Deli’s finest that’s big enough for two. It includes: four fried pierogies, traditional dumplings with a mashed potato filling dotted with pepper flakes; two short kielbasa links, bisected and fried until red and golden brown; one cabbage roll, filled with a mixture of beef, pork and rice, and smothered with a smooth thick tomato-based sauce topped with a sprig of fresh dill. There is also a generous pile of tangy sauerkraut, mixed with tomato sauce and chunks of kielbasa, a true improvement on the norm.

For those with smaller appetites, kielbasa and sauerkraut on a roll ($3.50) is a meal unto itself, served with a bright green mild dill pickle. The roll is the same crusty spheroid served with borscht; it stands its ground against sauerkraut and as much spicy deli mustard as you can stand.

If you’re in the mood for something sweeter, cheese blintzes with fresh strawberries ($6.55) are supernal. Completely covered in powdered sugar, these rolled crepe-like pancakes are crispy on top, soft and yielding on the bottom, and filled with a dense cheese topped with an even line of strawberry halves. They are at once savory and sweet, flavors that fuse when a bite of blintz melts in your mouth.

After a meal here, I take 44/55 back home, lazily wending my way south through the mountains, past Lake Minnewaska. The scenery is gorgeous and I find the hour-long drive is the perfect amount of time to digest.

Megan Labrise

(Orig. pub. date: April 25, 2007)

Can’t mess with the best

It’s two steps up and one step back in time. While Pete’s Hot Dogs at 293 S. Williams Street in Newburgh has certainly changed over the course of 67 years of operation, its philosophy of providing in-and-out service for Newburgh’s hot dog fans is timeless but not modern.

Opened in 1940 by Pete Orsino, the interior of the original location evokes an era absolutely no later than the ‘60s. To the right is the counter, behind which stands a team of several no-nonsense employees whose mission is to relay and assemble lunch orders in seconds, with an efficiency today’s fast food service workers can only dream about. At the end of the counter are four tall stools facing a wall adorned with hot dog art —caricatures of anthropomorphic Valentine’s Day hot dogs in love and one St. Patrick’s Day hot dog with a shamrock bun. To the left are four small tables, over which hangs a portrait of Pete himself. With his thick-rimmed black glasses and warm features, he looks like the grandfather you always wished you had.

But ambiance isn’t what this place is about — it’s about sheer hot dog perfection. It’s also about tradition. When you’re young, it’s a place your parents take you after a successful Little League game; when grown, you can stop by on lunch in a business suit and tie or a Carhartt worksuit smeared with oil. You move away and it’s the first place you stop on your way back in to town to visit relatives. It’s an honest-to-God institution.

I do know it crossed my mind from time to time on plane flights back from college — but enough of my misty-eyed reminiscences. It’s OK if you haven’t got a sentimental bone in your body as long as you appreciate a great hot dog.

Contrary to historical belief, Pete’s is no longer serving up its staple Temple Hill hot dogs. Unfortunately, Newburgh Meat Packing, main distributor of the delicious Temple Hill “snappy dogs,” went out of business, cutting off the convenient supply of the original signature dish. In hot dog lingo, snappers are natural casing hot dogs that snap when you bite into them. The new supplier is Boar’s Head and, while they’re still technically snappers, there are some notable differences. First off, these Boar’s Head all-beef frankfurters don’t snap back. However, the natural casing does retain moisture that keeps the dogs hot and juicy. One critical patron at the table behind me noted that Boar’s Head dogs are “greasier” than Temple Hill’s, but I’ll just say they’re “juicier.” (I’m a people-pleaser.) No matter what the terminology, there’s no debunking the fact that the Boar’s Head dogs are still delicious and, all things considered, an excellent choice for a replacement.

Pete’s hot dogs ($1.43 each) are made to order, served on soft white steamed buns. There are five numbered varieties up on the board: 1. Mustard & Kraut; 2. Chili; 3. Texas; 4. New York; 5. Mustard & Relish. Order by name or number — doesn’t matter. There are brief descriptions after the more complex dog types to help you keep their differences straight. For example, Chili is smothered in a hot bean sauce and Texas is topped with mild meat sauce. New York is covered with tangy sautéed red onions, like traditional “onions in sauce,” if you buy them at the grocery store, but with bigger slices and peppery spices. Though New York is my hands-down favorite, I always order one Texas and one New York and let the flavors duke it out in my mouth. Once again, it may just be my bias talking, but I think the zesty New York wins every time.

For those who seek a little extra zip, spicy or otherwise, toppings (37 cents each) are: bacon bits, raw onions, salsa, cheese, relish and a new addition, jalapeño slices. Diced raw onion is classic on its own and has no trouble pairing with anything: in particular, it gives Texas sauce its missing edge. The cheese is of the molten orange-yellow variety, bad for you but oh-so-good on chili. The jalapeno slices are bold; shamefully, I had to remove one or two from my chili double dog.

Speaking of the double dog ($2.50), this magnificent creation is not simply twin hot dogs laid side by side for a slight price reduction — oh, no no no. Nay, it is the double-decker bus of the hot dog world, with two franks sharing the same bun, a firmer, crustier roll that accommodates the additional dog and extra toppings. While I like the classic steamed bun best, the double dog bun does not yield as quickly to chili and cheese.

To wet your whistle, sodas ($1.16) are petite, but enough to wash down two dogs, easy. One of the most popular flavors is “white cream,” the clear cousin of the amber-colored cream soda we’re more familiar with. As opposed to traditional, which is, well, “creamier” — white cream is lighter on the palate, almost like seltzer with the bitter aftertaste swapped for a sweet one. There’s also root beer, Pepsi, diet and 7Up to choose from, as well as a panoply of unexpected potables, like orange juice ($1.16) or hot tea (68 cents).

In an attempt to get as much information as possible for this column, I did try one of the dessert plate-sized homemade chocolate chip cookies (83 cents), which tasted like the cookies I used to bake with my mother when I was a little girl. Like those cookies, this, too, was pretty dry, but had a nice vanilla flavor that develops after a brief chew. I got the impression that this cookie would be perfect for dunking in chocolate milk (83 cents). But, again, it ain’t “Pete’s Chocolate Chip Cookies” for a reason.

Lays and Ruffles potato chip snack bags are also available (65 cents each). See above.

While the menu is exclusive, the atmosphere is anything but. Pete’s isn’t snobby — it’s straightforward. Your order will pretty much be taken immediately and served up almost as quickly (unless you’re on a cell phone — and fair enough!). The 15-minute parking signs on the street in front of the building do encourage high turnover but, hey, how long do you need? I find that’s the perfect amount of time to order one Texas, one New York and sip a white cream soda with Pete.

Megan Labrise
(Orig. pub. date: April 11, 2007)

Happy Tamales Day!

Holidays have never really been my thing. Fireworks make me jump; Christmas shopping in packed malls makes me frantic and driving on Labor Day weekend gives me agita. I think mothers, fathers and veterans should be given deference year-round; and I don’t really know the difference between Arbor Day and Earth Day.

The obvious exception to this rule is Thanksgiving, for its large scale embrace of many enjoyable food-related gerunds: baking, roasting, stuffing, sautéing, slicing, mincing, serving, eating, drinking, etc. While I am consistently thankful for family, friends and country, it is the singular time each year when it’s appropriate to fete these things with butter. Last Thanksgiving alone, I used 14 sticks for 12 guests. Surely, it was what the Pilgrims had in mind.

In recent months, however, my holiday repertoire has expanded by one. I, along with my family, now celebrate the weekly observance of Tamales Day. Most Saturdays, we make a pilgrimage across the Mid-Hudson Bridge that ends at Tacocina, 1585 Route 9 in Wappingers Falls — home of the best tamales in the Hudson Valley, bar none.

Tacocina, owned by Cesar Navarro, is a family-run business that’s two in one. In front, it’s a grocery store filled with Latin American comestibles and ingredients, including a good selection of dried chiles in bulk. Tucked in back, there is a small restaurant consisting of a kitchen and stainless service counter where you can place orders for authentic Mexican meals. The area in front of the counter is adorned with red, white and green garlands, a hand-painted mural and pictures of the Mexican World Cup team, which stand out against the soft yellow walls. There are several tables at which you may eat or watch Spanish-language television while waiting for your take out.

The restaurant’s daily fare includes burritos, chiles rellenos, tortas and tacos, of course. Once Saturday comes, however, the family matriarch appears to lead the production of the hundreds of tamales it takes to make Tamales Day the happiest day of the week for Tacocina’s patrons. My younger brother lived in Oaxaca for three months and reports that their food, specifically the tamales, is the closest you can get to his home away from home without making the trip yourself.

For those who are not yet familiar with these delicious treats, a brief introduction: tamales is the plural of tamal, which is a butter-like mass of masa (dough), made from masa harina (finely ground cornmeal flour) and water, spread on a corn husk and topped length-wise with a line of sweet or savory filling. The husk is then folded over, surrounding the filling with masa and encapsulating the whole in the husk. It is then steam-cooked until the tamal has a dense cake-like consistency.

Tacocina serves five different types of tamales, both savory and sweet, for $1.50 each. Fillings of the former are: verde, with pork in green sauce; rajas, with jalapeños, onion, tomato and cheese; and mole, with chicken. The smokiness of mole, a dark brown sauce made from dried chile peppers, spices and Mexican chocolate, is a perfect complement to the rich masa. Verde’s blend of green chiles makes it a spicier selection, served with slow-cooked pieces of pork that are velvety on the tongue. Chiles in the rajas tamales also have a kick to them, which is muted only slightly by melted white cheese. For those who crave additional spice abatement, I suggest a tall cold glass of horchata, a blend of milk, rice, sugar and spice that is almost like rice pudding in liquid form.

The two types of dulce, or sweet, tamales are: piña, with chunks of pineapple, and the bright pink dulce, filled with large swollen raisins. Though I prefer raisin in general, mouthfuls of these piña tamales taste almost like pineapple upside down cake. There are also several non-tamales desserts to choose from, all made on premises. Try the dense rich flan Napolitano, $1.99, made from the family recipe.

For that matter, there are many non-tamales options for lunch and dinner, too. As one might imagine, their tacos, also at $1.50 each, are extremely popular. Tacocina is a play on “taco kitchen” — cocina is Spanish for kitchen, my friend tells me; I took French. And, yes, you should follow the rule: if you’re going to Jeff’s Clam Shack, order the clams; at Big Mel’s Pork Rind Heaven, get the pork rinds, even if it seems counterintuitive. Thus, you should not leave Tacocina without trying the tacos.

They come in 10 meaty varieties, each heap of filling nestled on doubled-up round floppy corn tortillas with cilantro confetti, garnished with disks of crisp radish, a slow-cooked leek bulb and slices of lime. For the middle-of-the-road diner, I recommend al pastor (spicy pork) and shredded pollo (chicken, pronounced “poy-o”) tacos, topped with either of the two spicy homemade salsas, red or green. Adventurous types can try lengua (beef tongue) or cabeza (head), though I admit that both are a little too exotic for my palate.

The tamales, however, are a sure bet. Try a few onsite and get some to take home. They refrigerate and freeze well, and can easily be steamed back into their original, delicious form. Until next time, I wish you all a very happy Tamales Day.

Megan Labrise

(Orig. pub. date: March 28, 2007)

This is how I roll

The closest I’ve ever come to dying was in a sushi restaurant.

It was my senior year at a small liberal arts college in Portland, Oregon. I’d just finished the first chapter of my thesis and had taken two friends out to celebrate at our favorite Japanese restaurant — locally known for its behemoth-sized sushi rolls, over-stuffed with fresh fish and vegetables and very nicely priced. I had a horrid head cold from running myself ragged researching; I was coughing when the food arrived and, apparently, wasn’t swallowing well. After eating only a few pieces of sushi safely, I somehow managed to lodge the entirety of a spicy tuna roll in my windpipe.

When you are choking to death, at least in my experience, your life does not flash before your eyes. Instead, you sputter a bit, make the international sign for choking, get up from the table and stagger around like Frankenstein, all while being acutely embarrassed. “Well, this is mortifying,” I thought, as a nice young businessman on a first date got up to perform the Heimlich maneuver, and ended up punching me in the solar plexus. The situation was finally resolved when I reached down my own throat and pulled out a never-ending strand of nori (seaweed), much to the disgust of a quartet of white-haired ladies at the next table.

“Are you OK?” the businessman asked in a booming voice. His date swooned.

For those of you who may have been scared to try sushi in the past, I offer my wholehearted endorsement: be afraid; be very afraid. However, do not fear its “slimy texture” or “overpowering fishy smell” or the chance of publicly identifying yourself as an individual with sub-par chopsticking skills. If the sushi is properly prepared, the first two objections will not apply; it is also acceptable to eat sushi by hand if chopsticks just aren’t your thing. Instead, fear the addiction that may develop, potentially resulting in hazardous situations similar to the one described above.

Even though it was almost my undoing, I am still addicted to sushi. Growing up in the Hudson Valley, I never tried it — in fact, I never thought to try it, as the places where one could find it were few and far between. Today, I’m a full-fledged fanatic and, luckily, sushi abounds: you can even find decent take-out sushi trays nested between milk and bread in shopping carts at Price Chopper. For excellent sushi and overall experience, the best place to go is Tokyo Sushi on Main Street in New Paltz — my new favorite lunch destination.

What separates Tokyo Sushi from its sushi-peers is a combination of atmosphere, service, selection, and, of course, quality of food. On the outside, its red awnings blend in with those of neighboring businesses; on the inside, it stands out. Without being pretentious, Tokyo Sushi complements classic décor, such as wooden lanterns with painted paper inserts, with fresh flowers (miniature mums and dianthus on tables; orchids lining the storefront window) and Japanese artifacts. There are 12 tables for restaurant-style dining, plus a small five-seat bar at which patrons may watch the chef form their sushi with perpetually moving plastic-gloved hands. The chefs are friendly, and service is careful and hospitable.

For those looking for an introduction to the wonderful world of sushi or old pros seeking delicious standards, look no further than the Tokyo Lunch Box, only $9.95 between lunch special hours of 12 -3 p.m., Mon.-Sat. This substantial meal begins with salad — cold iceberg lettuce, carrot and tomato topped with pureed carrot and ginger dressing — and soup — a superb warm, milky miso, with small bits of seaweed and silken tofu cubes. The lunchbox arrives soon after: a black lacquered box with six brick-colored compartments, each featuring different treasures. For the sushi-lover, the main attraction is three pieces of nigiri sushi (fish placed atop rice, as opposed to rolled): one salmon; one tuna; one yellowtail. The coloration is bright, but not artificial, and the fish is served at the perfect temperature — not too cold. Salmon, the fattiest of the trio, is decadent and luscious; deep pink tuna and white-pink yellowtail are lighter, but similarly satisfying. They may be dipped, fish-side down, in soy sauce; some green wasabi diluted in the sauce by a chopstick point will add a solid spicy kick. The other sushi is a California roll — crabstick, straws of cucumber and an avocado slice rolled in rice dotted with bright orange roe — expertly sliced into six bite-sized pieces.

The Lunch Box also contains several large slices of vegetable tempura — sweet potato, carrot, yam and onion dipped in batter and deep-fried. Like french fries, the hotter and fresher the tempura, the crispier and tastier it will be, so I usually eat this first. The best of the lot is the yam, whose sweetness is perfectly complemented by the crisp batter. A tangy dipping sauce accompanies these tasty treats.

Another component of this lunchbox is the delicious gyoza — three fried pork dumplings made for dipping in a dark tangy soy-based sauce that makes your mouth pucker the tiniest bit. Both tempura and gyoza sauces are served in a separate dual-compartment dish and are of similar colorations. To tell the difference between them without a taste test, look for sesame seeds floating in one of the compartments — that’s for gyoza.

As if that wasn’t enough to satisfy you, the meal is topped off with a dome of white rice sprinkled with black sesame seeds and a compartment of lightly salted edamame, which are soy beans boiled in saltwater. To eat edamame, put the pod into your mouth and extract the beans with your teeth to taste the salt and reap the rewards; do not eat the pods. I felt awful for forgetting to tell my mother not to eat the pods before catching her in the act at lunch last week; she proclaimed them “a little tough” and agrees that edamame is much tastier when eaten the traditional way.

For those with slightly smaller appetites, the Sushi Box has all the elements of a Tokyo Lunch Box, minus the edamame, three pieces of California roll and one gyoza for $7.95; it still comes with soup and salad. There are also several two-roll pairings that come with miso soup, ranging from $4.95-$7.95. I recommend the spicy salmon and spicy tuna roll combo for $6.95, as I have finally made my peace with spicy tuna after my near-death. Here, it is coated in a spicy orange mayonnaise that can make you cry when matched with wasabi.

It is with heaviness in my heart that I must relay that, for vegetarians, or those who absolutely will not eat raw fish, the cucumber and avocado roll combination is only $4.95. There are also a number of non-sushi-based options for omnivores, such as teriyaki and udon (Japanese noodles in seafood broth), but I will not vouch for these, as I believe that it would be criminal not to try what Tokyo Sushi should be famous for — its absolutely delicious sushi.

For those of you who hear me loud and clear, try “Sushi for Lunch” No. 2 (salmon, eel, yellowtail, shrimp and octopus nigiri with a California roll) or check the white board near the bar for daily sushi specials. Or, for the connoisseur, order something special a la carte. I believe that Tokyo Sushi has the power to woo you. I certainly have yet to be disappointed.

Megan Labrise

(Orig. pub. date: March 14, 2007)

Sweet, succulent revenge

As a native New Yorker, I’m genetically programmed to be wary of Texans. Braggarts from any other state always cause me to raise an eyebrow, wondering if they have yet beheld the majesty of the Empire State, with its cornucopia of agricultural offerings, advanced industry, financial hub and blend of fine cultures — but it’s Texans in particular that get my blood boiling. It seems you can’t have a conversation with one without hearing about how everything’s bigger where they come from, or how you shouldn’t mess with them. I tell you, I’m no vandal, but every time I see one of those insipid “Don’t Mess with Texas” stickers — by golly, I want to mess with it.

(Did I mention that my ex-boyfriend is from Texas?)

There is one thing, however, for which Texans certainly do deserve their bragging rights: barbecue. Well-done Texas barbecue — pulled pork, brisket and all manner of rib cooked “slow and low” and smothered in sweet and spicy homemade sauces — can only be described as heavenly. As hard as it is to say, I have never tasted anything quite like it in New York. Until recently, that is.

Every Friday at Elia’s Meat Market in downtown Highland, you can taste a little bit of the Lone Star State for yourself. The meat market, which celebrated its fifth anniversary this month, started selling barbecue just two summers ago; last summer, Elia’s ribs won the People’s Choice Award at the Hudson Valley Rib Fest.

The barbecue expert is Mark Elia, and what he produces is nothing short of an authentic taste of Texas. Having paid my dues in Dallas, Greenville, San Antonio and Houston, for a period of time amounting to about two weeks, I feel confident making this endorsement. That may not sound like much, but it’s roughly 28 barbecued meals — 42 if you eat barbecue for breakfast, which we sometimes did.

The success of Elia’s barbecue comes from doing it the right way. At the behest of his brother, he took a trip down to Texas to commune with the barbecue pit bosses of San Antonio and beyond, exploring the traditional methods. The pit bosses confided in Elia, as he posed no threat to local commerce, sharing long-kept secrets and reinforcing the first commandment of mouthwatering barbecue: you can’t rush it.

Elia starts his smoker on Thursday afternoon each week; it goes all through the night. It’s an authentic pit smoker, imported from Texas, which can hold up to 500 lbs. of meat; it’s wood-fired, so it barbecues and smokes the meat at the same time. For fuel, he uses everything from sugar maple to oak to maple to apple — even sassafrass, when available, which Elia says produces a very unique, bittersweet flavor. The tougher meats cook for up to 12-14 hours, absorbing the trademark smokiness that signifies Texas-style barbecue.

You can always get the fab four on Fridays: ribs, brisket, pulled pork and barbecue chicken. Sometimes there’s pulled chicken, and a second smoker, just for fish, will soon be operational — but it’s the ribs that are the main attraction for me.

It’s not hard to see why Elia’s ribs are a fan favorite. Whether baby back racks, St. Louis spares or Texas slabs, each rib is laden with ample meat, which comes off the bone easily without falling off, just as it should. The meat is tender and lends itself well to a slow, satisfying chew.

Barbecue sauce clings to the meat, giving off a deep, sweet smell that is intoxicating. Elia’s barbecue sauce starts as a barbecue base to which drippings, brown sugar, molasses, diced onion and spices are added in different amounts, depending on the meat it’s destined for. So far, there are three distinct permutations, with the hot sauce still a work in progress.

A true test of patience for any barbecue cook is preparing brisket, one of the toughest cuts of beef, taken from the chest of the animal and historically considered a throw-away piece of meat for cowboys, ranch hands and hired help. Early on, it was discovered that cooking it on low heat for a long time made the meat more tender, a fact that is not lost on Elia, who never rushes it. His brisket is so tender, it almost melts.

The pulled pork is just as fine. Traditionally pulled pork comes from the butt or shoulder, the less expensive, tougher parts of the pig. Though Elia’s version at first resembles a light-colored brisket more than the traditional stringy pulled pork in Texas, it pulls apart easily should you try to transport it to your plate via fork. And the taste? The pulled pork is so good, I found myself involuntarily closing my eyes to concentrate on the flavor —just like you’d shut your eyes when leaning in for a first kiss. The taste is so sweet, just a little smoky, which brings forth the flavor of the pork, an unexpected treat. When food gets overcomplicated, I find myself missing the simplicity of taste that fewer seasonings afford.

On the other hand, there is something to be said, sometimes, for augmenting the lackluster. I have never cared for barbecued chicken, due to the fact that, because it has less fat than both pork and beef, it simply isn’t as flavorful after being submitted to the barbecuing process — chicken is just an alternative delivery system for barbecue sauce once the ribs run out. Here, however, chicken showcases the smoke flavor more than any of the other meats, which makes it more interesting to me.

A great way to figure out what you really gravitate towards is to try the sampler, a combination of the four types of meat. An individual sampler is $9.95; you will have leftovers — or a stomach ache, if you’re itching to prove me wrong. As barbecue is truly meant to be shared, there’s the small combo for $14.95, which serves 2-3 people (and a couple of friends) or the large combo for $24.95, which serves 4-5 people (i.e. hungry football players). The large combo, which is what my family of four usually orders, is 5-6 lbs. of meaty goodness packed into an aluminum catering half-tray. Although we all eat with gusto, we have found it impossible to conquer a large combo in one sitting, even with the lusty enthusiasm of my six-foot-four brother after a long night of Jiu-Jitsu. If you can choose a favorite meat, individual dinners run from $5.95 - $7.95, with accoutrements.

Speaking of which, there are several fine side dishes available to boost the barbecue experience. Elia’s makes solid standards: tangy cole slaw, with carrot and red cabbage that tints the dish pink; well-balanced potato salad, with carrot, minced parsley, celery and celery seed; and satisfying macaroni salad, also flecked with bits of carrot and celery seed. I find the cole slaw, in particular, to be a crisp, cold palate cleanser in between mouthfuls of meat. My favorite side dish, however, is baked beans with chunks of Elia’s homemade hot dogs. If I’m feeling particularly spry, sometimes I’ll make my own sides: cornbread, mashed potatoes or sweet white shoepeg corn complement barbecue nicely.

One final note: as the different meats finish cooking at different times throughout the day, sometimes you’ll need to reheat for dinner. For reheating the large combo, Mark’s wife Toni, who works with him, suggests securing plastic wrap over the aluminum pan, air-tight, topping it with the aluminum lid and putting it in a preheated oven for about 20 minutes. I was skeptical, at first, but the plastic wrap remained intact and kept in all of the precious moisture that keeps the meat truly juicy and tender — a noticeable difference from traditional reheating.

Megan Labrise

(Orig. pub date: Feb. 28, 2007)

Please allow me to introduce myself

I was raised on wide triangular slices of pizza in Howard Beach, New York. On Sunday, we had dim sum in Chinatown; on weekdays, we washed down knishes and Nathan’s hot dogs with Dr. Brown’s cream sodas. I was a happy child.

That changed temporarily when, in 1988, my family moved to the Hudson Valley. I had an accent that could etch glass and thought that horses didn’t exist outside of petting zoos and Central Park. I was very confused. Since we didn’t yet know the area, most of our meals were eaten at home, where my Irish mother cooked Italian in the style of my father’s family — parmesan-everything.

After graduation, I lived in Oregon for six years, attending college where fresh Chinook salmon, hazelnuts, Marionberries, Pinot noir and tons of Thai and Japanese foods expanded my palate’s repertoire. Traveling home for winter breaks and summers, I went on several cross-country road trips, eating my way across the 48 continental states: In-n-Out animal-style burgers in California, green chili salsa and biscochittos in New Mexico, barbecue ribs and pulled pork in Texas, crawfish po’boys in Louisiana, Sonic’s crème pie shakes and cherry limeades in the Carolinas and Culver’s deep-fried cheese curds in Wisconsin.

Due to a once-in-a-lifetime cash windfall, I spent a month in Europe, eating. The memory of thick black truffle risotto in Italy still makes my mouth water; I had a near-religious experience with a buttery tarte amandine in France, a follow-up to chicken with crushed black peppercorns and fresh mayonnaise on a crusty baguette. London was expensive, but the chips (fries) with vinegar were reasonable, plentiful and served warm and crispy every time.

With a few notable exceptions, the memorable meals I’ve had have cost under $10. Maybe it’s just that nothing tastes better than a bargain but, as I continue to rack up dining experiences, I realize that you don’t have to pay a lot to get great food — and a lot of it, for that matter. My goal in this column will be to highlight some restaurants, delis, grocery stores, stands, carts, cafeterias and other eateries where you can get delicious food for an exciting price.

Oh, and I’ve always preferred candlelit dinners to long walks on the beach.

Now that we’re finished getting acquainted, I assure you it will be all business from here on out:

Krishna Groceries on Route 9 in Poughkeepsie is hidden in plain view — the red and white building just north of Half Time beverage center is the kind of place you can wonder about in passing for years (I did.) and never explore (I didn’t.). However, one fateful Friday, the sign proclaiming a masala dosa special caught my eye and the timing lured me in. Now, I’m hooked.

The family-run grocery and chaat house has been open for five years. The grocery sells spices, lentils and rice products, in addition to exotic snack items; the chaat house features authentic Indian foods made on the premises for take-out only.

I’ll admit that, though I was enticed by the masala dosa special ($3.50), I had no idea what I was getting when I ordered it. What I got, after a short wait while it was being freshly prepared, was a thin savory pancake, the size of a large dinner plate, folded in half to contain a generous dollop of mashed potato mixed with yellow split pea, onion, green chilies, mustard seeds and curry leaves. As a bonus, each dosa comes with a cup of soup — lentil with curry leaves and a bouquet of spices both fragrant and warming.

Yes, warming does mean spicy. Indian food is not for the faint of taste bud. “Masala” means a mix of spices; the masala dishes at Krishna all contain different amalgamations of Indian seasonings that may include, but are not limited to: cumin seeds, coriander, mango powder, green chilies, salt, pepper, chili pepper, garam masala, curry powder, curry leaves… and surprises. If you do not like surprises of the spicy variety, you may want to proceed with caution. I, for one, do not mind chancing a tear or two at the dinner table.

The masala dosa is sublime, but my favorite is the large samosa ($1), which to me tastes like Indian comfort food. Like the dosa, it is mashed potatoes with veggies (peas) and spices, wrapped in a pastry shell and fried until golden-brown and slightly crispy at the seams. Cooked in canola oil, the samosas are surprisingly not greasy, but they are heavy — I could make a full meal of two. They are hotter than the dosa; cumin seeds, coriander, green chilies and garam masala give them a pungent spicy smell. Two different chutneys can accompany the samaosas: sweet red tamarind chutney, which cuts the masala, or spicy green chili, coriander and lemon juice, which turns the heat up to 11.

Less intense are a wide variety of dals and soups; each one I’ve tried, I’ve loved. Thus far, my favorites are the yellow channa dal with chunks of succulent squash and the black-eyed bean soup, which is made about once a week, usually on Sunday. There are also terrific masala vegetables to be had—even okra, which I typically find to be just this side of palatable, is terrific in okra (bhindi) masala, with the spices somehow tempering the vegetable’s sliminess. It has become a coveted side dish at my house.

For those who would like a sampling of fare, the vegetarian platter ($3.50) and the non-vegetarian platter ($4.50) for meat-eaters are good places to start. Containers of traditional Indian sweets from New York City ($5.99) round out the experience. The Bengali Mix, with a survey of sweets composed of paneer cheese, sugar, coconut, milk and pistachios is a good introduction to Indian desserts. My favorite is gulab jamun, a dense solid milk ball laden with sugar syrup, sweet to the point of decadence. Another treat is a cool mango lassi, a yogurt-based drink that is a good way to cut the heat during or after a meal.

Megan Labrise

(Orig. pub. date: Feb. 14, 2007)

It's tuberrific!

Greetings. The purpose of this is to serve as an archive for the "Small Potatoes" column, conceived and written by Megan Labrise and appearing in Ulster Publishing's Mid-Hudson Post Pioneer, which is a weekly newspaper serving the communities of Lloyd, Plattekill and Marlborough in Ulster County, (upstate) New York. (I would put this on our own website, but I am informed that our website is deeply, deeply troubled and can barely do what it does now, much less handle a column of this quality.) The idea behind the column is to highlight low-cost, yet high-quality, eating opportunities in the Mid-Hudson region and beyond, out-of-the way spots that are toujours de rigeur et jamais degoutante. While the Post Pioneer editor, Dan Barton, says it's a hit with readers, this is the first time it's been available online.