Feed Us Back: Comments of the Week

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Jens takes the lead in the biggest/most badass beer contest:

Here in Germany (in Bavaria to be exact) they sell 1 liter of beer (around 34 ounces, called a “Maß”) during Octoberfest. The biggest beer I’ve ever seen had been 1.5 liter bottles of beer in Latvia, containing 17% alcohol. I kid you not – this stuff tasted like beer liquor.

Can you beat that? Feed us back!

– Meanwhile, rabi reaches back to 100 bananas and clearly wins craziest comment of the week:

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Deviled Eggs are the Devil

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So, I will say deviled eggs are one thing I did not expect to be making at the restaurant. I haven’t had a deviled egg since 1990. Perhaps I was wearing shoulder pads when I ate it.

Deviled eggs just appeared on our new menu acting as a focal point for our wedge salad that I must say looks quite sexy for a wedge salad. A bold move that has gone over quite well so far.

How difficult could a hard boiled egg be? Fifteen soft boiled eggs later, I decided that hard boiled eggs are not my friend. And as it turns out, yelling and cursing at the eggs does nothing to aide in the cooking process. In my efforts to make the perfect hard boiled egg, and for fear of overcooking them, I wasted a carton and a half of eggs and felt like a culinary disaster who should not have changed careers.

Perhaps I should have consulted How To Hard Boil an Egg for specific instructions. I should have laid the eggs on their sides the night before to “center” the yolks for the perfect deviled egg. And maybe I should have read them a bedtime story so they would have had a good night’s sleep before the big day. I bet they love Good Night Moon.

What seems like the most simple of culinary tasks can make prep feel like a disaster. Screwing up deviled eggs can also make you feel like everyone in the kitchen is staring at you. But have no fear, I will conquer the deviled egg. I was taught never to put all my money in one basket. Now I know not to put all my uncentered eggs in one pot of boiling water either.

So, spill it ES-ers — what kind of hard-boiling secrets do you all have?

Top Chef Exit Interview: Episode 7

The Palm

Our man Brit was live at The Palm DC last night, where one sniveling, pea-stealing Top Chef-testant had their portrait unveiled on the walls of the restaurant. But of course, one other chef had to pack up some knives and leave. We hear from them, after the jump.

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How Not to Fry an Egg

I know it’s almost cliche to bitch about the heat at this point. But whatever. It’s hot. And when it’s hot and we’ve been inside for 8 hours, moaning from a wedding-induced hangover, we start to play MythBusters.

In case you don’t have a boyfriend who thinks that decoding the Seinfeld double dipping hypothesis and the slippery banana peel joke are utterly important viewing, than you should try out MythBusters on a lazy weekend afternoon. You might be mildly entertained.

Anyway. It was hot. The heat index screamed 113 degrees in Durham, North Carolina. We decided the only proper way to appreciate the heat was to attempt to fry an egg outside. So we tried.

Our experiment lacked integrity from the start. It was later in the day, we fried the egg on a piece of tin foil that had not been left in the heat long enough and the egg might not have even been at room temperature. It became shady. But we did throw some butter in that aluminum foil nest.

We briefly looked at some promising stories of outside-fried eggs and thought we could make it work.

It didn’t. But that doesn’t mean we won’t try again. Or that you don’t have plenty of horror stories of your own to share.

Neiman Marcus Cake

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The best part about living in a different country from where I grew up is that I come across new and unique things almost daily, even after seven years of living in DC.

On a recent shopping trip a friend told me of a cake called Neiman Marcus. A cake named after a department store, only in America. Being a gay he denied ever eating it (although you’d never guess) so he wasn’t sure what was in it or if it had any relationship to its namesake. However, he was kind enough to find a recipe for me — knowing my love of spending money and food it seemed like the perfect way to keep me from an afternoon at the mall.

Apparently my lack of baking skills really showed with this one — check out what happened after the jump.

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Bigger IS Better

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You know what I really hate? Going to an event/concert/baseball game and paying $9 for a beer. And only buying one $9 beer at a time, because they don’t stay cold in those stupid plastic cups. Therefore, if I want more than one beer (which I always do), I have to leave my seat/dancing spot and wait in line for another one.

This weekend in Scranton, PA we made a discovery.

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Eating on the Edge: Howard Beach

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In our new dining out series, Endless Simmer’s NYC-based tasting team is traveling to the ends of the earth. Well, the ends of the earth for snobby New Yorkers. We’re bypassing the cutesy outer borough neighborhoods and taking the subway to the end of the line, then getting on a bus and taking that to the end of the line, then seeing what we can find to eat.

Our first, very random stop is Howard Beach, Queens, a neighborhood known to most Manhattanites as the name of that stop way out there where you get the AirTrain to JFK. But it’s also an old-school Italian-American neighborhood facing Jamaica Bay, where New Yorkers live in single-family homes with fishing boats anchored in their front yards (really!)

To get to Cross Bay Boulevard, the main thoroughfare cutting through Howard Beach, we took the A train out to Rockaway Boulevard, where you can hop on the Q41 bus to the end of the line, which is conveniently a few blocks from the Bay, right outside the imposing Vetro Restaurant and Lounge.

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