Americanized Injera

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I hate sharing. I hate bartering. I hate compromising.

I want goat cheese, spinach, olives and sun-dried tomatoes on my pizza. I do not care that you hate olives. I do not want to split a plate of anchovies and roasted red peppers. Anchovies make me convulse. I want all of my garlic shrimp. You order your own.  I think you know where I’m going with this.

When did these “small plates” become so fucking popular. I don’t want a bite of this or a bite of that. I want an entire fucking steak and I want to eat it all myself. Screw tapas and mezze or any other dish where you have to invoke cloture to place an order. Enough of this sharing shit.

But then there’s Ethiopian.

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It’s On

Now, I know ES is like a big family or whatever and we all share the spotlight equally and we all get along because we have the greater good in mind – food obsession. But, you know what, BS:

EGGS ARE MINE

Don’t think you can “write” a post with a ton of pictures of eggs and think you’ve become the reigning monarch of the land of eggs. Or something like that.

Well, this is what I’m been up to. And, TVFF, I’m not done with you either.

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Cream cheese, wilted arugula, lox, sunny side up egg on my friend Hickey’s dad’s awesome homemade bread. It was baked with some craziness like molasses and oats.

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The Taste of Bursting Sunshine

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One of the palates I attempt to cater to is that of Romeo, my bf.  Romeo is a rather demanding discerning eater. He doesn’t like it when I add diced garlic to a dish.  Romeo prefers garlic minced with the pampered chef garlic press that lives in our kitchen (which, to be honest, is hands-down the best garlic press I have ever used, lemme tell you). I comply with this demand suggestion. Romeo prefers his meals more gently spiced than I like mine. (To be fair some like it hot, and some like it hotter still, and I represent a dot somewhere near the hot-hot-hot end of the bland-to-razzle dazzle spicy continuum. This I admit.) I’ve tried to tone down the hotness for Romeo’s wimpy sensitive taste buds, and with occasional exceptions, I usually succeed in a palatable compromise for the both of us.

There is one thing that Romeo had asked for since I first took on the position of his chef-in-chief (or “kitchen dictator” as Romeo insists on calling me) that for a while absolutely bewildered me:  “flying saucer squashes.”

The conversation we had on several occasions always went something like this:

Maids: Do you want anything from the store?

Romeo (smiling and excited): Yes. Bring me the flying-saucer-squashes so we can use them in a curry.  They taste like bursts of sunshine.

Maids (genuinely curious):  What do you mean?

Romeo (short temper spent, yelling now): Buy those little yellow flying saucer squashes at the grocery store so we can put them in curry and they’ll taste like sunshine!

Maids: I don’t know what you mean by flying saucer squashes! Are they thin skinned or thick skinned? Summer or winter?

Romeo (frustrated and stamping both feet): They’re summer squashes that look like baby flying saucers and taste like sunshine! God!

I know he’s adorable, but that wasn’t much to go on, right?  Especially since  I’d never before encountered flying saucer-like  squashes.  I knew, however, that I needed to address Romeo’s unrequited craving for a summer squash that looked like a flying saucer and tasted like sunshine.

Recently, after over a year and a half of being unable to fulfill this request, I had a follow-up investigatory conversation with with Edouble and Miked (who have been feeding Romeo for far longer than I).  Edouble filled me in:  these squashes, for which both Edouble and Romeo have a special affinity, are commonly known as sunburst squashes.  They are small and round with scalloped tops and they are usually available only in the summer season.

More research yielded further knowledge: the pattypan squash (A.K.A. white squash/button squash/sunburst squash) comes in yellow, white, and green colors, is most tender when immature, and is often served  fried, curried, and stuffed.  It sounded delicious, and I was on a mission to make a curry with the pattypan as the M.V.I. (Most Valuable Ingredient 😉 thanx ES commenter “LC”) of the dish.

My successful search for the pattypans and the recipe for the Pattypan Vegetable Thai Curry after the jump…

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One Trick Pony

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There’s something great about doing one thing and doing it well.  That’s why I love Pommes Frites.

Yes, this is coming from the same guy who nearly blew a gasket last week about chefs reworking one ingredient into three preparations.  But this is different.

Pommes Frites is a postage stamp-sized shop on 2nd Avenue in the East Village between St. Marks and 7th that specializes in Belgian french fries.  And when I say “specializes,” I mean that it’s the only thing on the menu.

They make fantastic fries.  They appear to be pre-blanched and finished to order, and then they’re served in paper cones.  The extremely limited seating consists of benches and low tables that have holes drilled in them into which you can put your cone of fries (illustrated in my shitty iPhone photo above).  The holes for the cones are charming beyond belief.

Good fries are always worth seeking out, but what is it that makes Pommes Frites so good that I dragged Mrs. TVFF down there for a special birthday treat, despite it being nowhere near our intended destination?  Without a doubt, it’s the sauces.

Just how exciting can dipping sauces be?  Well, let me tell you…

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A Meal with Legs — Lots of ’em

Editors’ Note: Some of you may already know Bliz from his work over at A Moveable Feast. We’ve asked him to stop by ES and share some of his culinary exploits and photographic hotness with us.

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I love my friends. They give me the freedom to assign menus with the authority of a fascist  dictator. They complement my efforts despite my failures. They smile and eat dishes that I myself stopped eating after a few bites.  But while I appreciate their support, a twisted part of me really likes to see them squirm when I serve up something they weren’t expecting.  So last Saturday, the gang got a taste of braised octopus with home fries.  The reactions, to say the least, were mixed…

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The Not So Humble Lemon and Potato

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ES friend Macheesmo (of ketchup fame) and his bud, The Food in My Beard, started a friendly, virtual cooking competition: Foodie Fights.

I’m sure you know the Iron Chef-like rules: multiple contestants, using the same ingredients, trying to out-foodie each other in creativity and e-taste (did I just coin a new phrase?!?!). Anyway, I’m one of the guest judges for the first round.

Check out Battle: Lemon and Potato and vote for your fav. You’ll find out my pick tomorrow.

(PS—Happy Earth Day! Um, eat something local, or however you’re supposed to celebrate. You can also just read about others’ love for protecting the planet. Check out Blog for the Bay campaign, which, if you ask me,  is really just a love for the deliciousness of Maryland crabs. MMMM, crabs…)

But The Chef Told Me To

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I’m not normally this spontaneous. Well, except for that blazing yellow nail polish I borrowed from my friend Alice. As soon as she showed it to me I had to cover my nails in its shocking beauty.

On a slightly brisk, yet sunny lunch hour, while eating a chicken ceasar wrap from Au Bon Pain (my fav ceasar wrap!), I caught up on the WaPo food section and read David Hagedorn’s advice for a Valentine meal. I’ve dined with David. He’s funny as shit. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t pisted off by this sentence, disclaimer or not:

Call me sexist if you will, but there are plenty of guys out there who somehow don’t think a meal is complete, let alone special, unless there’s meat in it somewhere.

Anyway, I got over that and finished reading his article plus the accompanying recipes. And there it was. A direct product recommendation from a former restaurant chef.

Now, did I really need a Progressive International Multi-Slicer. No. But could I find use for its french fry slicer function? Yes.

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