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by ML

Cooking Tips from an ES Parent

My parents and I always celebrate my birthday in non-traditional ways, which usually ends up in overeating, leftovers for days, and hangovers. Since my birthday is in late August, it’s always the perfect time for crabs. This year, given that the price of lobster has dropped dramatically ($4.99/lb at our local market!) I suggested a seafood extravaganza. The mistake, or maybe point of brilliance, was when I texted Russell:

“My dad backed me into a corner in the kitchen and shoved a live crab in my face and it almost bit me”

“Why wasn’t mom taking photos, can you do it again? (I’ve never seen a live crab/lobster being dunked)”

My father, having both a deep-seated family history in “show business” and an obsession with Russ’s twitter, sprung into action and suddenly we were making videos to show the Brit how to kill crustaceans.

If you’re interested in learning how to make the best shrimp, want to see what happens when two generations of drunk people try to steam lobsters, or are curious about how to properly name your crustaceans, head on over to my YouTube channel to check out Sonny himself.

in Personal 3 comments

by Katt Kasper

Friday Fuck-Up: The Gremlin Incident

The kitchen Gremlin. I have one. And he only makes his presence known when I’m cooking for company. I do occasionally like to cook outside of my comfort zone, and in the past I’ve discovered new dishes and taste combinations that I hadn’t expected, and was so blown away that I couldn’t wait to master and introduce them to my family and fellow foodies. But then, HE appears and all hell breaks loose!

I have two dishes that I have previously produced in world-class fashion and couldn’t wait to share with others. One is the classic béarnaise sauce. I loves me some steak, and I can’t think of a more perfect, decadent accompaniment than a just-made, thick, buttery béarnaise. The first three times that I attempted this sauce it came out perfect! I couldn’t wait to have the gang over for a French gorgy, and watch their eyes roll up into the backs of their heads after they took their first bite of a perfectly cooked dry-aged filet mignon smothered in the crack cocaine of butter sauces.

But the Gremlin had other ideas and decided at the last minute that a greasy version of egg drop soup would (for some evil reason), be the only sauce that came off my cook top. A hurried second attempt produced a scrambled egg dish that looked like yellow cottage cheese. What the hell? I had this down! I could feel the ghost of Julia Child bitch slapping the back of my head as I whipped up a sorry version of a Dijon crème sauce in its place.

My second Gremlin dish is one that I initially tried on a dare.

by Katt Kasper

Cooking with Grandma

Whenever I watch the investigative crime show CSI, I always stop and think, “This is nothing! If that team wants to solve a REAL mystery, they ought to try cooking with my Grandmother!” Hey Grissom, what’s the difference between a smidgen and a pinch? And you guys are pretty liberal with that Fingerprint Dust. You ever heard the term, “Waste not, want not”?

In his cooking books, Paul Prudomme lovingly describes how as a child he worked at his mother’s side, learning her methods and techniques, while proclaiming his gratitude and love for her guidance and patience. My grandmother on the other hand, graduated with honors from the chain smoking, martini drinking, ‘No Measuring’ school of cooking, where the term “A little bit of this and a little bit of that” was the universal code for “I don’t know how much I used, so stop asking!” My earliest cooking memories involved my grandmother’s instruction on how to work the wheel of her Zippo in order to light the next filter-less Chesterfield. These little, white fire sticks, I learned, are essential time-monitoring devices, and were relied heavily upon during the preparation of a dish. “Two more smokes and that bread will be done rising!” she’d tell me.

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by Ali Macaluso

Garden Fuck-Up: What's the Dill?

Sorry, couldn”t help myself with that title. But seriously—what the hell is going on with my dill? Last year, I totally killed it. And I don”t mean “killed it” like hipsters mean it, as in, holy crap I just kicked ass and I”m amazing. I mean I literally. Totally. Killed it. After just two weeks.

This year I decided to plant it again, because of course I would do better. With one more year of gardening under my belt, my thumb one brighter shade of green, I planted my dill with full confidence that I would grow that sucker tall and strong. I”d have so much of the stuff I”d be mixing casino pa natet it in with carrots, pickling my cucumbers with it, and making “dill onion bread.” In just a few short weeks I might literally turn Greek from all the batches of yogurt I”d mix it with. By hipster definition, I”d kill it. But shortly after:

I killed it. Every other herb in my herb garden is flourishing, but this guy sent up brown, stiff, ugly little middle fingers sprouting from the dirt. What”s up with my dill? What am I doing wrong? Because I”m kind of salivating over that onion dill bread that I”ve yet to make, and the stubborn little garden gnome that lives inside my head won”t allow me to purchase dill from the grocery store. Any ideas?

in Personal 8 comments

by Katt Kasper

The Price of Passion

I consider myself a passionate guy. I’m passionate about food, architecture, cooking, the list goes on and on. Having many different passions makes for an interesting, vibrant life. However, combining too many of them at once can come back and bite you in the ass. Case in point; I have two very successful friends who are a same-sex couple and work in the entertainment industry. Their passion is architecture and remodeling, and a few years ago they bought and completely rebuilt a stunning, mid-century modern home in the Hollywood Hills, with huge glass windows and a fantastic view of not only the city below, but the iconic Hollywood sign as well. They have excellent taste and spared no expense. The kitchen is to die for. State-of-the-art, professional, restaurant-grade Wolf and Viking ranges, stoves, warming ovens, you name it—this place has it! It’s a cook’s wet dream come true. And the place is packed with one-of-a-kind designer furniture. It’s the ultimate in hip, cool and sexy.

So when my buds asked me to house sit for a long weekend while they took their newly adopted son Frederick on a mini-vacation, I jumped at the chance. Now, I’ve cooked for these guys before so they knew I was salivating to get my hands on their kitchen and they only placed one restriction on me. They just had a custom Bensen neo sectional couch made (with chaise), and had it covered in white, velvety, brushed cowhide. They requested that I abstain from using it. “Don’t you worry” I shouted, “It’s radioactive as far as I’m concerned!”…and I started to make plans for my ‘Night of Passion.’

in Personal / Red Meat 2 comments

by Katt Kasper

Freaks and Philosophers

I’ve recently discovered that alcohol brings out the philosopher in some, the freak in others. After a long night of tasting and comparing the virtues of different single-barrel bourbons with a small group of friends, the discussion turned to favorite erotic movie scenes, and then onto which past or present celebrity we’d like to spend an active evening with. After we debated each individual’s choice, one of my freaks…err, friends came up with the following philosophical question: If you could go all American Pie on one dessert, what would it be?

Yeah, that was a show stopper for sure, but after we all acted out our best “Oh, that’s disgusting!” response, the bourbon kicked in and a heated round table discussion ensued. The women, it should be noted, requested to use produce instead of dessert items, but we made them adhere to the dessert protocol.

The following is a list of our top five desserts for both the men and women in my twisted little group. I’ve added my own highly researched opinion of the type of person or personality that would be likely to choose each selection.

For the men:

#1. Warm cherry pie (High school virgin)
#2. Two, deep-dish fruit pies (A pie threesome? Bragger/Porn star wannabe)
#3. Cream-filled sponge cake (I’m assuming the cake was filled with cream prior to the act, so I’ll say someone who has been in a long-term relationship)
#4. A large Jell-O mould (Possible necrophiliac)
#5. Freshly baked tunnel-of-fudge cake (I’m not even going to comment on THIS one)

For the women:

in Desserts / Lists / Personal 0 comments

by ES Guest

Don’t Blow the Entrance

Editor’s Note: Jody Melto, who has previously brought ES news of lemon cupcakes and Chinese balls, returns to share some very Simmer-y tips about how to survive summer party season.

Summer time is party time. Whether you’re going to a backyard cookout, lazy porch fest or rooftop soiree, don’t just show up and eat chips. Anyone can do that. Be special. Make an Entrance. Arrive.

Following these six tips will secure a place for you in the happy collective party memory, as well as guarantee future invitations tovother great parties.

Tip #1 Get invited to a great party. This is key. If you weren’t invited, bring it up to the host in such a way that he has no choice bbut to invite you. Make it really uncomfortable. Shaming someone into an invitation is only risky if you embarrass yourself later at the party. Like getting drunk and singing with the mariachi band.

Tip #2 Invite an entourage. Nothing says “I matter” like a group trailing behind you. And to really pollute your work-life environment,make one an intern at your new job and the other her roommate who is a complete stranger to you. That unpredictable X Factor. Also, bringing some party crashers says to the host, “Look! I’m so comfortable inviting myself, I brought others!” Confidence is attractive.

Tip #3 If you bring party crashers, make them unique. In my case, my entourage/unsuspecting party crashers are two lovely Chinese women who have only been in the States for a year. To add a layer of cultural awkwardness. Luckily “party crasher” doesn’t translate well. In Chinese it literally means, “confuse the water with ink and fish.” Which, I think, speaks for itself.

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