Moonlighting at www.examiner.com

I know, I know, it's been a long time since I blogged. But I have an excuse, I swear! And it doesn't involve being abducted by unicorns (which could totally happen and would be a very legitimate excuse for not blogging). I have been writing about food for www.examiner.com. You should check it out:

http://www.examiner.com/x-9871-Seattle-Ethnic-Restaurants-Examiner

If you have a favorite ethnic restaurant, or food, that you think I should check out, just drop me a note!

Casseroles With Klass

I did not grow up in a casserole family. While I truly enjoyed the toothsome, bright green broccoli my mom steamed up for me, I longed to drown the little trees in Campbell's cream of mushroom soup, blanket them in melted Velveeta and top them with fried onions from a can. I was a California kid longing for a taste of the Midwest. I wanted to spray my cheese, not slice it!

Decades later, I have still never tasted a Tuna Casserole and have come to the conclusion that a jiggly log of Velveeta is nastier than a string of Brutha Lynch Hung lyrics. But White Trash with Klass was the theme of this weekend's cooking club, so I dutifully dusted off my Pyrex and went in search of a soup that was canned, condensed, and cream of.

With a menu that included jalapeno macaroni and cheese, pigs in a blanket, and Jell-O marshmallow fruit salad, I felt it was my duty to incorporate a fresh vegetable into our gut busting meal. My recipe for Broccoli Casserole called for a cup of mayonnaise, a can of cream of mushroom soup, a cup of cheddar and a cracker crust. But the "Klass" component allowed me to use fresh broccoli (in lieu of the recommended frozen) and add soft nugs of goat cheese, sauteed garlicky mushrooms, and a drizzling of truffle oil. I topped the hot mess with a scattering of crushed garlic cheese croutons. Fresh, healthy vegetable dish indeed!

She came out melty, bubbling and comforting; but anytime broccoli goes up against bacon it is sure to lose. The obvious favorite of the night was inspired by the great Elvis Presley, himself. I give you the peanut butter, banana, honey and bacon sandwich, in all of it's stony glory.

If you would like to replicate this fantastic fried creation, and you will, it is really quite simple. First, put on your favorite Elvis Presley album. Second, crack a can of Pabst. Third, get out the scissors and hack your hair into a handsome mullet.

Now all you have to do is butter two slices of white bread, one side only. Smear the peanut butter of your liking onto the un-buttered side of one slice. Add a layer of sliced bananas. Drizzle on some honey. Lay down a few slices of already-fried-up bacon. Top with the other slice of white bread. Fry on the stove like you would a grilled cheese sandwich.

Warning: filling your belly with assorted casseroles and fried sandwiches can result in a head-to-toe white trash makeover, complete with skin-tight, leopard print jeans. Just look what happened to us:

Bad Day, Great Lunch

I have always wanted to be one of those people who loses their appetite when they're upset. These are the people who snarl phrases like "How can you eat at a time like this?!" in movies. These are the people who burst out of their depression cocoons looking like beautiful, lithe butterflies complete with jutting hip bones. I am not one of those people. I emerge from a bad mood looking like a two year old: crumbs in my hair, smeared chocolate on my cheeks and brie on my breath.

So today, when I was hit with a bad case of the the blues, I pointed my Prism in the direction of the International District. I took my melancholy self out for a meal that I have been saving just for me. I needed to be alone. Well, alone with a plate of Vietnamese noodles.

Huong Binh is the perfect place to go when you're in a funk. The wait staff is sweet, but not overly chatty, and chances are you won't run into anyone you know. Stuffed into a Jackson Street strip-mall, the only decorations are a string of Chinese lanterns and a random, but oddly comforting, "I Love You" poster featuring a giant red rose.

I ordered the Banh Uot Nem Nuong, rice rolls with pork meatballs, and added a skewer of charbroiled pork for good measure. This, my friends, is serious fast food. I opened my book, read a single page, and Tada! a tray of food was placed before me.

Turns out, a single page was all I needed. When eating alone, I usually occupy myself with a book, a magazine, a soy sauce label, anything really. But this meal was so entrancing, so flavorful, so delicious - I felt compelled to pay strict attention to the textures, the flavors, the assembling - and simply enjoyed my lunch, distraction free.

Rice rolls are actually long sheets of soft, squishy rice noodles folded into bundles. In this case they were sprinkled with crushed peanuts, green onions and topped with warm skewers of tender pork meatballs (I expected the dense, rubbery, fat laced, bouncy-balls usually found in pho - and was relieved and delighted by these juicy orbs) and chunks of grilled pork. A huge pile of cilantro, Thai basil and lettuce leaves comes alongside the dish, prompting you to create different combinations of herb-lettuce-noodle-meat until the plate is licked clean. A little bowl of tangy nuoc cham rounds out the meal, and it was liberally spooned over everything, along with generous dabs of fiery, brick red, hot sauce.

With every tongue awakening bite, I felt myself relaxing and feeling just a little bit better. By the time I got up to pay my $6.50, I was able to communicate with humans again. I told the lady with the bright red lipstick and heavily painted eyelids how much I enjoyed the meal. She chirped: "Oh good! You need try more! You come back tomorrow!"

Tomorrow! I ran across the street to Saigon Deli and handed over a $5 bill in exchange for a BBQ pork banh mi and a pack of five rice noodles rolled with shrimp. You know, just in case I'm in a bad mood tomorrow.

The Only Reason I Want to Turn 40

I am a gal who loves a dip with her chip. That's why I like parties so much. The chances of chips and dip are high. The chances of multiple chips with multiple dips are even higher!

So when I heard that my friends, Cathy & Sean, were planning to build a 40 Layer Dip for a 40th birthday party - I immediately started pricing plane tickets to California. Unfortunately, there is no frequent flier program for dip lovers, so I was forced to live the dip dream through the magic of digital photos. And so will you!

This tall drink of water includes layer upon layer of deliciously disgusting combinations like bacon, fish sticks, hash browns and guacamole. Oh, and that big empty section? That's the air layer. You know, for trendy people on the Master Cleanse.

But one very important question remains. How do you successfully navigate your chip toward those 20 bottom layers? I'm thinking creepy, elbow-length plastic glove. This season's hottest accessory for any dedicated dipper.

Seven layer dip? HA! That's for babies. I can't wait to turn 40.

Confessions from a One Bedroom Apartment

To say I eat well is an understatement. Us food obsessed folk tend to make sure we fill our bellies with a healthy assortment of deliciousness, on a daily basis. But, of course, it can't always be caviar – or even carnitas. Sometimes, when I am alone in my apartment, I fall victim to some secret cravings. Things I only eat alone, with the blinds closed, and a Sex and the City disc in the DVD player. Now is not the time to judge. I see you out there! Eating Lil Smokies. Cold. Straight from the package.

Confession #1: Sour Cream.

I first discovered I had a serious problem back in 2004. I was entertaining a friend in my apartment when she popped into the powder room. By the time the bathroom door clicked shut, I was hunkered down in front of the fridge spooning the tart, creamy condiment into my mouth. I realized I had actually been waiting for her to leave so I could dive head first into my sour cream stash. My endearing love for sour cream had turned desperate, and something had to be done. I couldn't buy the stuff for six months after that. It was just too dangerous! I would take down half a carton in minutes flat, a dribble of spicy Tapatio on each white bite. Now I respect the sour cream. I eat it in moderation. Well, by my standards. I still enjoy a couple spoonfuls, straight from the container, while standing in the guilty, glowing light of the refrigerator.

Confession #2: Secret Tortilla Behavior

Hours after dinner, if I'm at home and snuggled up on the couch with some good food porn (Bon Appetit) or a new culinary memoir (just finished My Homemade Life by Seattle blogger orangette), my taste buds begin to beg for something salty. As I am a girl with little willpower, they never have to beg for long. I slide off the couch, pad into the kitchen, and snatch the ever-present sack of flour tortillas off the top of the refrigerator. Flick! The gas burner comes to life and I drag the tortilla over the flame, until it is warm, toasty, chewy and freckled with charred brown bits. Here's where it gets weird. I drizzle truffle oil over the tortilla. I sprinkle Bacon Salt on top of that. It's like Mexico meets Food Snob meets White trash. One is usually not enough.

Confession #3: Kraft Macaroni & Cheese

Show me the home of an American child, and I'll show you a pantry brimming with the Blue Box. Word has it, some infants are clutching the Kraft in their tiny, pink, clenched fists when they squeeze themselves out of the womb. Despite the general food snobbery (truffle oil, homemade macaroni and GOAT cheese) I have an every-now-and-then weakness for this insanely comforting, fluorescent orange, treat. But so do a lot of people. The confession? I have to eat the entire box in one sitting. It's the law. But first, I usually gussy her up. A few flakes of tuna, a handful of peas, a crank of the pepper grinder, maybe a splash of Tapatio (have you noticed a trend) and she's good to go. But I'm no good to go anywhere. Except to bed. Pharmacists should cook up a batch, cram it into one of those plastic orange pill tubes, and prescribe the shit to insomniacs.

So, what's your poison?

Got time? Make Tamales!

In my private moments, I like to fantasize about having a Mexican mother who insists on spending hours, days, maybe even weeks (it's only make-believe so it's okay to turn my imaginary mother into a slave) behind a stove, cooking me authentic Mexican dishes. While I love the annual dose of matzo ball soup my own (read: not Mexican) mother cooks up, a cold slab of gefilte fish ain't got nothin' on a pan of fragrant chicken enchiladas. Sorry real mom.

So last weekend I decided to take matters into my own hands, and become my own Mexican mother. I then waved my magic wand and turned my entire cooking club into a gang of Mexican mamas, and together we went to work on making a whole lotta homemade tamales.

Tamales require several hours to make, but the end result is so completely worth it. A tamale fresh from the steamer is the moistest, most tender you'll ever taste. We stuffed most of ours with fork-tender, red chile-tinged, pork but accommodated the lone vegetarian with a roasted poblano chile, jack cheese and black olive version.

Tamales are best tackled by a hungry group, so get your posse together and get cooking!

Red Chile Pork Tamales
Recipe adapted from Rick Bayless
Makes about 18 tamales

For the Pork:

16 large (4 ounces) dried guajillo chiles: stemmed, seeded and torn into pieces (They actually had these at the Queen Anne Safeway. I was shocked and impressed.)
4 garlic cloves
1/2 teaspoon black pepper
1/4 teaspoon cumin
1 1/2 pounds lean, boneless pork (preferably from the shoulder), cut into 1/2-inch cubes
Salt

In a blender, puree the chiles, garlic, cumin, black pepper and 3 cups of cold water. You may have to do this in batches. Push the fiery-looking red puree through a sieve and into a big pot with the cubed pork. Add another three cups of water and a bunch of shakes of salt. Bring this to a boil then drop the heat to medium/medium-high and reduce until it becomes a nice, thick sauce. This could take about an hour and a half. Stir often. Taste and add salt if needed. It will be needed. When the pork has sucked up most of the liquid, shred with a fork and let it cool to room temperature.

For the dough:

I bought a bag of Instant Corn Masa Mix (also available at Safeway). Mix 2 cups masa mix with
1 1/2 cups warm water or broth, 1 teaspoon baking powder, ½ teaspoon salt and 2/3 cup lard or vegetable shortening. I went the shortening route, and you'll need to whip it with a hand mixer until fluffy before mixing it into the dough. It should be moist, but not too loose.

The Wrappers:

Get a bag of dried corn husks. Soak them in cold water for about 20 minutes. You'll need two or three husks per tamale, depending on their size.

Assembly:

Take two corn husks (bigger are better) and lay them down so that the wide end of each overlaps by a couple inches. Spread masa dough over the husks, no more than 1/8 inch thick, leaving a wide border on all sides. Spoon a thin line of pork down the center of the masa. Fold her up like a burrito, smushing the masa together to hide the filling.

The tamales will need to steam in a big pot (a steam basket, flat metal veggie steamer, or bamboo steamer all work) for about an hour. You will probably have to add more water – so keep a close eye on the pot so it doesn't burn!
Leftover, refrigerated, tamales can be brought back to life with a revitalizing 15 minute steam. Don't you dare warm them in the microwave!

Top your little beauties with a scattering of cilantro, a dollop of sour cream and a splash or three of Tapatio or fresh salsa.

Finally, wave your magic wand and un-Mexican-mother yourself. Savor a tender tamale. Que Beueno!

I ate breakfast! Like, a whole bunch of times!

If you've heard it once, you've heard it 9,654 times: Breakfast is the Most Important Meal of the Day. Frankly, I feel sorry for lunch and dinner. No one has bothered to create an adoring and catchy slogan for them. There is no "Lunch is the Most Awesomest Meal of the Day" to boost its confidence and morale.

So to support the underdogs of the eating world, I have chosen to boycott breakfast for much of my adult life. Yes, this is the true reason I so seldom eat breakfast. It's for the cause! I am an activist!

But whenever my boyfriend comes to town, the breakfast ban goes up in flames. My fridge fills up with bacon and eggs and more bacon and more eggs. I have learned that boyfriend, in fact, equals bacon. You can't have one without the other. And you can't have boring breakfasts. Generic Grape Nuts and nonfat milk are not welcome.

Here is a five-days-in-the-life photo diary of the breakfasts we recently cooked and enjoyed:

Monday: Breakfast Tacos!
Mexican food should not be limited to lunch and dinner. Scramble up some eggs and fold them up in a warm corn tortilla with cilantro, sour cream, avocado, refried beans, quinoa, and leftover steak strips. Shake the Tapatio bottle over the taco like you're angry it at. Confucius Says: Spicy Breakfast = Good Day.











Tuesday: Egg & Sausage Toasts
As a huge supporter of the marriage of sweet & savory, chicken apple sausages are a favorite breakfast meat. Here they join fried eggs, sauteed mushrooms, melted sharp cheddar and basil on slices of toasty sourdough.





Wednesday: Homemade Parmesan Pepper Biscuits, Sweet & Red Potatoes, Bacon & Fried Egg
I have a reputation as a bad biscuit baker. You'd be more apt to use one of my lil biscuits as a door stop, rather than put it in your mouth. But thanks to science, I am improving! I learned that the butter must be ice cold and should be left in the dough as pea sized bits. I learned about folding the dough, before cutting, to create flaky layers. I am now the biscuit master! Ok. I'm not. Yet. But these were pretty dang good.


Thursday: Pineapple Bacon Pancakes with Apple & Pineapple Topping
Breakfast in bed! Whoever invented that concept deserves a medal in the shape of a bacon strip. I ate these pineapple/bacon pancakes under the covers, along with a side of (burnt = sad) potatoes and some fancy fruits.








Friday: McNotMcDonald's Egg McMuffins
Yes, Mcdonald's is bad. But their Egg McMuffins? Those are good. I like to make my own at home in under 10 minutes. Fry up an egg and a slice of ham while the muffin toasts. Let some cheese melt on your hot egg. Get out that Tapatio and go to town. Voila! McYum.

A Wish Come True: Seattle's Best Pizza

Growing up as a little girl in suburbia, one of life's great excursions was a trip to the mall. And in the center of my mall was something grand: a real, live, working fountain. My mom would dig deep into the folds of her eel skin wallet and produce two pennies. One for my younger sister and one for me. She instructed us to make a wish and toss them in. I have no idea what my sister wished for. A better haircut (it was the 80's)? A pony? A trust fund? But I wished for the same thing every single time. I'd squish my eyes close, squeeze the penny in my fist and chant this mantra: "I hope we have pizza for dinner. I hope we have pizza for dinner. I hope we have pizza for dinner" and chuck the copper coin into the fountain.

Things have really changed since then. I'm older, I don't live in suburbia, and all of my local malls are fountain free. Seriously! Not a single pizza wishing fountain in sight! So I am forced to be proactive: if I want pizza for dinner, I have to go get pizza for dinner. Sigh.

Luckily this is an easy task, as I only have eyes for the pies at a single Seattle pizzeria: Via Tribunali.

You can forget about pineapple, green peppers or even pepperoni; VT doesn't use them. They stick to traditional Italian ingredients like prosciutto, fresh mozzarella and olives. Their incredibly fresh tasting pizzas strictly follow the guidelines set by Verace Pizza Napoletana, a Naples based organization that sets the standard for authentic Napoli style pizza.

Via Tribunali's wood fire brick oven looks like an adorable Alaskan igloo, but the bricks (made from the ashes of Mt. Vesuvius) were flown in from Naples. This extra hot oven cooks the pizza in a flash, and allows the thin crust to stay chewy underneath, and bubbly brown around the edges.

Ordinarily, I fall victim to being a topping whore. But at Via Tribunali I am perfectly content with the margherita pizza, topped only with the freshest, vibrant red tomato sauce, blobs of fresh mozzarella and basil leaves. But I'd never refuse the Piazza Dante (pictured) topped with that amazingly bright tasting San Marzano tomato sauce, melty provolone, pink prosciutto, cherry tomatoes and a leafy layer of peppery arugula.

Slice by slice, I chowed down on both varieties last night. In fact, I ate half of each pie, which means I ate *ahem* an entire pizza for dinner.

But so what! Over the years, I probably tossed fifty pizza pennies into the wishing fountain. The actuality of my parents ordering pizza on one of those nights? It might have happened once. Once! It doesn't take a mathematician to see that I am owed 49 pizzas. And I plan to eat them, one delicious bite at a time, at Via Tribunali.

A Non Food Related Post

I am definitely a supporter of good dental hygiene. Brushing, flossing, tongue scraping - yes yes and yes! But apparently I am a boring brusher: I tend to tend to my teeth in the comforts of my own bathroom.

This morning, as I walked up my street to get a decaf latte (it really perks you up!), I saw a man brushing his teeth. While walking briskly down the street. He was really taking care of business too! He appeared angry at his teeth, violently scrubbing the plaque off them, while carrying a little paper cup full of rinsing water and a tube of toothpaste in the other hand.

I found this sight thrilling! It reminded me that I do, in fact, live in a quirky city, and not an oversize town parading as a city. The last time I felt this good about my street was the day I moved in. I walked out of my building to find a woman taking her kitten out for a walk on a leash.

So thank you teeth brushing guy! You made my Seattle Sunday.

Cookies for President!

I'm not one to do cartwheels for cookies. For that matter, I probably won't pirouette for pies or tremble for tarts. I will, however, use a lot of annoying alliteration to tell you that I usually prefer the savory over the sweet.

But. BUT. Things have changed. A single cookie recipe has altered my normal opinion of dessert. Day after day, night after night, I walk Zombie-like into the kitchen to eat just one – okay, maybe two... Alright! I'll have three! cookies until every last crumb is gone. The extra dough doesn't last long in the freezer.

As for the recipe, it's origin is a bit embarrassing to me. You may have heard it before. It's the Neiman Marcus Chocolate Chip Cookie recipe. Ring a bell? The recipe comes equipped with a cheeseball story – that may or may not be true – and is at least 20 years old.

The tale goes that some lady asked the department store for the cookie recipe, and was falsely charged $250 – instead of the $2.50 she expected. But boy did she get her revenge! She decided to distribute the recipe to everyone she knows, and asked all of them to keep passing it along. Boy is she fierce!

Dumb.

But the fact of the matter is – the cookies are amazing. They are chewy and nutty and perfect – and you must make them.

Addictive Chocolate Chip & Pecan Cookies

Makes about 35 cookies

2 1/2 cups oatmeal – blended into a powder
1 cup (2 sticks) butter
1 cup brown sugar
1 cup sugar
2 cups flour
2 eggs
1 tsp. vanilla
1 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. salt
12 ounces chocolate chips
1 1/2 cups pecans (or whatever nut you like)

*I added a big handful of shredded coconut to my batter and it was delicious!

-Cream the butter and both sugars in a big bowl
-Add eggs and vanilla
-Mix in flour, blended oatmeal, salt, baking powder and baking soda
-When it's all blended together, add chocolate chips, nuts, and coconut if you know what's good for you
-Roll into flattened balls, and place two inches apart on a cookie sheet.
-Bake for 9 minutes at 375 degrees.
Roll leftover dough into logs, wrap in plastic or parchment paper – and store in the fridge or freezer. You can cut off thick slices whenever you crave a cookie, and bake for 10 minutes.

The cookies will be very soft, and appear a bit raw after baked. Don't panic! Don't bake them longer! They will firm up when they cool.

Sushi & Jewshi

It's not polite to brag. I know this because my mother taught me manners. But I haven't lived with my mother for 11 years - so fuck it! I'm gonna brag!

Look at my beautiful homemade sushi!

I have no witty clever things to say about the sushi that I rolled last week. I'm not particularly in the mood to give you instructions on how to roll your own. I just really wanna show off the photos.

And I wanna say that I wanna make sweet love to Uwajimaya. This amazing and massive Asian grocery store, with its rows upon rows of tofu and noodles and frozen dim sum and what-the-heck-do-I-do-with-this produce is the perfect spot to gather sushi making materials. I was literally bouncing and skipping through the fish department. Fish excites me!

You can buy schools of sashimi-grade fish by the slab or, far more affordable, just a few savory slices. You can buy a small fan of seared tuna, a chunk of locally smoked salmon, a single octopus tentacle, and a healthy hunk of unagi.

And if you celebrate Hanukkah, you can roll up a batch of Jewshi. Sushi for Jewish people! Get it? Get it? Skip the bagel and create a smoked salmon, cream cheese and green onion roll. The adventurous should utilize the ultimate Jewshi roll filling: gefilte fish! Served sans wasabi, but with a squirt of horseradish of course.

Garbage Gourmet

They say one man's trash is another man's treasure. But I'm pretty sure the bloke who wrote that line wasn't imagining me shoving dumpster dived baguettes into a garbage bag at 11pm on a Tuesday night.

That's right, dumpster diving! Something I've been dying to do for years!

I happen to think there are several appealing aspects to rummaging around a big metal dumpster looking for a bit to eat. First off, the adventure! It's like searching for buried treasure. Plus you have to go when its dark and you can wear all black and a ski mask if you really want to get all dramatical. Second, I despise waste. I reuse tin foil and scrape the mold off my cheese. I don't need to remind you how much perfectly edible food Americans absentmindedly fling into the bin each day. And third, this food is free! With our collapsing economy, dumpster diving is as sensible as dropping J Crew for JC Penney.

I know what some of you are doing right now. You are making a snooty little wrinkled up sourpuss face. You are throwing up juuuust a little bit in your mouth. You are about to call and tell me you “have come down with SARS and can't possible make it to my dinner party Saturday night.”

But you should stop your sneering! Diving for dinner doesn't have to be disgusting. I didn't go snorkeling through your grandma's trash can, looking for a half-eaten Entenmann's cake. No sir. Hours after America voted to elect its first black president, three garbage giddy gals and I pulled up to one of Seattle's best bakeries. A bakery that charges about $5 for a loaf of it's organic artisan bread. A bakery whose name I am hesitant to mention, because I don't want it to start locking it's dumpsters!

And what delightful dumpsters they are! Lift a heavy metal lid, hop in the bin, and you will be knee deep in delicious bread; still securely tucked into paper sheathes. We plucked up round, crusty loaves of rosemary bread sprinkled with sea salt and squishy-soft sweet potato bread laced with pecans. There were long swords of sourdough and bags of dainty dinner rolls. Three garbage-free dumpsters. Piled with bread. We hardly made a dent.

I was scrounging for pleasure, but there was also some do-gooder diving on that historic night. Two of my freegan friends were gathering grub for Food Not Bombs, a grass roots organization that feeds the homeless with food that would otherwise go to waste.

The next morning at home, as I munched on slices of fragrant rosemary toast with butter, I decided this was only the beginning. Adventure! Less waste! Free food! I will scour every last dumpster in Seattle until I find the makings of a complete meal! And if I have to dramatically don an all-black outfit and a ski mask to do so. Well...so be it!

Guinea Pig: Peru's Other White Meat

Americans aren't too hip on eating their pets. They cower at cat consumption and look down on dog dining. If it's fluffy, furry or fetches, chances are they aren't interested. In fact, they are downright appalled!

I say they because I have never included myself in this camp. Yes, I love cats to an embarrassingly mockable degree, but given the chance, I might take a taste of a Tabby. No offense to adorable animals everywhere, but when it comes to cuisine, I wanna try everything! Which is why I couldn't wait to eat in Peru. A country that makes no excuse for its love of the guinea gig. Guinea pig on a plate, that is.

Called cuy, the rascally rodent usually only shows up on more expensive restaurant menus, and is considered a sort of delicacy.

It was Day Two of our five week trek around Peru, and we could wait no longer. Even my boyfriend, who as a child adored his guinea pig named Whinnie, was eager to try the pet on a plate. We grandly ordered up a cuy, along with an alpaca steak, in the charming city of Arequipa.

But even I was not prepared for the crisp, brown, tooth-to-tail animal set before me. He came with teeth, and claws, and hair!

His little guinea pig arm rested stiffly in my mashed potatoes.

He was also no picnic to eat. Fork and knife were abandoned for fingers, and once I managed to peel off his difficult layer of thick, rubbery skin, there was not much meat underneath. What meat there was tasted strong, gamy and...well, rodenty. Much more of a novelty than a delicacy, if you ask me.

A delicacy you can look in the eye, and even scratch behind the ears, if you stroll through some of Peru's amazing open air markets. At a street market in Calca, a quaint community in the Sacred Valley, guinea pigs squeak their days away in cages, oblivious to their dinner plate fate.

And oblivious to the luxurious lives their guinea pig pals are living up north.

America! Where the pets are just for petting.

MSG for You and Me!

There are so many ideas and inventions that I wish I woulda come up with. The film House of Yes starring Parker Posey (and Tori Spelling, but could ya just hush up about it)?

"Dammit!" I cursed, shaking my fist as the credits rolled up the screen, "Why didn't I pen that script?"

Bacon? Already invented! Hoods on sweatshirts? Done. Mail order brides? Trazillion dollar industry. All the good ideas have already been claimed, and I find it absolutely maddening!

But the true, gut wrenching, "Why didn't I think of that?" pain came when I stumbled across another Seattle food blog: MSG150. The brave knights behind this blog have embarked on a truly delicious quest: they have 365 days to eat at every single restaurant in the International District. They will tackle tofu, joust with ginger, mingle with MSG and their veins will run salty with soy sauce. It's a dream come true for Asian food fanatics.

Normally I would pout and cry, then viciously egg the homes of the inventors who have stolen the ideas that I might have eventually come up with. But in this situation I took the high road. I decided to use this "Why didn't I come up with that?" blog to navigate my way through the ID.

You see, I have scraped my chopsticks across many a Seattle plate, but have yet to find my favorite Chinese restaurant.

Growing up, my family exhibited a fierce and unflappable loyalty for the First Hunan Chef Wong. Tucked into a shopping center, in a tree-lined Bay Area suburb, we spent decades gorging ourselves on double mushroom chicken with bok choy and slippery chow mein noodles; always brought to the table by the perpetually peppy, suspiciously straight, wife-owner who sported a butchy bowl cut and called my dad "Boss."

Now, every time I open a Chinese menu, I think "This will be the one! My new favorite place!" But alas, the soup will be bland, the chow fun too greasy, and the garlicky Chinese greens nonexistent.

But thanks to the good folks at MSG150, I was lead to Shanghai Garden. It was a weeknight, but every table was crowded, and a hungry mob was not-so-patiently waiting in the small lobby. As the waitress lead us to our table, I noticed that nearly everyone was eating the same dish: green fettuccine-shaped noodles that turned out to be a house specialty: barleygreen hand shaved noodles.

My Partner-In-Asian-Food-Crime (PIAFC? There has got to be a better acronym!) and I share a passionate love for cushy hand shaved noodles, so we eagerly ordered this dish, along with a surprisingly pricey veggie dish that I have been craving ever since. Sixteen bucks will get you a platter of stunningly green and toothsome pea vines, a scattering of hearty shitake mushrooms and thin, silky sheets of bean curd. It's a celebration of textures, and my very first encounter with a bean curd sheet.

A thick soup packed with seafood, chicken, veggies and more shitakes introduced my PIAFC and I to yet another new item: additively squishy, disc shaped, rice noodles that look exactly like water chestnuts.



As for those hand shaved noodles, I've had better (Seven Stars Pepper Szechuan's are dreamy) . These were green, but they lacked the requisite cushy and comforting qualities that keep me up at night.

But, the good news is, Shanghai Garden has renewed my faith in Seattle Chinese food. AND, even more exciting, my giant brain has finally thought up an amazing idea of its own:

Those adorably American Lil Smokies that I am too snobby to buy, but will eat the shit out of if you serve them in a crock pot at your House Warming party? Hows about I invent some Lil Smokies BUNS? Teeny tiny little buns, in which to tuck your teeny tiny wieners! I'm tellin' you. This time next year? Lil Smokies buns will be the next bacon.

Cone Head

Did you know it takes an average of 50 licks to demolish a single scoop of ice cream?

Oh, um...you did? Dammit! How did you know that?!

Well, Mr Know-It-All McSmartypants, I bet you don't know THIS: despite the rain and the gloom and the gray, Seattle is one of the top three ice cream consuming cities in the country! We boldly walk the rocky road, not letting a measly drizzle or drip stand in the way of our favorite arctic addiction.

I first learned this little nugget of knowledge from Molly Moon, founder, owner and namesake of Molly Moon's Homemade Ice Cream Shop in Wallingford. A hip, young, ice cream loving gal fresh off a career in politics, Ms Moon noticed that our fair city was only home to a single locally run, homemade ice cream shop. So she put on her cookies-n-cream cape and came to the rescue, just in time for the summer ice cream rush.

Cocaine snorting disco ballers waited in line at Studio 54, and Seattleites are waiting in line for ice cream. The words "local" "homemade" and "organic" harmonize with flavors like Thai Iced Tea and Honey Lavender, creating an irresistible siren song that has them lining up out the door, and sometimes around the corner.

After several cones on several occasions, I decided it was time to share the love with my friend and fellow foodie blogger at www.franticfoodie.blogspot.com. She melted over a scout mint scoop, packed with pieces of Thin Mint girl Scout cookies. I stuck with my standard: strawberry balsamic. I am by no means a creature of habit, but after tasting every single last flavor at MM's, I declare this sweet and savory combination to be my absolute favorite.

But there might be a new favorite in town! In just a few sweet hours, I will be in White Center to sample ice cream and Popsicles at an even newer establishment. If the words horchata + ice cream make you gasp with delight...you may wanna stay tuned.

Va Va Va Vegan!

Hi. My name is Rachel, and I'm addicted to the Internet.

It's true! But I had no idea how much I depended on the World Wide Webby Poo (I figure an adorable nickname is suiting since we do spend so much time together) until I found myself computerless. Hence the lack of new blogs. Hence you crying on your pillow every night.

But all that time previously spent Googling Celine Dion's shoe size, has now been devoted to filling my face with delectables from Seattle restaurants that I have never tried before!

Where have you been eating, you ask? Well, for one, Hillside Quickie up on Capitol Hill. I have read reviews and passed by this vegan sandwich (yeah, that's right, more sandwiches) shop a baker's dozen times, but never stopped in. For two reasons:

1.) When it comes to vegetarian and vegan food, I prefer creative combinations of real veggies, legumes, tofu, pasta and rice, as opposed to those creepy curtains of wrinkly fake meat.

2.) Vegan food, especially sandwiches, tend to be B-L-A-N-D. Blandwiches, if you will.

But boy did I feel sheepish after taking my first bite at Hillside Quickie! After spending a secretary's lunch break deciding what to order ("Ooooh, look at that one! Fire roasted yam sammich?! Jamaican spiced tofu wrap?!") I finally settled on the Purple Haze:

Cushy rosemary focaccia managed to bookend an absolutely enormous sandwich filled with smoky slabs of soft eggplant, seitan steak, sweet grilled onions, and barely cooked, crisp bell peppers. This was a vegan sandwich with FLAVOR! With DEPTH! It was messy and drippy and threatened to disassemble at any moment, which are all the signs of a superb sandwich.

I am often lured into ordering a main course based on the sexiness of its side dish, and at Hillside Quickie my seitan stack was not accompanied by plain-old ordinary chips or potato salad. No sir. Piled up beside my teetering sandwich was a lovely lump of creamy risotto. It seemed to maybe possibly perhaps be made out of quinoa, and it seemed to be much better than the sticky, gooey "risottos" I've tasted at fine Seattle restaurants over the past year.

So the next time you accidentally drop your laptop in the toilet, or get busted for pilfering your next door neighbors Internet - seize the opportunity! Don't mope! Eat! Eateateat! Even if you're scared of potentially wrinkled up fake meat.

Tapatio: a true inspiration

For nearly a decade now, I have enjoyed a passionate love affair with a bright eyed man in an (alright-already-we-get-the-point) huge sombrero. Obviously I'm talking about the handsome devil on the bottle of Tapatio.

I was introduced to the "red crack" by a neighbor in college, who had me over for roasted poblano peppers stuffed with cotija cheese and drizzled with Tapatio. Since then my cupboard, my desk at work, and (for a while) my car's glove compartment has always been stocked with a nice, big bottle.

I have no doubt eaten quarts of Tapatio over the years. But the last time I roasted a Mexican pepper, I was still buying college ruled binder paper and doing keg stands.
So it seemed this year's Tres de Mayo party was the perfect opportunity to reunite with the poblano. I decided to one-up my former neighbor with something new and delicious: chile rellenos.


To Roast the Poblanos:

Lay them on a cookie sheet and throw them under the broiler. When they turn black and blistery, flip them over. The goal is to blister up as much of the pepper as you can.

Fling them into a paper bag to sweat for about 10-15 minutes (I imagine the peppers wear little baby sweat bands). This will make the skin peel off nice and easy. Which brings us to the next step: Peel the skin off. But leave the stems attached.

To Stuff The Poblanos:

Cut a slit around the pepper so you can remove the seeds. Be careful to keep the pepper in one piece. Then insert slices of pepperjack, Monterey jack, or cotija cheese. I love cotija, but the jacks melt super nice.

To Make the Dipping Batter:

You'll need as many eggs as you have peppers. Separate the whites from the yolks, and save the yolks in a little bowl.

In a nice big bowl, beat the living tweedle out of the egg whites with an electric mixer until stiff peaks form. Beat the yolks with a tablespoon each of flour and salt. Combine the two!

Execution!

Fill a plate or pie pan with flour, and get yer little assembly line moving.

Dredge both sides of the pepper in flour, coat it in the egg mixture, then drop it into a smoking hot pan of oil. You'll want about a cup of oil.

Fry em up til golden brown and drain on paper towels. Sprinkle with salt and serve immediately with a nice, big bottle of Tapatio.



This aint no neat and tidy operation. You will most likely drip fluffy eggs all over the floor, onto your Tres de Mayo party dress, and into your hair. But you will be so proud of yourself when the task is complete! Chile rellenos are more than just a bitch to make; they're an all expense paid trip to Tasty Town.

My Deep Dark Secret : Revealed!

I definitely hate to admit it. I always wanna lie about it. And when people do find out, it's completely humiliating.

I don't like raw tomatoes.

I know! I know! I already know you love to bite into them like apples, garnished with only a sprinkle of salt. I know you love them fresh from the garden, still warm from the sun. And I know you think you can change my palate's mind with your special (allegedly) magically delicious tomatoes. I've heard it all before! But I just.don't.like.them.

As a "regular person" I've endured a lifetime of torment for my tomato trepidation. But as a restaurant critic - it seems I am legally bound to enjoy all foods - especially something as basic as the raw tomato. I have even received a piece of hate mail on this very subject:

I enjoy your food reviews. unfortunately i do not think that you have the ability to critique restaurants as it seems that you are an awfully picky eater (i.e do not like tomatoes).

Give me a frikkin' break: it's the only thing I truly don't like!

Until now.

On Sunday night, the monthly Seattle Food Bloggers dinner was held at The Capitol Grille. Not being a dapper grandpa who smokes a pipe, has a groomed mustache and enjoys counting money, I would never have dined there on my own.

We were treated to a complimentary zillion course dinner that included local wines, filet mignon, and lobster macaroni and cheese. But the most important course of the night turned out be the salad.

I chose the Caprese. I figured donating my tomatoes to the table would be like dropping off a bag of Versace at the Goodwill. So I pawned off most of the big chunks, but was oddly protective of the little yellow and red grape tomatoes coated in 12 year old balsamic. I gave one a try. Hmm. Not bad. I tried another. And another. They were so sweet! And perfectly ripe! And not gushing with slimy seeds! And probably completely masked by that delicious aged balsamic. A perfect fork full of fresh mozzarella, pungent basil and tomato. I am totally getting this Caprese salad concept.

Hallelujah! I no longer have to live in shame! I think my tomato shunning days are over!

As long as there's a bottle of 12 year old balsamic handy. Or at least a dapper, mustachioed grandpa with some extra money that needs counting.

Pop Til You Drop

Tragically, I was going to start this story with something predictable (but true) about how I love going to the movie theater because of the glorious, butter-drenched popcorn that awaits me there. But then I got to thinking. Strange as it may seem, I possess a nice little collection of happy memories that center around popcorn. Really, I do!

Ask me about childhood camping trips. Go on, do it! Then I can tell you about how I built some biceps, spastically shaking that little Jiffy Pop tin over the crackling campfire. I felt giddy hearing the first pop-pop, eventually followed by the her-contractions-are-getting-closer-together pop-pop-pop-pop that caused the foil to expand, creating a silver, pregnant belly full of popcorn.

Then there were the trips to the pumpkin patch, where my mom would buy magical ears of dried corn on the cob. They came home in a brown paper lunch bag that we'd fling in the microwave, and by golly, that popcorn would pop right off the cob!

In college, my favorite late night (alone at last) snack was a bathtub-sized bowl of freshly air-popped popcorn. In an effort to reduce the belly bulge brought on by daily Chihuahua-sized burritos and countless $1 pints of Sierra Nevada, I drenched each and every fluffy white kernel with a spritz of I Can't Believe It's Not butter spray. It's fat and calorie free, you know. Oh, and it also kills roaches on contact.

You have to hand it to popcorn. It is a magic snack! And certainly not lazy. What other food literally flips inside out when it gets all hot and bothered?

Well, I nearly flipped inside out after tasting the popcorn at Seattle's Market Theater, an establishment appetizingly located right next to the famous Post Alley gum wall.

These thespians take their popcorn seriously. First they pop it to perfection. Then they toss it in a big bowl with real melted butter. Then they shake on a little truffle salt (Holy halter-tops am I obsessed with truffle products right now). And then, just when it starts to seem ridiculous, a casual sprinkle of fresh tarragon. It's a truly tasty trip to Truffle Town, for a mere $2 a bag!

Just when I thought I might have closed the book on fond popcorn memories, here I go creating new ones. *Satisfied Sigh*

You Don't KNOW me! I blog what I WANT!

Believe it or not, sandwiches are not on my short list of absolute favorite foods. But a quick graze through this blog would inspire that very fact.

I recently realized that I never write about my favorite foods. I never write about the amazing restaurants I formally review, and I never write about the fancier foods that pass through my (fancy?) lips. It's simply far more fun to scribble on about Beefaroni sandwiches and trips to the farmer's market.

Maybe it's time to stop living a lie, and show you the real me. The girl who constantly craves Asian cusine. I honk for garlic wokked Japanese eggplant, swimming-pool-sized bowls of pho, shiny slices of sashimi and umami-tinged agedashi tofu.

Ever since I was a wee little piglet, I have enjoyed the comforts of a steaming bowl of udon soup. It's the only thing I remember eating when my family went out for Japanese food. My parents must have deemed it a "safe" dish that I wouldn't spit back into the bowl.

So when the new and hip (um, totally me) Boom Noodle opened on Capitol Hill, I had to have a slurp. Here in Seattle, I have a partner in noodle soup crime. A gal who knows that ramen is far more than a freeze dried desperation dinner. I told her to put on her newest and hippest frock, and meet me at the dinner table.

I was initially skeptical of Boom, as it comes from the folks who brought us Blue C Sushi. But one look at the drool worthy menu, and I started to have higher hopes.

The Wild Salmon Udon not only features chunks of smoked white king salmon, but includes crisp, salty peels of fried salmon skin. There's a fat and meaty shitake mushroom, ribbons of silky spinach, tamago, and lots of slippery buckwheat noodles to slurp from the white miso broth.

Unable to resist the siren song that is the Boom Noodle menu, we also split the Chilled Sesame Tofu.



It is a visually intriguing small plate, featuring
shiitake mushrooms, wakame, bamboo shoots and green onions, all atop slabs of tofu and doused in creamy sesame sauce.

It was a nice mix of crunchy and tender, and the sauce was finger licking good, but the tofu could have used some serious marinating. A perfectly acceptable dish, but not the one that will draw me back to Boom. But, have no fear, I will be back.

As long as I am able to wield a pair of chopsticks, I plan to slurp up all the ramen, soba, and udon noodles I can get my sandwich loving lips on.

Yeah, that's right. I do love sandwiches. And on second thought, some of them do make my short list of all-time favorite foods! I may love me some toro sashimi, but I might sell my sister for a perfect grilled cheese sandwich.