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.

From Karaoke to the Ukraine!

Yes, driving drunk is bad. But so is the "I was responsible" forty minute bus ride to pick up your car the day after you belt out The Girl Is Mine at a karaoke bar (Paul, I think I told you. I'm a lover, not a fighter!).

After about 25 minutes of whisper-screaming into my cell phone (I know, but I get bored on the bus) I hopped off right in front of a little ethnic market and produce stand on 105th & Greenwood. It was fate! Seriously cheap fate, it turns out.

I had already browsed my corporate neighborhood grocery that morning, foraging ingredients for the night's Indian themed dinner. A package of dried, whole, red chilies was going for $5, and I flat out refused to pay it.



But here at Lenny's Fruits and Vegetables/Ukraine International Foods, dried whole chilies are yours for a cool 79 cents!!

For $5.36 I got:



(dried shitake mushrooms, rice stick noodles, a bunch of fresh cilantro, dried peppers, and a huge sack of black sesame seeds)

Oy! I love a bargain! And an ethnic grocery. Even if I have no idea what to do with the countless jars of shrimp paste, lychee in syrup, and mystery cans of Vietnamese surprise.

The nice thing about this particular little treasure (I can't type that expression without snickering), is that if you happen to hate all Asian and Mexican foods (which not only brands you a fool, but a racist as well) there is a full-on Ukrainian deli in the back! Meat tubes of all shapes and sizes and glorious cheeses as far as the eye can see! And it's common knowledge that no one, and I mean no one, can turn down a Ukrainian meat tube.

Earl of Sandwich: I Salute You

Oh boy, do I love getting mail. It's like magic! You open up the little box, and there is stuff in there waiting for you! I love the "Happy Birthday" postcard my dentist sends me, I love the Latina magazine that belongs to a lady down the street, that ends up in my box. And best of all, I love the sweet little red envelope we have all come to recognize as Netflix. I hadn't gussied up my long-as-Crystal-Gayle's-Hair queue in ages, so imagine my surprise when I found the hard hitting, groundbreaking documentary Sandwiches You Will Like in my very mailbox.

Um, okay, you can totally wipe that face off your head. Like you've never watched a sandwich documentary. Pfffft. Please!

Anyway, this visual sandwichpalooza launched me into a sandwich frenzy.
Frenzy meaning, I ate three sandwiches this past week, two that will make you wanna hug your grandma.

Never underestimate the potential of a grocery store sandwich. Pete's is a small, unassuming shop right across the gravel road from the east shore of Lake Union. The crumbly storefront is a clever disguise for what's inside: aisles of fine wines, an impressive cheese selection, and a deli where you might spend 18 minutes deciding what to stack between two slices of bread *cough*.

After a long fret, I chose to fill my soft roll with peppered turkey, capicolla (paper-thin slices of Italian spiced ham) , provolone (I really wanted my boyfriend brie. Oh, Brie! But I used my willpower to stick with the Italian theme) roasted red peppers, balsamic, red onions, and lettuce. Momma mia! (I am allowed to toss around obnoxious, cliche Italian phrases, since I sacrificed the brie for provolone) This was a mighty fine sandwich! A sandwich with a view, enjoyed just blocks away from work.

Sandwich number two takes us to beautiful Aurora/Highway 99. I was driving back to work after interviewing several homeless people (I'm living the dream, people) when I remembered Barriga Llena, Seattle's newest (uh, and only) torta shop. Desperate for authentic over-the-counter Mexican food, I took the Spanish-only menu as a good sign.

Barriga Llena's specialty is the Barrigona, a torta stuffed with Old McDonald's entire farm: breaded steak, chorizo, pork leg, cheese, and a hot dog. Seeking semi-purity, I opted for the steak, pork leg and cheese. A Mexican roll, the size of my size-9 foot, is stuffed with the meat menagerie, mayo, mashed avocado, lettuce, tomato (no thanks) and then grilled 'til melty.

Every single person who walked by my desk stopped to gawk at the carnivorous creation. But as the after-school specials of my youth taught: looks aren't everything. The massive, fried steak reeked of elementary school cafeteria food, which sort of brought down the entire torta. And after I polished it off, my stomach felt like it was toting a toaster. But, on the plus side, the thick, brick red (homemade?) hot sauce was top notch, and helped ease the blow.

Nothing screams healthy like a big, fat, deliciously drippy, aoili-trickling-down-to-your-elbow Cuban sandwich. Which is exactly why I ate one right before a long walk around Green Lake.

Paseo has no sign, but you'll be tipped off to it's whereabouts by the hungry mob lined up on Fremont Avenue. This is, hands down, my favorite sandwich in Seattle. Order the Midnight Cuban Press and get hunks of slow roasted pork, thin slices of ham, melty cheese, sweet chunks of caramelized onion, cilantro, hot peppers and garlicky aoli shoved into a crusty roll and grilled. You will need 800 napkins. You will make embarrassing moaning and groaning noises. You will wait in line for this massive sandwich.

When I don't have time to take a nap after lunch, I order the scallop sandwich. About six or seven fat scallops peak out of the baguette, along with those perfect onions, jalepenos, garlic aoli, cilantro and a leaf or two of romaine. If you manage to capture one of the few tables inside Paseo, you will be rewarded with a half a corn on the cob smeared with more yummy tasties.

Forget President's Day, I think we need a three day weekend in honor of the Earl of Sandwich.

Blue Suede Barbecue

It smells like pig in the Memphis airport. Big, fat, succulent, juicy pig. Ribs. Bacon. Pork chops. A virtual storm of swine smacked me in the nose the second I walked off the airplane. I pity the rabbis who travel to Memphis.

When I got in the rental car, and turned the key, the local public radio station pumped 1950's rockabilly into the mid sized sedan.

This is why I came to Memphis: music memorabilia and barbecue. And good old fashioned kitsch. Eleven years after my mom and I boarded a double decker bus in Liverpool for the Magical Mystery Tour, here we are touring Graceland, Sun Studio, and being Baptist-for-the-day at Reverend Al Green's Sunday morning service. Oh, and depleting the world of its WetNap resources at several hands-on barbecue joints.



Pork is to Memphis as Barbra is to the gays, so it would be wrong to resist the fine swine available at BBQ joints like A&R Bar-B-Que on
Elvis Presley Blvd.






The A&R magicians are behind this sensationally sloppy pulled pork and coleslaw sammich, and a slab of fall-off-the-bone sweet-sauced ribs. Use the two slices of soft, government issue white bread as edible napkins. Avoid the sickeningly sweet tea if you're not into getting cavities. Order more fried, beige food in the form of crunchy, breaded deep fried pickles.

I didn't go into this barbecue business blindly. With only two-a-half days to gnaw meat off bones, I sought the advice of down-home-Americana-food gurus Jane & Michael Stern then cross-referenced their picks on chowhound.com. I also wore horn rimmed glasses, made pie charts and briefly held a protractor. But not in vain. Without my sacred list of rundown barbecue restaurants, Mommy and I would have been driving aimlessly around the horribly depressed city, resorting to Church's Chicken drive-thrus.


The List lead us to Interstate Bar-BQ, whose owners (The Neely's) are apparently the stars of a new Food Network show. When the folks at Interstate get bored, they stack meat. Here is a link-n-log cabin made out of pork ribs, beef ribs, pulled pork and links. After a few bites of the chewy beef, I decided I was wasting my time and precious stomach space. I needed to save room for a Memphis specialty, a side dish that has furrowed the brow of every non-Southerner I have described it to. Barbecued spaghetti. Spaghetti with barbecue sauce, and yes, more shredded pork. Meh. I vote for the plastic urine-sample cups of crispy slaw and smoky beans. Yeah, that's right, I aint afraid to ruin your appetite with my crude descriptions.


After an enthusiastic, fist pumping, two-day meatfest (I also ate ribs at the Blues City Cafe on Beale Street before my mom arrived), we decided to detox....with two pounds of crawdads (fondly nicknamed Mud Bugs) and a dozen Louisiana oysters on the half shell. Our lips and tongues zinged and burned, as we sucked the tail meat from the spicy, Old Bay dusted crustaceans. Unfortunately the oysters belonged on an episode of Bivalves Gone Bad. Freakishly large and absolutely flavorless, we had to console our taste buds with a tart, custardy-smooth slice of Key Lime pie.

You know you are a food obsessed freak when you nearly miss your flight because you insist on eating at Memphis' very first cafe, even though you've spent your allocated lunch time getting obnoxiously lost searching for said historic cafe. With only fifteen minutes to order, eat and pay, I did something I never do: quickly ordered a meal. No hesitation. I only asked one question, and only changed my mind once (soup, salad, corn, green beans, mashed potatoes. Pick one!? Are they crazy? What do I fucking DO?!)

I came to Memphis with a curiosity and a craving for an Elvis sandwich: peanut butter, banana and bacon pressed between two slices of buttered and gilled bread. Arcade Restaurant was rumored to be the only dealer in town, but it turns out the King's creation is baconless (the nerve) so why bother?

At the adorably vintage Arcade, $7 bucks will get you chicken with dumplings more like planks of fat, cushy noodles than airy blobs of dough. You will run your tongue over these gravy slicked dumplings and savor their smooth texture for as long as possible before chewing and swallowing. You know you're in the deep South when the menu asks you to pick two vegetable sides, and macaroni and cheese has made the list. The frills may be few, but the noodles are tender and the cheese melty and plentiful. I nibbled a few bites of corn bread muffin, dipped my fork into a tiny plop of spicy peach cobbler, slapped a $10 on the table and ran out the door mid-chew.

Needless to say, I left Memphis with a full belly and a major mega crush on Elvis Presley. I plan to hang his pompadoured poster above my bed, and passionately fan-faint every night while imagining that he's serenading me. I already bought one of those pork scented Plug-Ins, to really get into the Memphis mood.

"Hold me close, hold me tight
Make me thrill with delight
Let me know where I stand from the start.
I want you, I need you, I love you.
With all my heart"

-Elvis Presley

Gettin' Fresh at the Farmer's Market

I am a produce pervert.

"Um, I just think your vegetables are really....pretty." Totally. Awkward.

This to the farmer with the constipated expression as I snap photos of his dirt flecked potatoes and adorably tiny Brussels sprouts. (Sidenote: did you all know it was Brussels sprouts, not brussel sprouts? I, for one, had no idea! Thanks spell check!)

Gosh darn it, I love the farmer's market. I mean, I really really love it. Like, I wanna marry it! Even if I don't buy a thing, I get actual tingles just admiring the chubby little misshaped carrots and careful stacks of vivid green leeks.

Even on a chilly winter's day (just like today!) the Ballard market is overflowing with local produce; the newborn root vegetables exposed to the Seattle sunlight for the very first time. There is amazing cheese (I'd caucus for Estrella Creamery and it's swoon-worthy, pungent, oozy, washed rind creations). There are local oysters and seed studded baguettes perfect for a sword fight or a hot butter bath. And the best way to warm up: cozy grilled-to-order quesadillas packed with fresh market vegetables and melty, white cheese. This rustic snack is like taking a big bite of the market itself. Wow. That might be the cheesiest line I've ever written. You see?? That's what the market does to me!

Feeling light, happy and inspired, I hightailed my bag of veg home to make a big pot of my newfound favorite soup: Chickpea and Leek. It's super (or should I say souper? Oh idiotic puns. Sigh.) simple, but remarkably tasty. Aka I can eat it for a few days without getting sick of it. It's a Jamie Oliver recipe, and satisfies both creamy and chunky soup cravings.

To Get the Job Done:

-12 oz can of chick peas (garbanzo beans)
-1 medium white/yellow potato (peeled and diced)
-5 medium leeks (sliced. discard tips)
-2 cloves chopped garlic
-3 cups chicken or veggie broth (I do half and half)
-a knob of butter (oh, those lispy British cooks and their whimsical kitchen slang)
-a tablespoon olive oil
-salt and pepper
-Parmesan cheese for garnish (Really intensifies the tasty factor. Get a fresh chunk for grating)

The Job:

-Warm a soup pot, then add the butter and oil. Let it melt.

-Add leeks, garlic, and a few shakes of salt. Sweat gently. Not you, the food. (Read: This be the hee-larious instructions from my pal Carrie, who bequeathed me the recipe. I love the word bequeath. Just be careful not to stutter and morph the "th" into an "f." Happened to me once and...oh, Jesus. I completely digress)

-Stir in chick peas and potatoes - cook 1 minute.

-Add 2 cups of stock. Simmer for 15 minutes (I do lid-on to cook potatoes through)

-Now, bust out a blender or food processor or hand mixer. Ladle in some of the soup and blend. You can do as much or little as you like. I blend about half. This makes for a creamy consistency, but leaves lots of the chunks that make the soup so satisfying.

-Add the blended bit back to the pot and add remaining cup of broth. Let simmer for another 15 minutes uncovered (or longer -- it's an unfussy recipe), taste and season with salt and pepper - and serve! You will need to add salt.

I like to peel big curls of Parmesan off the hunk -- and sprinkle on top of each bowl of soup.

Goat Fever! Oh, yeah, and dinner at Ron's.

I've got a bad case of goat fever. And it's all Herby's fault. Yeah, that's right, the goat's name is Herby (I call him Herby Poo and Puffy McPufferHerb in my mind) and I have a major crush on him.

Herby belongs to my heart, but he lives with Ron & Michelle (we have an open relationship). Thankfully they hosted the last Dinner Club, so I had a chance to canoodle with the Herbster once again.

For this dinner we each picked a recipe from the Best of Gourmet 2000 cookbook. I made Moroccan Chicken with Preserved Meyer Lemons and Green Olives. Readers, preserved lemons don't grow on trees, so I had to get hella Amish and preserve those puppies myself. Good thing it was easy, but sounds totes hard so people are totes impressed.

You simply boil those Meyer Lemons for five minutes, cut 'em into sections, roll them in lots of coarse salt, shove them in a (pickle) jar and drown them in lemon juice. Five days later: preserved! Now you can eat the peels; puckery, salty and soft.





As dull and drab as the dish may look, the salty lemon and pimento stuffed olives brighten up the turmeric stained chicken. Add some sauted mushrooms and onions, and you've got a comforting and super flavorful dish. Just don't overcook (oddly, just some of) the chicken (dammit!) or you'll be sorry.

http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/102732


Hey! Wanna know what my fellow Foodaholics cooked? No? You don't? You only care about what I make? Oh reader, that's sweet, but just so rude! Go on, take a looksie:

That there on the left is what we like to call a Salmon and Leek Pie. Mmmm....piiiiiie. It's topped with a sour cream chili sauce. Oh, and that down below? That's a little Beet, Jicama and Citrus Zest salad with garlic yogurt dressing...on endive.





Coming up on your left, my favorite dish of the night: Puff pastry smeared with lotsa creamy goat cheese, topped with caramelized onions and sage. Mmm! Dan cooked the onions down with Sherry, and they took on a deep, intense, almost meaty, flavor.






Coming up on your right, we've got your classic Ratatouille heaped atop a pile of pasta.

And for dessert, some Hot Banana Creme Brulee, freshly caramelized by way of blowtorch.














Not even a dinner this delicious could cure my goat fever. xo