Avocados are great. Really great. Amazing, in fact. Do you know how good it feels to come home and be tired af and not want to cook a damn thing and then realize that you have not one, not two but THREE hand-sized nuggets of fatty deliciousness requiring on average thirty seconds of prep waiting in your fridge, waiting in the unassuming manner avocados have because they know that the makings of spoonable culinary greatness lie just beneath their pond water-colored skins? Do you know that feeling? As of at least 47 minutes ago I'm addicted to that feeling.
It's the end of week one in Guatemala, and I've eaten more avocados than I'd prefer to admit but am still admitting because they've saved me from a lot of peanut butter sandwiches (which are also beautiful things, but not every night). A brief rundown of the avocado madness:
-Guacamole. I mean, duh. One particularly notable version used extra lime and garlic; it got me thinking about trying a roasted garlic and chili base.
-Plain avocado. All Haas and spoon and salt.
-Avocado and beans. Basic garlic-onion-black beans, which were hot and stewy, with cold chunks of avocado. Looked like vomit, tasted like heaven.
-Avocado and eggs. Ripped off a brunch recipe from Serious Eats, this puppy consisted of (surprise) an avocado, two eggs cracked into the hollow left by the pit, and a broiler for 10-12 minutes. Jesus. If there had been feta and lemon I might have died.
-Avocado and toast. Again a nice hot-cold combo. A small addition of cottage cheese/cream cheese to the avocado mash took it to another level (and again, vomity in appearance. alas)
-Heard of but not yet tested: avocado and lime tart, a vegan imitation of key lime pie. Like I needed a reason to buy more avocados but now it's happening for sure.
I haas to have more. Avocado go and buy some soon.
Tuesday, July 8, 2014
Tuesday, April 15, 2014
the perfect dinner
*note: the meal which I am about to describe falls squarely outside of this blog's stated financial parameters ("a college student's budget") but long hair don't care, it was too good to not write about
The premise of this meal: a birthday dinner for two friends at Mas. The time: 8:00 PM, in an attempt to be Spanish. Party of six, a warm spring night.
The 45-minute wait outside -- on a Monday? in central Virginia? still perplexed/delighted by this -- should have been the start to something bad. But some spirit moved us and instead of being pissed at the hipsters and their dogs being seated before us we laughed instead. And despite the 40% chance of rain, it didn't. Also I only yelled at one passing waitress to "Seat us please I'm STARVING." Portent of a perfect night number one.
Then, the sangria, served in a gigantic and opaque pitcher so as to give the impression of bottomlessness. Perfection portent number two. This coincided somewhat with the panicked filling-out of menu cards, but it was the good kind of panic, the one where all the words kind of jumble up and you have the frenzied realization that everything is going to be delicious.
And then it began. The siege of tapas. It came in waves so gentle, so olive oil-graced, so damn delicious it felt like the culinary equivalent of a Trojan horse; I'm sure they were pickpocketing us or raiding our city or something while we were eating and to tell the truth, we couldn't have cared less. Translucent slices of jamon and queso. Cauliflower with chorizo that crackled when you bit it. Chevre with artichoke hearts mashed and baked in a tiny skillet (if this is Mas's answer to spinach-artichoke dip, I'll take it), surrounded by crusty rounds of bread. Seriously huge shrimp swimming in aioli. And the DATES. My god, the dates. Bacon-wrapped dates served so hot they were still popping in their grease. I didn't know you were allowed to do that, tempt your patrons with pig candy so seductive they'd willingly burn their tongues with boiling fat. The roof of my mouth is still raw and I applaud them for it.
Somewhere in between the second and third round of tapas we all realized what was happening. The table had that glow. And I could try and dissect it here, attribute it to the sangria-induced buzz or the conversation or the clearly bangin food or the beloved people at the table, but I don't feel ready to nor am I sure I want to. It was unexpected, and it felt a little like love; because it happened, I know it won't be long before each of us goes seeking a perfect meal again.
(love to the birthday peeps <3)
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| das friends |
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| monday's menu |
Friday, February 14, 2014
The cash-strapped guide to navigating restaurant week.
This past January marked my last Cville restaurant week (at least for awhile). I started going the summer before my second year with my good foodie buddy Anna, found out there was a summer AND winter restaurant week, and haven't stopped eating since. Highlights from this year's foodventures were definitely Maya's inventive and perfectly proportioned sweet potato poutine with sausage gravy and goat cheese (really though, they had me at goat cheese) -- not too much cheese and just the right amount of heat in the sausage -- and The Shebeen's lamb with apricots, because lamb, and because the apricots mixed with the beans and the rice on the side made for a terrifically sweet and meaty combination.
All this consumption has led to the amassing of a base of pro-tips of sorts, which is not to say I consider myself a pro but rather someone who really likes to eat and who is also somewhat miserly and therefore invested in producing the greatest flavor-to-cash spent ratio out of any meal. Anyway the tips are below and the link to the January 2014 restaurant week is here.
All this consumption has led to the amassing of a base of pro-tips of sorts, which is not to say I consider myself a pro but rather someone who really likes to eat and who is also somewhat miserly and therefore invested in producing the greatest flavor-to-cash spent ratio out of any meal. Anyway the tips are below and the link to the January 2014 restaurant week is here.
-The first question, the one I most often hear UVa students ponder, is whether or not restaurant week is actually a good deal. Is $26 (or $36, if we're going full out-bougie) worth it for a meal? After a few years of trying out different places I say yes, especially if the place puts a little extra effort into the dessert. $26 tends to only be a few dollars more than you'd pay for an entree at most of these places anyway. And frequently lackluster desserts aside, the appetizers can get pretty crazy (shrimp! pork belly! foie gras! gold bars! etc.) which make that three course deal worthwhile.
-The second thing I think it's important to consider is whether or not you're going to get screwed over if you're a vegetarian. Unfortunately, I think the answer is yes. Most of the menus feature some kind of salad as their vegetarian option, although Petit Pois had a cold pea puree that I still dream about, and the vegetarian entrees tend generally to be less inspired than the meat ones. Cauliflower steak? Bleh. And even options that are mostly vegetarian often feature a key, rapture-inducing meat ingredient. In a related vein I feel like eating vegan would be pretty difficult too, though having never examined the menus with an eye towards veganism I'm not sure if this is the case.
-Thirdly, things to generally avoid: making a reservation the day or even two days before because you won't get a space; desserts with fruit in the winter (unless it's in some kind of preserved form, like a jam); entrees with chicken breasts because c'mon it's a friggin chicken breast; salads because don't do anything with lettuce when there's pork belly or bacon wrapped dates on the appetizer menu; restaurants that don't have good reviews, which sounds stupid, but it's going to be a waste of your $26 and there's so many good ones to try. It'd just be a shame.
-Fourthly, things to always go for/try: expensive meats or fishes -- when's the next time you're going to be able to order a whole branzino?; odd desserts because as good as the flourless chocolate cakes usually are, they taste pretty similar, and branching out a little can reward you with strange surprises like Horse and Hound's plum and black pepper crumble; a beer or glass of wine with your meal if you're of age because dammit if you're already pretending to be an adult with disposable income by going to this restaurant at which you made a reservation (bolded because it indicates forethought and possible signs of burgeoning maturity) you should drink in moderation like one, and because Charlottesville's got some sweet/indie beer and wine selections.
So go forth and eat this summer, and next winter, and the summer after that. Manipulate the living daylights out of these deals. Make your stomachs and wallets happy.
-The second thing I think it's important to consider is whether or not you're going to get screwed over if you're a vegetarian. Unfortunately, I think the answer is yes. Most of the menus feature some kind of salad as their vegetarian option, although Petit Pois had a cold pea puree that I still dream about, and the vegetarian entrees tend generally to be less inspired than the meat ones. Cauliflower steak? Bleh. And even options that are mostly vegetarian often feature a key, rapture-inducing meat ingredient. In a related vein I feel like eating vegan would be pretty difficult too, though having never examined the menus with an eye towards veganism I'm not sure if this is the case.
-Thirdly, things to generally avoid: making a reservation the day or even two days before because you won't get a space; desserts with fruit in the winter (unless it's in some kind of preserved form, like a jam); entrees with chicken breasts because c'mon it's a friggin chicken breast; salads because don't do anything with lettuce when there's pork belly or bacon wrapped dates on the appetizer menu; restaurants that don't have good reviews, which sounds stupid, but it's going to be a waste of your $26 and there's so many good ones to try. It'd just be a shame.
-Fourthly, things to always go for/try: expensive meats or fishes -- when's the next time you're going to be able to order a whole branzino?; odd desserts because as good as the flourless chocolate cakes usually are, they taste pretty similar, and branching out a little can reward you with strange surprises like Horse and Hound's plum and black pepper crumble; a beer or glass of wine with your meal if you're of age because dammit if you're already pretending to be an adult with disposable income by going to this restaurant at which you made a reservation (bolded because it indicates forethought and possible signs of burgeoning maturity) you should drink in moderation like one, and because Charlottesville's got some sweet/indie beer and wine selections.
So go forth and eat this summer, and next winter, and the summer after that. Manipulate the living daylights out of these deals. Make your stomachs and wallets happy.
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
loafing around.
(I'm back, bad bread puns and all. Finally have the time to treat this little lady of a blog right. Promise there are more posts to come.)
There's something cathartic about baking bread. It just doesn't...give any shits about anything else going on, save maybe temperature. It's going at it's own pace regardless of what anyone else is doing (provided no one upends the bowl). Provided you can read and get the initial proportions right -- maybe expend a little energy kneading, too -- it will live. And become bread.
I always feel like the dough becomes for a short time the center of my universe, a star that despite its insignificant size I am compelled to orbit. I go on with whatever I have to do but on a leash because in the back of my mind ticks the bread clock, calling me back home to attend to some second or third rising at various hours of the day and night.
You can mix the flour-water-salt-yeast-maybe a fat together and clap your hands delightedly at the little taupe ball that will soon become something greater than the sum of its simple parts, and then you can come back in a few hours and see the bubbles dotting the surface as the yeast inside yawns, stretches, starts to wake; and then after you go to bed and come back in the morning you can be astounded at the gooey fermenting monster that looks as though it's about to burst out of the bowl and throttle someone. So then you can scoop it into your dutch over or pan or whatever you use and breathe a sigh of relief as the yeast, bless its fungal soul, dies and the rising stops and the flour crisps into something else, with a smell that settles right in the center of your body and says for god's sake eat me already.
It's soothing to know that can happen. You barely feel as though you're cooking at all but rather coaxing something into being. Ceremonies of water and flour, sacrifices of yeast and salt. Voila, food conjured.
I don't think I'm saying anything new. I remember reading something awhile back about the primal nature of bread and I think that's where these thoughts come from. The simplicity of bread appeals to us all.
Just been on a bread-making kick lately (got a dutch oven and Jim Lahey's 24-hour no work bread has called my/my housemates' names) so that's where this is coming from. Check out a sweet pic of loaf number one. Rosemary and garlic versions have since been tested to warm (immediately consumed) recepetions, as seen below.
There's something cathartic about baking bread. It just doesn't...give any shits about anything else going on, save maybe temperature. It's going at it's own pace regardless of what anyone else is doing (provided no one upends the bowl). Provided you can read and get the initial proportions right -- maybe expend a little energy kneading, too -- it will live. And become bread.
I always feel like the dough becomes for a short time the center of my universe, a star that despite its insignificant size I am compelled to orbit. I go on with whatever I have to do but on a leash because in the back of my mind ticks the bread clock, calling me back home to attend to some second or third rising at various hours of the day and night.
You can mix the flour-water-salt-yeast-maybe a fat together and clap your hands delightedly at the little taupe ball that will soon become something greater than the sum of its simple parts, and then you can come back in a few hours and see the bubbles dotting the surface as the yeast inside yawns, stretches, starts to wake; and then after you go to bed and come back in the morning you can be astounded at the gooey fermenting monster that looks as though it's about to burst out of the bowl and throttle someone. So then you can scoop it into your dutch over or pan or whatever you use and breathe a sigh of relief as the yeast, bless its fungal soul, dies and the rising stops and the flour crisps into something else, with a smell that settles right in the center of your body and says for god's sake eat me already.
It's soothing to know that can happen. You barely feel as though you're cooking at all but rather coaxing something into being. Ceremonies of water and flour, sacrifices of yeast and salt. Voila, food conjured.
I don't think I'm saying anything new. I remember reading something awhile back about the primal nature of bread and I think that's where these thoughts come from. The simplicity of bread appeals to us all.
Just been on a bread-making kick lately (got a dutch oven and Jim Lahey's 24-hour no work bread has called my/my housemates' names) so that's where this is coming from. Check out a sweet pic of loaf number one. Rosemary and garlic versions have since been tested to warm (immediately consumed) recepetions, as seen below.
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