"One cannot trust people whose cuisine is so bad." - Jacques Chirac

"I'll bet what motivated the British to colonize so much of the world is that they were just looking for a decent meal." - Martha Harrison. "Before the Sunday roast is placed in the oven the vegetables are put on to boil." - Anonymous How long have British food jokes been around? Since the first World War? That's nearly a 100 years. It's no wonder the fallacy is so hard to dispel. But I'm happy to report that the State of Food in the United Kingdom is healthy, strong and tasty. For the past decade or so there's been a resurgence in demand for quality products. The appetite is growing for local produce. Britain produces more regional cheeses than France. It has 600 varieties of apples. One hundred twenty-five species of fish and shellfish live in its waters. Statistics like that can make for a seriously impressive menu. With the help of a good friend, a map, and a London Travelcard, I set out to discover what all the fuss was about.

My buddy J-Mac had been talking about my upcoming visit for months. I think he was more excited about my trip than I was. He'd been extolling the virtues of the new British cookery and couldn't wait to show off some his finds. After a walk around the financial district and a proper pint of ale (maybe it was two), I met him at Liverpool Station for the short walk to Hawksmoor.

J-Mac is something of a fixture at Hawksmoor. Pete, the fiendish bartender not only knows him by name, but by his preferred cocktail. Pete did his level best to get us shit-faced throughout dinner. Like me, J-Mac is a firm believer of sitting at the bar, so Pete had every opportunity to ply us with his newest concoctions. Manager, Will Beckett, was one of the coolest guys. He's the kind of restaurateur who gets it. His credo is: keep things simple, send the customer on his way fat & happy, and to serve the public is a noble calling. From my understanding, he's also quite the beer connoisseur. Once he figured out I wrote a food blog back in the States, he couldn't have been more accommodating or forthcoming. I liked him a lot.

Hawksmoor - 157 Commercial Street, London E1 6BJ, is first and foremost a steakhouse in the oldest sense of the word. Yorkshire Longhorn beef is simply cooked on a charcoal grill. The meat is some of the best you'll ever have. The service is flawless. Brits understand hospitality in a way most of their American counterparts find demeaning. They are attentive, uncomplaining and ever ready to oblige. They have unfairly (or wholly the opposite, really) raised the bar for restaurants here at home.

Next morning, and on my own again, I rode a double-decker bus into the heart of London getting off at Piccadilly Circus, not as cliché as it sounds. Five major roads converge at Piccadilly. In 1819 King George IV commissioned John Nash to create a junction that would connect Carlton House with Regent's Park. Nash envisioned a circus (derived from the Latin word meaning circle, and having nothing whatsoever to do with lion taming or bearded ladies) roundabout for the flow of carriage traffic. You can walk just about anywhere from Piccadilly.

There is one place I go without fail on any trip to London, the National Portrait Gallery. It is home to Henry VIII, Elizabeth I and just about every other British monarch and noble since the Norman invasion. There is also some lovely portraiture of modern day notables. Alessandro Raho has a massive painting of Dame Judith Dench hanging in one of the lower galleries. He has, I think, brilliantly captured Ms. Dench.  Gay Icons was currently showing when I arrived at the gallery. Ten prominent gay figures were asked to select six historic and modern icons in their own lives. The submissions were inspired and moving. I caught myself misty-eyed on several occasions.

Revived culturally and fueled with another proper ale, it was time to continue my investigative gastronomic reporting. Next stop, Neal's Yard Dairy for all things cheese.

Neal's Yard is a company after my own heart. These folks are excited by cheese. From humble beginnings in the 1980s, they've grown conscientiously, never losing the heart of their business model, matching the tastes of consumers with cheeses made regionally and by traditional methods. They buy cheeses from farms all over the British Isles. They have two shops in London and also ship to restaurants and stores all over the world.

There are no poems written about cheese. No flowery prose, nor devoted sonnets. My closest friend, surfing & golf partner and fellow foodie Matty O'Food and I came up with some lines of our own one summer. We put them to the melody of "Girls" by the Beastie Boys:

Cheese! And all I really want is Cheese! And in the morning it's Cheese! Two at a time it's just Cheese! I love the way that it melts... It goes on in that vein for several verses. Calculated silliness; the best kind.

Thanks for taking the time - Blog O. Food

Keeping It Real

More cooking by way of the new and improved BOF credo: Keep It Fresh, Stupid! Farm stand basil and more heirloom tomatoes shine in another version of my Pasta Salad.  Intense Cherry tomatoes replace the sundried variety while they're in season. The basil crop is going gangbusters now that the sun is out. Freshly grated parm from the Retail Market and lots and lots of extra virgin olive oil. Adding grilled sweet Italian sausages allows me to retain my Man Tribe membership card.

I could have wallowed in self-pity cooking for one after so many great family meals up in Maine. But summer's bounty (and a new exercise regimen) are buoying my disposition. And this lighter fare is helping to retard wear & tear on the old bathroom scales. Always an ego boost.

Thanks for taking the time - Blog O. Food

Migliorelli Farm

It was back to the Farmers Market this weekend. I missed a couple weeks while on holiday, so it was nice to see familiar, friendly faces behind counters and stalls. The summer growing season marches on as evidenced by what crops are popping up. Berries of all kinds are in full, if short, production. The cherries are small, but remarkably sweet and the blueberries just won't end. I've had them in yoghurt, on ice cream, and in my oatmeal. They are a summer favorite. Cooking greens are all over the map: broccoli rabe, chard, kale, mustard greens, bok choy, and turnip greens. Salad greens are keeping pace too. The arugula is amazing right now. Young, crisp and peppery. It can transform a tuna or chicken salad sandwich from pedestrian to inspired. For my lunch, I toasted a baguette, smeared on some soft brie, then stacked on some baby arugula and was whisked back to a summer backpacking trip through France. I wish I were that kid all over again. You should see the early root crops: beets, beets, and more beets. Japanese turnips, baby carrots, beautiful French Breakfast radishes. There's a shopping list of produce I could run down, but you get the idea.

The New York Botanical Garden Farmers Market is a small operation; just a handful of stalls. Most of the vendors talk readily about their farms and what practices they use in the fields and for harvesting. You can learn a lot just by showing an interest in their products. I gravitate most frequently to Migliorelli Farm. Theirs is a very conscientious venture up the Hudson Valley in Tivoli, NY, Duchess County. Migliorelli used to have fields right here in the Bronx, but moved up river when development squeezed out the last farms in New York City. The Migliorelli family is working diligently to transform their farm into a ecologically conscious, sustainable farming enterprise. Rotating production field crops, ending reliance on pesticides and reducing their carbon footprint are just some of the efforts the family is voluntarily taking on. What this means for the consumer is safer, fresher produce.

This season, I've made my own pledge to plan meals that focus on what's in season. Produce is getting the spotlight. I'm simplifying techniques and keeping the burners off as often as possible. Tonight it was a summer salad with grilled chicken breasts:

Mixed salad greens Sliced French Breakfast radishes Sliced cucumber Chopped fresh dill Heirloom cherry tomatoes

I marinated my chicken for a couple of hours in a mix of freshly chopped garlic, soy sauce, a dash of Worcestershire sauce and lots of freshly ground black pepper. I didn't add any salt; there was plenty in the soy. It only took about 10 minutes to get them grilled.

For a vinaigrette, I mixed olive oil and Balsamic vinegar in 3:1 ratio, added a dollop of Dijon mustard, more freshly chopped garlic, basil, oregano, and plenty of salt & pepper. Perfection and better in every way to any store-bought salad dressing.

Here was a meal to suit the season. Light, refreshing, satisfying. All the produce had been in the ground less than 24 hours earlier. Even the chicken came from hormone-free birds. One didn't leave the table feeling stuffed or uncomfortable, so I gave myself a good pat on the back after drying the dishes. Pops O'Food would have broke into song, "Oh Lord, it's hard to be humble..."

Thanks for taking the time - Blog O. Food

NYBG Farmer's Market

The New York Botanical Garden Farmers Market opened today. I ordered the McDonalds double cheeseburger meal by way of celebration. I kid! I kid! I have been marking off my calendar for weeks and was giddy with anticipation this morning packing my camera and a couple of canvas bags while getting ready for work. It's a kinder, gentler Farmers Market this season, with stalls open on Wednesdays AND Saturdays now. Before I get carried away singing the praises of the Market, can I make one observation that really gets under my skin? I have been an enthusiastic member of the Garden since moving to the Bronx in 2001, but why do they have to waste paper with a printed receipt every time I flash my membership card for a simple stroll through the grounds? I make a point of reminding the staffer at the membership kiosk that the Garden is supposed to be an eco-groovy company, and all that paper waste is upsetting. They always smile and agree. But the thought has never occurred to upper management? Really? It's aggravating.

BUT! Back to the market. There were only a couple of produce stalls open, but the bread maker was there, along with Joseph Bases of The Little Bakeshop. He brings delicious fresh berry pies and quiche every Wednesday, and I always snag something for lunch at my desk. The custard in his quiche is heavenly; smooth, light and creamy. I'll be taking a stab at one later this month.

Along with sprucing up my diet with fresh produce, another goal for frequenting the Farmers Market this season will be to chronicle the progression of food through the summer and into the autumn months. You'll get tips and recipes for seasonal faire from the garden, and hopefully garner an appreciation of the seasons and where your food actually comes from and when.

See these snap peas? They're gonna end up in a pot pie later this week. Well, not ALL these peas, but some will.

Young asparagus will be out of season before the end of the month. You can do almost anything with young spears: grill them for a side dish, purée them in a soup, blanche them for a salad, steam them and drown them in butter if you must. Most importantly? Make sure to smell your pee afterwards! I'm not kidding. True foodies will understand and not be grossed out by the prospect.

Why do you think potato salad is such a summertime favorite? Just take a look at these beauties and you begin to grasp the concept.

There are thousands and thousands of farmers markets across the US. Click the map at left to find a market in your neighborhood. If you live in a rural area, you're even more likely to know of a roadside farm stand. That produce was grown within mere miles of your front door. You know it's fresh. Studies are showing that supplements just can't provide the vitamins and minerals found in fresh produce. What are you waiting for, bad news from your doctor? Skip the fast food value meal and put freshness back in your kitchen.

Thanks for taking the time - Blog O. Food

If It's Wednesday, It Must Be Brussels Sprouts!

Well, I didn't bump into any of my loyal readers at the Farmers Market today which has lead to a few conclusions: My disguises are brilliant My readers respect my privacy I have no readers Whatever the case, I'm thrilled to report the first Brussels sprouts showed up at the Botanical Garden today. I know just what I'm gonna do with these beauties. Come Sunday, I'll steam blanch them quickly before halving them and sautéing them with some pancetta, honey and lemon juice. Then I'll roast a rack of lamb and open up an '05 Storrs Petite Syrah I've been saving for just the right occasion. So I have that to look forward to, and now you do too!

Coming soon to a blog near you,  a series titled Loser Party of One, solo meals that can be expanded to feed a small army; autumn soups and more comfort food. Plus there are new candidates for Best Burger. All of that ahead on You Gonna Finish That?

Stay tuned - Blog O. Food

Plan B

I am a creature of happy accidents. Fate has never had any interest in my plans, big or small, but has always imposed a somewhat more adventurous scheme. This past weekend was no exception.

I had intentions of photographing (and buying) late summer's bounty at the Union Square Farmer's Market and posting beautiful shots of heirloom tomatoes, red onions, artisan breads, purple basil and autumn greens. The blog was gonna write itself. Hell, all I had to do was hold the camera steady. A no-brainer, one would think. Trouble was, it was Sunday and there was no market that day. That small fact somehow never penetrated my euphoria as I was planning my strategy. Call me distracted, but after Saturday's deluge I was just grateful for some sunshine.

But back to happy accidents. What could have been a disappointing morning was saved by my buddy, let's call him El Diablo, and his fur trapper's knowledge of Manhattan. After meeting me at Grand Central and hopping a subway to Union Square where our date with destiny awaited, El Diablo promised Technicolor tomatoes and more just a few blocks away. In the process he turned a simple blog entry into an informed and totally awesome walking tour of the east Village.

We walked south on Broadway and then east on 11th in the direction of Thompson Square Park. At 11th and 2nd Avenue, E.D. claimed that we just had to stop for a snack: Plump Dumpling. This place is no wider than the hallway in my apartment building. When you enter, you're practically on top of the cook and his wok. There's literally just enough space to stand and order, then you better move out of the way for the next guy. Plump Dumpling is a favorite with NYU students and the hippies - young & old - who call the east Village home. Plump Dumpling does offer a full menu, but you go there for their little doughy pockets of goodness: fried or steamed, in a broth or standing alone. You can choose from meat, vegetable, chicken, seafood, or shrimp. The intriguing choice of "meat" was a tease. Beef? Pork? Something, shall we say, more exotic? I was just getting up my nerve when I noticed that "meat" was cheaper than both chicken and vegetable. In this instance I decided bargain hunting would be imprudent.

We settled on pan-fried chicken dumplings. They came 8 to an order for $4.25; a real bargain. We stood on the sidewalk just outside the entryway dipping our dumplings in sauce trying to outdo one another with hyperbole. They were superior dumplings.

We completed the last few blocks to Thompson Square and meandered through the park before confronting the stalls along Avenue A. We stopped to watch the dogs and owners in the dog run, a generous space with pools and deep, coarse sand for the pooches, and lots of benches for the bi-peds. Thompson Square Park is famous for a riot that went on there in 1988 when local officials tried to remove the vagrants who congregated in the park and squatted in the surrounding vacant buildings. Police officers were particularly zealous that day, brutally beating protesters, bystanders and even reporters. Lots of archived footage of the protest can be found on the web. Here's an excerpt from gothamist on a punk rock concert commemorating the protest last month.

The 20th Anniversary of the Tompkins Square Park riots was celebrated over the weekend with two days of punk rock, pot smoking, rabble rousing and slam dancing. According to Neither More Nor Less, they “slammed with a physical intensity that TSP has not seen in many years. Someone threw $1000 in dollar bills to the crowd and this crowd of celebrants burned the dollar bills. The celebrants also burned a flag; being polyester it mostly melted in flaming gobs.”

Today, drunks, young professionals, skaters and tree huggers share the park and mostly get along fine.

There were plenty of stalls with beautiful, open-pollinated tomatoes, a dozen types of peppers from green to chocolate, chilies of every size and heat, late corn, and early squash. The fishmonger was there right next to the cheese lady. At the very end of the row was Andrew's Honey stall. Andrew himself was selling a beautiful amber-colored clover honey and a molasses-brown buckwheat variety. Both were amazingly rich and light at the same time. Andrew and his assistant were singing the praises of bee pollen to fight local allergies and promote a healthy immune system. It was hard not to walk away with an armload, but we were on foot. We stopped at every stall, admiring the produce and trying to get the vendors to open up to us a little bit. I sampled a delicious white peach at one stall but the seller was so taciturn that I quickly walked away noticing his dirty look when I bought peaches one stall down. I could have gorged myself sick on these peaches. How does one describe a peach flavor? I've developed a vocabulary for characterizing wine, but fruit? Sweet, juicy, and just firm enough not to disintegrate in one's hand. There's something too, about the skin of a ripe peach which adds complexity to the sweetness of the meat. I know what it is. These peaches aren't picked hard and green. They've been allowed the time to develop their natural sugars and peachy distinctiveness. There is a meatiness to them as well. I bought a half-dozen, and they're already gone.

After one more turn through the park while finishing our peaches, we decided to head along St Mark's Place in the hopes of coming across something or someone interesting. Not two blocks away El Diablo announced our next port of call, Crif Dogs.

A stoner's oasis, Crif Dogs will actually deliver a "wake and bake" special right to your door. Crif deep-fries his dogs and must have taken a puff or two himself before coming up with his one-of-a-kind bill of fare. (I don't know if there really is a Crif, but the idea lends itself to a flowing narrative.) Interpreting the menu, one quickly surmises that the hotdog is basically treated like a hamburger here. I went for the Tsunami because, who ever heard of teriyaki and pineapple on a hotdog? E.D. settled on the Chihuahua: a bacon wrapped delight with avocado and sour cream. Each cost $4.50. The judges ruled and it was four enthusiastic thumbs up for deep-frying and unconventional toppings. By now, it was beer-thirty. St Mark's Ale House was jammed with the Sunday football crowd, but luckily, McSorley's was just around the corner.

McSorley's Old Ale House is famous, and thoroughly New York in every possible way. It is NYC's oldest continuously operated saloon. Abe Lincoln patronized McSorley's. Women were not allowed in for its first 115 years, and even then it took the Supreme Court to open up the doors for them. There's sawdust on the floor and not a square inch of empty space on the walls. The whole place is a living museum. Their Happy Hour is legendary. With two beers apiece, El Diablo and I marveled at our good fortune. But in the end it wasn't Fate that provided us with such an excellent day, it was our own good devices and a willingness to accept what our town had to offer.

Cheers - Blog O. Food