We will return to our holiday meals-in-review series shortly. In the meantime, there's lots to report on restaurants and recent meals around Nashville.
***
J-P and I noticed the opening of Zavos in the space across from the Family Wash at the corner of Porter and Greenwood in East Nashville. Right after we moved here in 2007, we checked out Niko's, the bar that formerly occupied that space (and was run by the same guys running Zavos). Although it had a nice enough vibe, the erstwhile Niko's never made it into our regular bar rotation because it only served beer, and sometimes we just want a cocktail or a mixed drink. The Nashville Scene reports that, unlike Niko's, Zavos will serve food (Greek / Mediterranean, a welcome addition in East Nash) and is in the process of procuring a liquor license.
***
We discovered that Kien Giang, our fave Vietnamese restaurant, which is located in the K & S International Market plaza on Charlotte Ave., is closed for renovations. So instead we checked out Miss Saigon in the same strip. Since our last visit, Miss Saigon has undergone some renovations, and is now more on par with its sister restaurant in Cool Springs as far as decor goes. As for the food, the pho was delicious, and every bit as good as the pho at Kien Giang. The broth was beefy, the beef tender, the noodles abundant, and the hot sauce sinus-clearing. In short, everything you want from a bowl of pho. And so good that I'm inclined to go back to see if the rest of the menu also stacks up favorably against Kien Giang.
***
I finally checked out Korea House, also on Charlotte Ave. (What is it about that stretch of Charlotte anyway? Such good food!) Definitely a good option for Korean food, so long as you're not interested in the barbeque-at-your-table thing. (That's not an option at Korea House; our spot when we're in the mood for Korean barbeque is Seoul Garden.) But, in a way, the lack of the table-top barbeque at Korea House is a good thing, because it forces me to look past the kal bi and bul go gi and explore other areas of the menu. Winners at Korea House include the duk boki appetizer, featuring rice "fingers" and vegetables in a spicy red sauce, dolsot bi bim bap, which is the classic bi bim bap combination of rice, beef, vegetables, and a fried egg, but is served in a hot pot so the rice develops a nice char, and the tofu and vegetable stew, which is spicy and delicious. One dish I'd pass on next time is the fish egg stew, although that may be a reflection of my Western palette rather than any problem with the fish egg stew itself.
***
I tried Watanabe, the new pan-Asian up in Riverside Village, for takeout a few weeks ago. The sushi side of the menu largely mirrors the menu at Watanabe's sister sushi bar, Wave, and my biggest objection is still that nearly all of the sushi rolls include shrimp or crab, which is unfortunate for the crustacean-allergic among us. Watanabe does have a larger selection of nigiri than does Wave, and the pieces I tried were decent -- the star among them being the tender salmon. Miso soup is pleasantly hot and salty, although the lettuce in the house salad is rather limpid, and the ginger dressing lacks any real punch. As for hot dishes, the fried tofu kimchi is a winner, as is the ginger pork. Overall, my sense is that there is definitely better sushi in Nashville, as well as better Korean and Vietnamese (see, e.g., Miss Saigon and Korea House supra), but for East Nashvillians who are loathe to cross the river, Watanabe offers convenience and value.
***
Recently, I revisited The Mad Platter for lunch with J-P and my in-laws. We were running errands around town a few days after Christmas and wanted a bite to eat. We didn't want a gut-bomb, so the usual meat-and-three suspects were out. And our errands were going to take us up to the Rivergate area, which is a culinary wasteland filled with nothing but T.G.I. Friday's, Applebee's, and the like. In a last minute stroke of genius, I remebered the Mad Platter. J-P and I shared a spinach salad topped with a perfectly cooked piece of salmon, and a hearty and warm chicken stew. Not quite ready to let the celebratory holiday mood go, we also split a bottle of wine with lunch. It was lovely. My only disappointment was they didn't have their wonderful beer cheese soup available. That should be a menu mainstay, in my humble opinion.
***
One thing that makes J-P and me feel at home in a city is having a go-to neighborhood Mexican joint. In D.C., it was Mixtec in Adams Morgan, which serves an absolutely dreamy chicken soup. In New York though, we never quite found the perfect neighborhood spot. Although Bonita was in our neighborhood, it was a little too hipster-Mex to qualify. And although Cafe el Portal on Elizabeth Street in the Village was perfect in terms of food and vibe, it lost points for being a subway ride away. In Nashville, our spot is Las Maracas on Gallatin Road, just shy of Briley Parkway. I won't hold it out as the best Mexican in town, although it is quite good. But, more importantly, it's nearby, it's friendly, and it's comfortable, so it's definitely our go-to. Although the menu is broad, I usually stick to one of my favorites: the spinach enchiladas or the chicken quesadilla, with a side of beans. The shrimp cocktail is grand, and the margaritas solid, although I usually opt for beer. (Which reminds me: two-for-one imported beers on Monday nights, and two-for-one domestic beers on Tuesday. Good value.) And, on our last visit, I've discovered they've started serving chicken soup. Although not quite on par with the soup at Mixtec, it is warm, tasty, and satisfying. (Not to mention that it's easily the healthiest option on the menu for those who may gotten a little carried away with the holiday cheer.)
January 16, 2009
January 14, 2009
Christmas dinner, part gnocchi meltdown
So I've already told you about the savory aspect of our Christmas dinner.
But I left one part out, a part that I call The Great Gnocchi Meltdown of 2008. It hurts my heart just to think about it.
When I planned the menu, I (of course) planned a pasta course. Pasta is so warm and so happy-making (not to mention so versatile) that, in my opinion, it wouldn't be a proper celebratory holiday meal without a little carbo-wonderfulness. And, in keeping with my plan to use as many CSA vegetables as I could for the meal (quick tally: radicchio in the salad, carrot side dish, sweet potato pancakes, pork belly from the pig share was not technically from the CSA, but was procured locally direct from the farmer, so it counts) I decided to make gnocchi with CSA potatoes and butternut squash.
It seemed simple enough. I cooked the squash and potatoes until they were tender, mashed them together with a hand masher thingy (and added a ricer to my Christmas list), and mixed in some flour, egg, grated parmesan, and salt. I rolled the dough into long ropes and cut them into lovely little perfectly bite-sized gnocchi lumps. (Lovely gnocchi lumps, one might say.) After they were cut, I spread them out on a sheet pan and stuck them in the freezer. Once frozen solid, I transferred them to a couple big ziplocs and left them in the deep freeze until Christmas.
Cut to Christmas night. I put an enormous pot of salted water on the stove to boil. About ten minutes before I planned to serve the pasta course, I grabbed the gnocchi out of the freezer and dumped them in the water. Then, when I gave them a quick stir to prevent them from sticking together, I realized they were melting. (MELTING! THEY'RE MELTING!!!) They certainly weren't cooking, and they weren't even holding their shape. No, they were not doing anything you would expect out of your gnocchi. Instead, they were melting into a big gooey mass of undifferentiated, water-logged gnocchi mush. All that wasted effort! All those wasted squash! And Christmas dinner with no pasta course!?!
The pain, it cut deep.
Now, no one would have even known we'd skipped a course, except for the fact that I have a compulsion to come clean when I've screwed up. But our guests were very understanding. And, other than the fact that there was a slight delay between salad and main course, the pasta was barely missed at all (by anyone but me, that is).
So the question remains -- what went wrong? I did test them before the big night. I cooked a few right after I made them, and they were great. I cooked a few more, after they had been frozen, for J-P to try, and again no problem. I'm thinking it had to do with the quantity of gnocchi and the level of heat in the pot. I had two gallon-size ziplocs filled with gnocchi, and I just dumped them into the pot in one fell swoop. The pot was certainly big enough to hold them, but I wonder if it was hot enough. It may have been that I *ahem* didn't let the water get to a full rolling boil before adding the gnocchi. Plus, when all of those frozen gnocchi hit the water at the same time, the temperature of the water probably dipped by a fair margin, causing them to melt rather than to cook. At least, that's what I figure happened.
And so it came to pass that Christmas dinner lacked a pasta course. And I learned that, when cooking large quantities of gnocchi, one would be well advised to use more pots and exercise more patience.
But I left one part out, a part that I call The Great Gnocchi Meltdown of 2008. It hurts my heart just to think about it.
When I planned the menu, I (of course) planned a pasta course. Pasta is so warm and so happy-making (not to mention so versatile) that, in my opinion, it wouldn't be a proper celebratory holiday meal without a little carbo-wonderfulness. And, in keeping with my plan to use as many CSA vegetables as I could for the meal (quick tally: radicchio in the salad, carrot side dish, sweet potato pancakes, pork belly from the pig share was not technically from the CSA, but was procured locally direct from the farmer, so it counts) I decided to make gnocchi with CSA potatoes and butternut squash.
It seemed simple enough. I cooked the squash and potatoes until they were tender, mashed them together with a hand masher thingy (and added a ricer to my Christmas list), and mixed in some flour, egg, grated parmesan, and salt. I rolled the dough into long ropes and cut them into lovely little perfectly bite-sized gnocchi lumps. (Lovely gnocchi lumps, one might say.) After they were cut, I spread them out on a sheet pan and stuck them in the freezer. Once frozen solid, I transferred them to a couple big ziplocs and left them in the deep freeze until Christmas.
Cut to Christmas night. I put an enormous pot of salted water on the stove to boil. About ten minutes before I planned to serve the pasta course, I grabbed the gnocchi out of the freezer and dumped them in the water. Then, when I gave them a quick stir to prevent them from sticking together, I realized they were melting. (MELTING! THEY'RE MELTING!!!) They certainly weren't cooking, and they weren't even holding their shape. No, they were not doing anything you would expect out of your gnocchi. Instead, they were melting into a big gooey mass of undifferentiated, water-logged gnocchi mush. All that wasted effort! All those wasted squash! And Christmas dinner with no pasta course!?!
The pain, it cut deep.
Now, no one would have even known we'd skipped a course, except for the fact that I have a compulsion to come clean when I've screwed up. But our guests were very understanding. And, other than the fact that there was a slight delay between salad and main course, the pasta was barely missed at all (by anyone but me, that is).
So the question remains -- what went wrong? I did test them before the big night. I cooked a few right after I made them, and they were great. I cooked a few more, after they had been frozen, for J-P to try, and again no problem. I'm thinking it had to do with the quantity of gnocchi and the level of heat in the pot. I had two gallon-size ziplocs filled with gnocchi, and I just dumped them into the pot in one fell swoop. The pot was certainly big enough to hold them, but I wonder if it was hot enough. It may have been that I *ahem* didn't let the water get to a full rolling boil before adding the gnocchi. Plus, when all of those frozen gnocchi hit the water at the same time, the temperature of the water probably dipped by a fair margin, causing them to melt rather than to cook. At least, that's what I figure happened.
And so it came to pass that Christmas dinner lacked a pasta course. And I learned that, when cooking large quantities of gnocchi, one would be well advised to use more pots and exercise more patience.
January 12, 2009
Christmas dinner, part savory
When I started planning our Christmas dinner (in September, I kid you not), I knew right off the bat that I didn't want turkey. (This is absolute heresy as far as J-P is concerned, but I got to decide because I was the one around to do the planning.) Don't get me wrong, I love turkey and all of its accoutrements. But having turkey for Christmas dinner, right on the heels of Thanksgiving? It's just always seemed a bit much to me.
Now, if I had my druthers, we'd have had goose for Christmas. I've always wanted to cook a Christmas goose. It just seems so Dickensian and Christmasy. But geese are rather small, and I wasn't sure I was prepared to cook the three or so geese that it would have taken to feed our crowd. So maybe another year, for a smaller crowd, we'll try goose.
Ham was out, as we planned to have a country ham for a belated Boxing Day celebration. Lamb was a no-go as several around the table just don't abide lamb. And so, we settled on cow. Beef tenderloin, to be specific. It's a little celebratory and special, but easy to prepare and a good value if you're willing to do some of the heavy lifting yourself. So, a few days in advance, I bought two whole tenderloins, trimmed them, and cut them into individual steaks, following the instructions that Saveur conveniently published in its December issue. Day of, I gave the steaks a quick sear in the cast iron a few at a time, and then laid them all out on a baking pan and finished them in the oven so they'd be ready at the same time. It worked like a charm.
And then, the sides. Ah, the sides. We had the sweet potato pancakes that I recipe-tested earlier this fall, carrots roasted with a mess of different spices, and two different kinds of bread featured in the New York Times a few months ago -- buttery cranberry Parker House rolls, which were a little overdone and little too buttery (which I didn't even think was possible), and a wonderful moist, chewy Anadama bread. And all of these were good, but none of them was the star of the evening. That award is shared by two dishes: a decadent dish of braised chard and pork belly, and a humble one of carmelized shallots.
First, the shallots. I used this recipe, an Ina Garten classic via Smitten Kitchen. Peeling the shallots was a minor pain in the ass, but was well worth the effort, as this dish earned rave reviews from even the onion-phobes among us. In the weeks since Christmas, it is easily the most-requested recipe from that meal.
Next, the chard and pork belly. The pork belly came from our pig share, and has been sitting in my freezer for damn near a year. What was I waiting for, you ask? I don't know. I guess no event, no meal, ever seemed quite belly-worthy. But what could be more belly-worthy than Christmas dinner with sixteen of our nearest and dearest? So I braised the pork belly (again, a few days in advance). For the braising, I roughly followed Jen and Mike's technique, although I did the entire thing in a dutch oven on the stovetop (rather than roasting in the oven), and I didn't drain off the liquid I was left with at the end. Of all the things I cooked in the weeks leading up to Christmas, I can safely say that NOTHING smelled as good as that pork belly did. NOTHING.
Once the belly was nice and tender, I stashed it away in the fridge. Then, on Christmas, I pulled it out, removed the fat that had congealed on top of the pork, and returned it to the dutch oven to reheat. I stirred in a few heads of chard that I'd trimmed and roughly chopped and, a few minutes later, the chard was wilted, the pork belly warm and wonderfully fragrant again, and the dish ready for the table. Best of all? The pork belly turned out to be much larger than I thought, and I only used about two-thirds of it for Christmas. The rest remains frozen, awaiting the day in the near future when I attempt to channel David Chang.
One final note about the meal. I continually vascillated between concern that we would have enough food and the ardent desire to avoid the dreaded holiday food coma. To this end, we made exactly the number of tenderloin steaks as we had meat-eating guests, and made the side dishes in reasonable, though not necessarily feast-size, quantities. As I looked around the table, everyone had a very full plate. And though there were seconds available of some dishes, for the most part everyone was content with a single serving. (You might say that's a reflection on my cooking skills, but I'd like to think not.) And, in the hours after the meal -- hours that featured after-dinner drinks, games, caroling, and several rounds of dessert -- the common feeling shared among us was that dinner was wonderfully delicious, but that no one felt compelled to grab a pillow and take a nap. We were sated, but not stuffed. Which is precisely what I was going for.
Now, if I had my druthers, we'd have had goose for Christmas. I've always wanted to cook a Christmas goose. It just seems so Dickensian and Christmasy. But geese are rather small, and I wasn't sure I was prepared to cook the three or so geese that it would have taken to feed our crowd. So maybe another year, for a smaller crowd, we'll try goose.
Ham was out, as we planned to have a country ham for a belated Boxing Day celebration. Lamb was a no-go as several around the table just don't abide lamb. And so, we settled on cow. Beef tenderloin, to be specific. It's a little celebratory and special, but easy to prepare and a good value if you're willing to do some of the heavy lifting yourself. So, a few days in advance, I bought two whole tenderloins, trimmed them, and cut them into individual steaks, following the instructions that Saveur conveniently published in its December issue. Day of, I gave the steaks a quick sear in the cast iron a few at a time, and then laid them all out on a baking pan and finished them in the oven so they'd be ready at the same time. It worked like a charm.
And then, the sides. Ah, the sides. We had the sweet potato pancakes that I recipe-tested earlier this fall, carrots roasted with a mess of different spices, and two different kinds of bread featured in the New York Times a few months ago -- buttery cranberry Parker House rolls, which were a little overdone and little too buttery (which I didn't even think was possible), and a wonderful moist, chewy Anadama bread. And all of these were good, but none of them was the star of the evening. That award is shared by two dishes: a decadent dish of braised chard and pork belly, and a humble one of carmelized shallots.
First, the shallots. I used this recipe, an Ina Garten classic via Smitten Kitchen. Peeling the shallots was a minor pain in the ass, but was well worth the effort, as this dish earned rave reviews from even the onion-phobes among us. In the weeks since Christmas, it is easily the most-requested recipe from that meal.
Next, the chard and pork belly. The pork belly came from our pig share, and has been sitting in my freezer for damn near a year. What was I waiting for, you ask? I don't know. I guess no event, no meal, ever seemed quite belly-worthy. But what could be more belly-worthy than Christmas dinner with sixteen of our nearest and dearest? So I braised the pork belly (again, a few days in advance). For the braising, I roughly followed Jen and Mike's technique, although I did the entire thing in a dutch oven on the stovetop (rather than roasting in the oven), and I didn't drain off the liquid I was left with at the end. Of all the things I cooked in the weeks leading up to Christmas, I can safely say that NOTHING smelled as good as that pork belly did. NOTHING.
Once the belly was nice and tender, I stashed it away in the fridge. Then, on Christmas, I pulled it out, removed the fat that had congealed on top of the pork, and returned it to the dutch oven to reheat. I stirred in a few heads of chard that I'd trimmed and roughly chopped and, a few minutes later, the chard was wilted, the pork belly warm and wonderfully fragrant again, and the dish ready for the table. Best of all? The pork belly turned out to be much larger than I thought, and I only used about two-thirds of it for Christmas. The rest remains frozen, awaiting the day in the near future when I attempt to channel David Chang.
One final note about the meal. I continually vascillated between concern that we would have enough food and the ardent desire to avoid the dreaded holiday food coma. To this end, we made exactly the number of tenderloin steaks as we had meat-eating guests, and made the side dishes in reasonable, though not necessarily feast-size, quantities. As I looked around the table, everyone had a very full plate. And though there were seconds available of some dishes, for the most part everyone was content with a single serving. (You might say that's a reflection on my cooking skills, but I'd like to think not.) And, in the hours after the meal -- hours that featured after-dinner drinks, games, caroling, and several rounds of dessert -- the common feeling shared among us was that dinner was wonderfully delicious, but that no one felt compelled to grab a pillow and take a nap. We were sated, but not stuffed. Which is precisely what I was going for.
January 5, 2009
Returning to regularly scheduled programming shortly
Ahem. So, I am clearly the world's most pathetic food blogger. Despite what the lack of posts here might lead you believe, for the last month and a half I have been cooking my heart and soul out to feed myself, my family, and my friends over the holidays. We're talking pages upon pages of menu plans; a sheaf of printed recipes an inch and a half thick; multiple bags of flour, sugar, and brown sugar; so much butter it would make Paula Deen blush; garlic, onions, and potatoes in Costco-sized quantities; and a newly-purchased stand-alone freezer to house all of these carefully concocted goodies until their holiday date with destiny.
And, for all this cooking, you would think that, just maybe, I'd have a picture or two to show for it?
Well, for the most part, no. The cooking was so fast, so furious, and so constant that it was all I could do to keep on top of it. I was a cook first, a host second, and a blogger...a distant third. But over the next few days or possibly even weeks, I will circle back to reminisce on some of the meals and dishes I cooked, some of the hits and some of the (at times spectacular) misses. I'll publish a few of the most-requested recipes, although for the most part I won't have the pictures to document them.
I hope that will do.
And, for all this cooking, you would think that, just maybe, I'd have a picture or two to show for it?
Well, for the most part, no. The cooking was so fast, so furious, and so constant that it was all I could do to keep on top of it. I was a cook first, a host second, and a blogger...a distant third. But over the next few days or possibly even weeks, I will circle back to reminisce on some of the meals and dishes I cooked, some of the hits and some of the (at times spectacular) misses. I'll publish a few of the most-requested recipes, although for the most part I won't have the pictures to document them.
I hope that will do.
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