I finally got a good whetstone today, so I decided that RIGHT AWAY I needed to sharpen my new (cheap) santoku knife. The knife is cheap because I can only really afford (with Tyler’s generous birthday gift offer) to get a paring knife and one of either a santoku or chef’s knife. For now. Since I can only afford one of them, and I have a chef’s already, I bought an inexpensive santoku so I could spend some time with both of them, determining what things I like and dislike about them, so I can figure out what I like, and also so, as I learn to sharpen and hone, I’m not wrecking $90 knives. This was on the advice of the instructor of my Knife Skills class last week at the Cambridge School for Culinary Arts, and it seemed sound.

So having bought the whetstone, and let it spend its time with water, I was sharpening the cheapass santoku. I’m apparently pretty good at sharpening; while others were messing things up and actually dulling their knives, I took to it quickly, at least partly because of my lefthandedness; there’s a reversed move that I had to figure out for myself (as I’ve been doing for a couple decades), but having done it, I was quickly able to pick up the  rhythm of it.

The problem came tonight, because I got cocky, and had my right thumb in a place where it wasn’t COMPLETELY safe (it wasn’t bad, and if I’d been paying more attention both hands, instead of just to the  hand doing the work, I’d have been totally fine. But I wasn’t, and so I managed to slice it. Tiny cut. 3-4 millimetres. Very shallow. Bled like a *m*!@#$erf*%&@cker*. Doesn’t hurt at all.  The phrase I had heard was ‘the sharper your knife, the less you cry’ (also a book title), but I’d always figured that for an old wives tale. Apparently not; it bled a LOT, but there actually was no pain after the initial, ‘Hey. I just opened up my skin. Best stop that.’ moment.

Still. Gonna try and avoid cutting myself open any more while on this knowledge path.

Saturday’s culinary highlights began with hot cider and cider donuts at Union Square farmer’s market. The cider donuts weren’t as good as the ones from Russell Orchard the other month, as they weren’t made fresh on the spot, but they benefited greatly from being dipped in the hot cider, a lovely indulgence on a cold, windy day.

From there we took a quick jaunt to Max Brenner – Chocolate by the Bald Man to get warm and decide what to do next. We would have liked to sit a while, but this place seems always insanely crowded. There was barely room enough to stand or browse, much less to get a table! We did enjoy the free samples of the Nuts, caramelized pecans rolled in praline paste and cocoa powder, enough to buy a tin of them. Chocolate decadence, indeed. We’ve bought chocolate from there before and I wouldn’t say they’re the best truffles I’ve ever had – there are certainly better ones to be found in the city – but the Nuts really are yummy and worth trying if you find yourself in the Union Square area.

Our main food objective that evening, though, was to find Otafuku, a tiny, hole-in-the-wall okonomiyaki and takoyaki joint on East 9th Street with room for about three people to stand inside to order and a single bench outside. Readers, if you find yourself in the East Village: Run, do not walk, to Otafuku! This place is the real deal, and it is wicked cheap. For $7 I had two full-size pieces of corn okonomiyaki (no mayo or bonito shavings on mine, thanks), of which I couldn’t even eat half, and for about $9 Santiago had a combo of six takoyaki and one piece of ika (squid) okonomiyaki with the works, which he devoured completely. On a cold winter’s evening we huddled on the little bench, scarfing our beloved okonomiyaki and takoyaki and sighing blissfully. If you had been standing nearby, you would have heard me moaning, “Oh, fuck yeah,” repeatedly. Seriously, it was that good. What are you waiting for? Go, already!

I didn’t really need any more food after that, but we were so close to 2nd Avenue that Santiago really wanted to get some Belgian frites at Pommes Frites. The new pomegranate-teriyaki sauce we tried didn’t seem overly pomegranatey or teriyaki-ish, and most of their other sauces are mayo-based, so we went with the slightly-spicy satay sauce over a small paper cone of frites. I always wish they were just a tad crispier, the way I usually had them in Amsterdam several years ago, but they’re the closest thing I know of on this coast and they are tasty.

After such bounty we needed to walk around and digest for a while, so we hitched a train from Astor Place to midtown, where we emerged and wandered over to Rockefeller Center to brave the hordes of tourists and see the Christmas tree. Eventually we developed a bit of a thirst and pulled up stools at nearby Morrell Wine Bar & Café. We shared glasses of the following:

• Hill of Content Pinot Noir (2005) - buttery, smooth
• Magnus Riesling (2003) - crisp, dry, mineral
• Mark West Gewurztraminer (1999…a very good year) - also crisp, dry, lightly fruity
• R.L. Butler & Son Fine Muscat (unknown year) – rich and raisiny with flavors of toffee and chocolate…this is my favorite muscat since Hungerford Hill’s Old Liqueur Muscat (would anyone in Australia like to procure some of this and ship it to me? I will be your best friend! I’ll reimburse you, too.). I need to buy a bottle or three of this stuff.

And thus did we eat our way through New York City. Thank you, NYC, for being the epicenter of culinary awesomeness that you are. Can’t wait to see you again soon!

On Thursday morning I did make it to the Park Ave. location of Brasserie Les Halles for breakfast, and what a good idea that was. Breakfast is a much better time of day for vegetarians at this establishment, Tony Bourdain’s legendary antipathy toward us notwithstanding. :-b

My breakfast of choice was the pain perdu, brioche French toast with artisanal Canadian maple syrup, garnished with fresh blueberries and strawberries and sprinkled with powdered sugar. The brioche was perfectly airy and tender, with an excellent crumb and a crust that retained its slightly crispy texture even when I’d soaked it with maple syrup. It was so good that I started taking smaller and smaller bites of it to make it last, asymptotically approaching finished. I washed it down with a personal pot of lavender Earl Grey tea. Mmm.

Later that afternoon, after my class had finished, I walked over to Tavalon Tea Bar, a trendy, mod little shop on E. 14th St. As a tea lover and coffee eschewer, I’m always on the lookout for decent tea salons wherever I go. Tavalon may not have the sheer quantity of teas available as does a Tealuxe or a Teavana, but they had some interesting custom blends, some funky teaphernalia, and some tasty little tea-flavored cookies. I had the chai almond, red vanilla, and green tea versions with my fragrant cup of chai. They also had a hojicha cookie, but I’m not really a hojicha fan and didn’t try it. As for the atmosphere, it’s really more of a takeaway tea bar, as they have only one table and a tiny bit of counter space, but the interior is white, airy, and shiny, cultivating almost a laboratory look with test tube samples of tea blends available for sniffing and tea for sale packaged in clear jars with screw-on tops that looked like they might be meant for holding cosmetics instead.

For Friday’s lunch I chose the Flatiron district outpost of ‘wichcraft, the upscale sandwich chain started by Tom Colicchio a few years ago. I had carrot soup with spicy vanilla oil and a grilled fontina sandwich with black trumpet mushrooms and truffle fondue.

Carrot soup is usually prepared in a way that enhances the natural sweetness of carrots. Not the version at ‘wichcraft – it’s surprisingly savory, with a hint of spice and a bit of a sour tang, and served with two deliciously light and crispy olive oil-rosemary breadsticks (grissini) dusted with salt and semolina. The grilled fontina is lovely, a pressed sandwich that doesn’t skimp on the black trumpet mushrooms or the truffle flavor. At $9 it’s a bit expensive for grilled cheese, but it’ll be one of the most flavorful grilled cheese sandwiches you’ve tried. Next time I might try the grilled gruyère with caramelized onions to see if it’s as good.

Trowa arrived in the city in the late evening, and we had a late dinner at Counter, a vegetarian bistro that I’d been hoping to try for some time. The service was a little indifferent at first (we waited over 10 minutes in vain for a server to come ask us even about drinks, so I had to flag one down and inform him that we wanted to order), but the food was mostly very good. We ordered two of their signature cocktails, the Tie Me to the Bedpost (lavender and rosemary infused vodka, topped with cranberry and lime nectar) and the Angry Lesbian (tarragon-infused vodka with framboise, young ginger and orange nectar), and munched on slices of some kind of wholegrained bread dipped in some delicious cumin olive oil while awaiting our food.

We ordered a mezze plate, for which you can choose three items from a list of nine or ten. Our items were the corn beignets with remoulade sauce, stuffed artichoke hearts, and wild mushroom purse, all very nice choices. The corn beignets – think of the corn fritters at a place like Redbones, but about a quarter of the size and with very fresh corn kernels – were delicious, especially dipped in the cumin oil from the bread plate. The kernels popped with each bite, little corn explosions in the mouth. The artichoke hearts were dusted with a bit of something – I thought maybe I detected some fennel – and accompanied by what looked to be a dollop of aïoli. As for the mushroom purse, the minced mushroom and red wine wrapped in phyllo had an appropriately earthy depth.

Trowa ordered the East Side Burger, a veggie burger made from wild mushroom pate, house-made seitan, and herbs for his main dish, and I ordered the Vegetable Tasting Mosaic. The burger itself tasted good and was surprisingly juicy, but the bun was over-toasted and kind of hard. It was accompanied by a stack of very thickly cut fries. My vegetable tasting plate was quite lovely, with small portions of haricots verts and escarole, whipped maple sweet potatoes, fennel and pearl onions braised in orange juice, shaved carrots and zucchini, portabella mushroom roulade, some green salad, and steamed, spiced quinoa accompanied by a cumin-tomato emulsion that I loved. I felt as though I’d had a nice, healthy dinner that didn’t skimp on flavor, and I left feeling inspired to use cumin more in the future. We didn’t have room for dessert, but if we go again I will try the Valrhona-Callebaut chocolate fondue with fresh fruit, coffee-walnut cake, and marzipan-stuffed dates for dipping.

(to be continued…)

So a while ago, I decided that since I’m putting together 30 recipes for the Food Network, I would make a small, zine-like cookbook to sell to do some fundraising so I can buy a video camera for the use of myself and the other Cat Fud bloggers (some food things are just a freaky hard thing to explain in text when we could instead say, ‘and here’s the cut you want to make’ and show you).

So for a while, there won’t be detailed recipe posts on the site, while I work on getting them right (I promise to make the prose more deathless in print). The book will also be illustrated by me (and I’m no pro, but I’m not a bad cartoonist), and because I know a thing or two about layout and design and making booklets, it will be good. But it’ll be about half from here.

I’m hoping, right now, to have it ready by the end of December; I was hoping for earlier, but I just took a second job (partly for the money, partly for the discount on video cameras and mandolines!), and my time is going to be restricted (tomorrow I work from 8 to 4, then go to Pandemonium and work from 6 to 11. Friday morning from 9:30 to 1:30, I take a class in knife cutting skills at the Cambridge School of Culinary Arts, and then work from 3 to 11. These shall be my days).

So forgive me, if, for the next little while, I describe the food I’m making, but I don’t give you exact measurements and recipe info. I’m low on time (I need to be up in 7 hours already), still testing things, and when they’re done, they’ll get put into the zine, along with a pile of miscellany (or, for those of you who have been in a con suite with me late at night, the stories we shall label, ‘the haggis story,’ ‘the 7 year old makes pasta story’, and so forth).

Tonight, btw, I made mushroom and cheese (fresh mozzarella and paremesan, grated) wontons that were gooey and described by Jonas, one of my roommates, as ‘these are so delicious!’, and a really interesting yakitori-inspired grilled chicken, marinated in ponzu shoyu, rice wine vinegar and a *tiny* splash of lemon oil for an hour. Then while it was grilling, I reduced the marinade to a thick syrup, and spooned it over it. Tyler (the other roommate), said that it tasted incredible when you first tried it, but the lemon was a little strong. I felt that actually, the salty soy part of the ponzu shoyu was what hit you and made the lemon so strong; and it did get pretty salty in reduction. Tomorrow I might take a little extra time after work, since I need to walk up by Reliable Market (an Asian grocery in Union Square) to catch the bus between jobs, that I might see if they have regular ponzu, and give that a try.

I spent a good hour yesterday covered in meat and blood, because I got it in my head to buy the chicken thighs (skin on, bone in, and $1 a pound) rather than the boneless, skinless chicken breasts at $2.50 a pound. So I bought $5 of it (16 thighs), and chopped them up.
The worst part of it, actually, was the fact the meat was COLD. REALLY COLD. I wound up running lukewarm water the whole time so that as I started to lose feeling in the tips of my fingers, I could stick them under the running water to recover said feeling. Ai ai. Deboning a chicken thigh is a breeze; there’s just one little bone there in the middle, and if you pull it out just a little, you can lift it up to run a deboning knife under it, or clip it out with a pair of kitchen shears. The deboning knife lets you get a little closer to the bone, but the shears are a bit simpler when you have your fingers in there, too, and I didn’t mind the bone having some meat on it, because I had decided to roast them for a very tiny pot of chicken stock.

Thus, my steps for butchery of a mess o’ chicken thighs reads like this:

1. Look in dread at the sheer amount of chicken you bought for a day. Ignore it.
2. Realize, 36 hours after buying it, that the chicken is not getting any younger.
3. Sigh.
4. Chop out 16 thigh bones, clumsily at first, but with increasing ability. Seriously, if you can’t get REALLY good at taking bones out of chicken thighs in about 4 thighs, you might need to rethink the boneless ones.
5. Bones go into the oven to roast.
6. Start to chop the chicken into cubes for freezing (and for the butter chicken recipe that started this whole thing).
7. Realize very quickly that the skin doesn’t stay attached to the cubes (you should have realized that), so start skinning the chicken before chopping it.
8. Freeze most of the chicken in zipper bags each containing one cup for future measurement ease. You get about 6 from 5lbs, when you keep 2 cups unfrozen for that damned butter chicken.
9. Wonder what the heck you’re going to do with the cup full of chicken skins. Wee little cassoulets? That’s insane. Try frying them, like pork cracklin’s. Discover why the pork ones are much better, and throw them out after trying the first few. But hey, you tried, right?
10. Make the butter chicken that was the point of buying chicken (and the garam masala a few weeks ago) at all.

I now have a big pile of boneless, skinless, cubed thigh meat that cost me about $3 in the fridge, though. So that’s a nice ace in the hole for the next time I bring home a spice I’ve never used and want to try, instead of spending three weeks thinking I should remember to pick up some damn chicken.