slippery slope

Chicago has just approved a ban on foie gras.
Now, regardless of how you feel about foie gras personally, and I’m not going to get into the debate, this presents a very dangerous precedent. The arguments for this kind of ban are essentially identical to the arguments for banning abortion, and what it boils down to is imposing your own narrowly-defined morality onto the larger community. And once you go there, let’s ban veal, let’s ban commercially-raised meat in general, since all of it is produced by means of appalling cruelty. And then let’s go ahead and ban alcohol, or sodomy, or interracial marriage, because some people believe those things are wrong.
As a society we can all agree that theft or murder are things we ought to officially prohibit. But when you move into areas where our moralities diverge, it is simply not appropriate to legislate behavior.
And even beyond all of this, it is ugly to think that our leaders can more effectively legislate policy on a morally-ambiguous luxury food than on something like, say, elementary education or affordable housing. I hope they dislocate something while they’re patting themselves on the back.
(For something a bit more constructive, have a look here to see someone who’s getting things done instead of arguing policy, and to see how you might be able to make a small difference in art education in Chicago.)

random thought

i have lots to post but no time to post it, so i will just share the random workings of my brain. Today i seem to be fixating on this one food I have been really liking lately: prunes.
A much maligned food, the butt (!) of jokes, but so fruity and sweet and delicious — I just love them. Nummy.

brunches past & present

tallasiandude is visiting this week, and this morning – er, this afternoon – we went out in search of pancakes or waffles. Since I am mildly obsessing about Humboldt Park these days, i thought we might try out Flying Saucer, particularly since we drove past it last night on our way home from my new favorite bar, the California Clipper. (well-worn seemingly-original vintage art-deco bar, rockabilly-ish live bands, relaxed atmosphere, linoleum floor, pinups on the wall of the back room — the only flaw is not having good bourbons on the shelf)

Anyway, I digress. Flying Saucer is all hipster vintage low-rent coolness, and the food is pretty good. The mesclun salads that come with things are very fresh and good, and everything was quite tasty, including the coffee, thank god. I had a cracked-pepper crepe stuffed with remarkably light scrambled eggs, ham, ricotta & asparagus, and tallasiandude had a “what would cheeses do?” omelet in honor of easter, full of more asparagus, cream cheese, swiss and i think cheddar, with home fries spiced up with some sort of spice powder that was clearly commercial but still tasted good. For dessert we had a small plate of the ricotta-stuffed french toast with strawberries & whipped cream, which was a mite dry but that didn’t matter once the ricotta and cream and syrup got into the mix.

The best part, though, is the slice of bacon matted on a quilted paper towel, framed, and propped up next to the cash register. I am convinced that a cooked slice of bacon would keep just fine in a frame, but tallasiandude is doubting. If I ever open a restaurant, I am totally framing the first piece of bacon fried in my kitchen. That is badass.
And all of this has reminded me that the last time tallasiandude was here, we had brunch at Lula Cafe but I never got around to blogging it. That was another hipster-infested spot with extremely good food and annoying teacups. (The teapot fits into the teacup, which is very clever but causes the cup’s handle to be in an awkward position, so every sip is either an acrobatic maneuver or you burn your fingers.)

We had another stuffed french toast that day, this one insanely decadent in a pool of creme anglaise, and a delicate omelet of smoked salmon, cream cheese and dill. Very nice indeed, and the little flyer describing their valentine’s day dinner offering sounded dreamier still, so i will try to go back for dinner sometime.
All of these things were very good, but I am still sad that the greasy spoon closest to my house, the one with the very good, very plain waffles and lovely thin strong diner coffee, has burned down and is no more. Sometimes you just want a nice, simple thing for brunch, without any foodieness and without any atmosphere.

from C, aka WineNerd: I dare you not to smile when you read it

“Ate at Blackbird last night. Choose your superlative: it was that. The
amuse was a chilled asparagus soup with peekytoe crab and scallops that
was just amazing. My main was grilled or broiled veal flank steak with
boudin blanc, morels and bitty little potatoes. Everything was sauced by
an umami-laden, slightly acidic jus. Fucking outstanding. We ate at Custom
House again (it’s so close to work!) on Monday, and it was really good.
But Blackbird kicks its ass, hard.”

how objects become treasures


This is my new skillet. I love my new skillet. My parents dragged it in their luggage (and i do mean DRAG, sorry mom & dad!) all the way from Massachusetts to surprise me with it, for no occasion at all. I am tearing up just writing about it, because there’s a lot of meaning tied up in this particular object.
I have wanted — well, really, lusted in my heart for — a 12″ All-Clad stainless steel skillet for years now, but they’re expensive and I’ve simply done without. It’s on my list of “gifts I want someone to give me” and when my parents asked me what I wanted for Christmas this year, I sent them my list — but I annotated the skillet with the note that they were not supposed to get it for me because it’s expensive, and I mostly left it on the list as a funny ha-ha.
No skillet arrived from Santa, and I thought nothing of it until I opened the box my parents brought to Chicago and completely freaked out. I was thrilled, obviously, because now i have the BEST SKILLET IN THE WORLD, but there’s more to it than that. I know my parents want to give me things and help me do the things I want to do, but there’s not enough money for them to do that the way they would like to — but by god they could get me a skillet I wouldn’t buy for myself. And so I know that this skillet means as much to my parents to give as it does to me to receive, and that makes me so happy I’m about to cry. I will think of them with love whenever I cook in it.
Which is going to be all the damn time, woo hoo!! 🙂
Here is a photo of its maiden voyage last night, in which I made a spanish tortilla out of leftover french fries from Al’s and some spicy jarred peppers:

foodnerd family adventure, day 2


On day 2 of the FoodNerd Family run amok in Chicago, we had a hearty breakfast of all the loot from the Polish markets: kraut, beets, chicken loaf, smoked pork, and creamy cakes. Then *gasp* we did a little sightseeing. It was rainy so we drove around downtown gawking at landmarks — Marina City, Wrigley Building, Harold Washington library with its awesome gargoyle-laden crown, Marshall Fields (RIP). And then we drove up Lake Shore Drive so my dad could see Lake Michigan.
Which of course brought us directly to Devon Street. *grin*
We pulled right into a sweet parking spot at the eastern end of the Indo-Pak stretch, and not a moment too soon either, since moments later cops barricaded the block, since there was a fire in a building up the street. Firetrucks and firemen all over the place, spectators rubbernecking, the works. We discreetly eyeballed the carnage from inside the Farm City Meat & Food Market, which caught my eye as we passed. It seems to be a Balkan-focused Muslim market, to judge by the number of Yugoslavian products on the shelves. They have some really pretty jars of honey and nuts, with the nuts arranged carefully in rows like a sand-painting, which would make excellent holiday or hostess gifts.
In the new sari shop right across the street, Mom tried on about 5 different beaded outfits — not saris, but the pant-and-tunic sets that I cannot remember the proper word for. Nothing fit properly, much to the disappointment of the enthusiastic and persistent saleswoman — maybe next time (Mommy loves bright colors and beading, and some of these outfits were really gorgeous, much nicer than a lot of the ones I saw with littlelee & spleen on my last trip to Devon St).

A little further down the street we ran into another police barricade, this one stopping traffic for the Assyrian New Year’s parade running up Western Ave. There’s plenty of Assyrian pride here in Chicago — there were floats, and ranks of Assyrian-American cops in formation, and private cars leaning on their horn and flying flags. This was especially cool because Dad does a lot of reading about Middle Eastern cultures both present and ancient, and filled us in on the specifics.

We stopped at World Fresh Market and got some curry leaves, a lita squash, a handful of flat guvar beans, which turned out to be a bit bitter and quite stringy in texture; i think you are supposed to simmer them a long time, so i re-cooked them in coconut milk and curry paste, and fresh almonds in their furry little jackets, which turned out not to contain fully-formed nuts inside, but rather just soft little proto-nuts. I googled but couldn’t find any info about immature almonds or what to do with them — suggestions welcome.

By then we were pretty hungry, because somehow we got through several hours on Devon Street without having any snacks, so we drove way out west to Superdawg. Which is beyond adorable with its antic anthropomorphized sausages on the roof and all of its retro graphics and carhops and general aesthetic fabulousness, but the dogs are pretty substandard.

First of all, the relish: I know that neon green relish is big here, but it still just freaks me out. And there was way too much relish and mustard on the dogs, and no celery salt or fresh tomato at all, though the green tomato pickle is a nice touch. The fries are pretty lame, and you don’t get the option to not order them, and Dad was endlessly irritated by the fact that the dogs are jammed into a tiny box with the pile of fries, so you have to excavate out all the fries to even lay a finger on your dog in the first place. And their lemonade sucks. The quest for the best Chicago dog continues unabated.

Then on the way down south to the Garfield Park Conservatory, I was unable to resist a quick side trip to the Chicago Food Corp to show off the massive availability of Korean goods in these parts. We found a truly astonishing sheet of beautiful, delicate dried-fish lace, and I acquired a bit of lotus root for kinpira and a new batch of pucks. Yum.
Dinner was at Lou Malnati’s so we could try real Chicago style pizza, which continues to underwhelm. The dough is just too thick and doughy, though Malnati’s is much crunchier than Giordano’s. Daddy disapproves of the sauce, which was pretty much just cooked tomato chunks rather than rich savory sauce, and i tend to agree with him, though the lightness of flavor was admittedly pretty nice in contrast to the heaviness of dough and cheese.
And so concluded our whirlwind exploration of Chicago eating, at least until next time, when I want to take them for southside soul and bbq, and to Goose Island Shrimp House, and to a korean bbq, and Siam Rice & Noodle House, and…

the parents come to chicago; or, apple, not far from tree


My parents came to visit this weekend. The night they arrived, I dragged them out into the monsoon winds to try out a Friday night fish fry. I made the error of trying to go to the Duke of Perth, which was full of yuppies drinking beer and had a 90 minute wait, so I fell back onto the known winner and found the nearest JJ Fish instead, for the true urban fish experience. JJ Fish fries some DAMN good fish, in a cornmeal crust that isn’t greasy *at all*, and the fish is fresh, and it comes with tangy hot sauce, and sits on top of squishy white bread. So it wasn’t an official fish fry as such, but who cares about technicalities when you’re stuffing your face full of crunchy whitefish and perch?

Over the weekend was my father’s birthday, and we spent the day doing NOTHING that was not related to food. It was awesome. We had breakfast at Perez — we got some machacado con huevos, my favorite shredded beef with scrambled eggs and onions and tomatoes, and dad had ham and eggs (and the entire bowl of pico de gallo, out of which he carefully picked all the bits of jalapeno and devoured before breakfast even arrived — daddy likes his salady vegetables). Mom tends to eat sweets for brekkies, so she got a little bitty chile relleno taco just for form’s sake, plus a plate of sopaipillas and a big glass of orchata. The sopaipillas seemed to be a flour tortilla deep-fried (cheating a bit, but we didn’t really care) dusted with cinnamon sugar and drizzled with honey, served with a bowl of cinnamon-drenched sour cream. Which we licked clean.
Then we checked out the food wholesalers on Randolph between Halsted & Racine — you can get locanico at Columbus Meat Market, Nicholas Meat Market has some tasty looking stuff, and there are cheap thermometers and various gizmos to be had if you aren’t intimidated by the wholesale ambiance. And then we went down the street a bit and checked out Peoria Packing Company: a porkstravaganza without equal. This place was a mob scene. The parking lot was full. The shop was packed to the rafters with folks packing their carts with large amounts of fresh meat, cut to order ribs, smoked hocks or turkey legs, fresh hams with skin still on, dark red rib eyes (for absurdly low prices). You need ribs for a party, you go to Peoria Packing.
By this time of course it was time for lunch, so we went to Al’s #1 Italian Beef, which was a big hit. Even beyond the savory meaty goodness, which any sane person would love, Al’s puts big slabs of cooked green pepper on their sandwiches, which puts my father into nirvana.

Then we drove out to Humboldt Park to check out some real estate, and then we went out to Avondale to the Polish markets. We went to Kurowski’s which I’d been to before, a full-featured market with meat, fresh veg, prepared foods, and canned or jarred wares of all kinds. And this trip, also some pysanky eggs for easter, yay! (I used to make these when I was a kid; I still have the wax stylus somewhere or other.) On the recommendation of A Cook’s Guide to Chicago, we tried Endy’s Deli, aka Andy’s, which assaults you upon entry with the glorious smell of sausages. Dear lord, it smells good in there. And they have a smorgasbord of delicious, dirt-cheap salads, kraut, beets, herring, and so forth, plus a hot case, plus a meat case full of smoked pork loin, fresh meats, sausages of all sorts, and unidentifiable things so tasty-looking I went ahead and bought ’em before I asked what they were. Turns out it’s chicken meatloaf, and turns out it is fucking FANTASTIC.

We ate all this stuff for breakfast the next day. Along with the four kinds of cream-laden cake we got at Pasieka bakery across the street. When you step into a bakery and you can’t see any of the product because of the line of polish-speaking grandmas in front of the glass cases, you know it’s gonna be good. We had a poppy seed cake with chocolate frosting and raisins, a chocolate-rose cake with red jello topping, a pineapple-coconut cream cake, and a poppy seed/coconut/mocha cream fantasia that was my absolute favorite.

And then on the way home we stopped at one of the big Mexican supermarkets also on Milwaukee around Logan Square (Tianguis Supermercado) to eyeball all the goodies there, me yammering all the while about all the stuff I’ve learned to love while I’ve been living here.
By this time it was getting dark and we were tired, so we went home, collapsed onto the couch for an hour or so, and made reservations at Tre Kronor up north on Foster, to get my daddy some smoked herring (mmm, hewwing…) and whatever other scando-treats might be available here in the heart of the midwest. This is a tiny little place, homier than I was expecting, and boy does it have good food. The herrings are lovely, a pickled version and a mustard-sauce version, with hardboiled egg and salady bits to go with it. The Toast Skagen trumped even the hewwings, though, being a lavish mound of sweet chopped arctic shrimp in a dill mayo, accompanied by fresh tomato (decent even in winter) and a few slices of archetypal scandinavian cucumber salad, quick-pickled in vinegar and sugar. Mom wasn’t terribly hungry (jeez, after a massive mexican breakfast and an italian beef and fries, I just don’t see why) so she had a cup of onion soup and the crab cakes, both very tasty. I had swedish meatballs that were soft and tender and delicious in a light gravy with a pile of mashed potatoes and a ramekin of lingonberry sauce, and a whole DISHful of more cucumbers, be still my heart. Daddy had some of the best duck breast I’ve ever had, very simple but perfectly cooked and tender, with a lingonberry sauce.
And then we went home, gave daddy his birthday presents, and fell over into a dead sleep. Only to wake up and have at it again the next day, but I’ll save that for the next post.

molasses cookies


The other day I felt like having a cookie after supper, but I didn’t have any cookies. All the baking that has been going on around here must be having an effect on my mental processes, because without even really thinking about it, I cracked open the Baking Illustrated best-recipe book and dug around for the cookie I was craving… and ideally, that I had ingredients for. And banged out a batch of totally spectacular molasses cookies, yay me. They were soft and spicy, and quite a bit like my grandma’s “aunt lila’s cookies” except not as dark brown, and moister. Good for dessert, good for breakfast. Yay cookies!

shrimp creole


The new Penzey’s magazine, Penzey’s One, did a feature issue on New Orleans and the gulf coast, full of personal stories and photos of flood trauma, plus lots of delish-looking family recipes. (This down-homey just-folks approach is the great appeal of the magazine, which still feels a little like a high-school publishing project, but that is part of why I love it.)
So I got a hankering for the Shrimp Creole recipe in there, because it sounded simple and good, and because i had a bag of frozen raw shrimp hanging around. Saute up small-diced onion, celery and pepper (in butter lest i forget), add bay leaf and paprika and salt, pour in a can of tomatoes and simmer, then add in the shrimps, a little cornstarch slurry and some parsley. Fabu, quick and easy. I have been eating it for dinner all week with rice and broccoli, and I think it is healthy enough to be counterbalancing the Perez and Hecky’s I’ve been eating for lunches. 🙂