Pig and pool.

Way back when, back before we went to Maine, back before the Olympics, my friend Jeremy (and his friend Chris) threw himself a 30th birthday party. This wasn't just any birthday party, though - this one featured two whole roast pigs. And a pool. And rose in Solo cups.

I know.

Chris and Jeremy hired Redbones, a Somerville, Massachusetts-based barbecue joint, to come cook overnight so that the rest of us could enjoy pig come the morning. A pretty excellent idea paired with a pretty kickass execution. After all, who doesn't love barbecue? (Answer? Vegetarians. Luckily, there were some top-notch sides, too. I ate my weight in coleslaw and cornbread.)

And watermelon.

 The party was held at Chris' parents' place in Lewisboro, a teeny little hamlet just north of New Canaan. The house was lovely, and the lawn and garden were just stunning. Best of all? There was a pool! After lunch, I headed down that way to cool down...

And to enjoy some serious amounts of rose.

I was not alone.

And, for dessert, a final pig. This one was veggie-friendly, though.

Lobstah, part two.

It's become a tradition. Each year, for my brother's birthday, my sister-in-law and I collaborate on a kitchen clambake and lobster boil dinner. So, of course we took care of business in Maine this time around. Miriam managed to wrangle us seven lobsters for $35; they were delivered to our door in the trap, and our instructions were to pour some ice over them - or tie them to the dock until dinnertime.

We follow Ina Garten's recipe for this seafood extravaganza. We start off with a giant stockpot, in which we saute leeks and onions, then throw in kielbasa, potatoes, two kinds of clams, mussels, a bottle of white wine, and finally, the lobsters. (You have to dispatch them first, since steaming is a cruel/impractical way to go about things. More on that here.)

The result is an immense pile of delicious, wine-scented seafood, potatoes and sausage. (We strongly recommend going heavy on the sausage and potatoes, as they are remarkably tasty.)

Dessert, of course, is birthday cake. An incredibly reliable, simple, rewarding cake - preferably topped with sparklers in place of candles.

What I've been up to.

Mostly this, which is Thomas Keller's fried chicken from his restaurant Ad Hoc in Yountville. I've been in California for several days, visiting a dear friend and celebrating another's 30th birthday.

I'm in a bit of a fried chicken fog, but I'll be back with far more very, very soon. In the meantime, get your holiday shopping done and leave a comment or two letting me know how your meal planning is coming along. I'm really feeling fancy latkes this year, and can't wait for my annual sticky toffee pudding.

Austin, Texas. Saturday, October 1st.

Birthday champagne, naturellement.

Sheepishly yours.

Hello, my dear, darling, wonderful readers! I know there's been quite a bit of radio silence around these parts of late, and I heartily apologize. It's been a busy summer/early autumn in Queenie land, and I'm just now back from a ten-day trip to one of my favorite places - Austin, Texas.

There's lots to report on (barbecue, a homemade Thai feast), but for now, just enjoy these adorable pictures of dogs.

Back soon with lots more, I promise.

Lobstah!

On Saturday night, my sister in law threw my brother his annual birthday clambake (we follow Ina's recipe), and it was a raging success. As a former vegetarian, Miriam enlists me to slaughter the lobsters, which I do with something less than a steely reserve (squealing and exclamations of, "He's still a-twitching" are to be expected), but an acceptable level of aplomb. (I hope.)

Dessert, traditionally, is one of my chocolate cakes - this year, the group expanded from 6 to 16, and so I made two cakes. I'm pleased to say that only half of one cake remained at the end of the evening, including the container of extra frosting I brought along for touch-ups.

Miriam outdid herself decor-wise this year, harnessing her inner Martha Stewart with red-and-white checkered tablecloths, lobster-stamped place card, and the ever-festive lobster bibs.

Success indeed, I think!

Candy-riffic.

A couple of weeks ago, I turned to my friends at the fabulous YOU + ME* Lifestylists to answer a pressing question: how to thank my friends for joining me for Momofuku fried chicken on my birthday? After all, shouldn't grown-ups get party favors, too?

The answer, of course, is yes! And so Miya and I headed to Economy Candy, a legendary shop on Rivington Street. It's a pretty small place, and its one high-ceilinged room is crammed from top to bottom with candies of all kinds. You can find all sorts of retro gems, like Abba Zabba, Chunky bars, MalloCups and candy buttons, but they also stock high-quality preserved fruits, halvah, and an assortment of high-quality chocolates by the pound.

They also have something I thought wasn't even made anymore: candy cigarettes. I decided not to spring for them (opting instead for an assortment of wax lips and hipster mustaches), but they're there for the taking, right on the Lower East Side. Go forth and puff that sugary smoke, my friends.

Economy Candy
108 Rivington Street (Between Essex and Ludlow)
800.352.4544

Just like my Nonna would have made, had I had an Italian-American Nonna.

No birthday, in my opinion, would be complete without some really, really good food, and some seriously awesome company with which to enjoy it. A good thing, then, that my friend Miya came out in the blustery rain to meet me for lunch on Friday at one of my very favorite places, Frankie's Spuntino.

Frankie's offers sandwiches and a brunch menu, but I knew that I, at least, was destined for pasta. I love their pasta. And their salads are pretty damn good, too. In fact, I remembered that Miles' Caesar salad had been something approaching perfection, and decided to start with that. My memory, it turns out, was spot-on. Caesar salad can be really, really boring, but Frankie's version is anything but. It's salty and earthy from the anchovies, a bit funky from the parmesan cheese, and super-creamy from the egg. Topped with a bit of spicy, freshly-ground black pepper, it's a crunchy pile of Italian-American goodness - which is really what Frankie's is all about.

For my main, I had the cavatelli with hot sausage, browned butter and sage. I. Love. This. Dish. It's a remarkably satisfying combination of flavors, with the nuttiness of the butter playing perfectly against the spicy, salty sausage and the piney sage. In fact, I love it so much that I make my own version - with orrechiette - on a fairly regular basis. But nothing can top the original.

Miya ordered the gnocchi with marinara sauce and fresh ricotta. I am not usually a fan of gnocchi; I've too often been disappointed by leaden or soggy lumps of potato flour when I should be delighted by soft pillows of the same. Frankie's gnocchi, however, are definitively delightful. They come dressed in what is known in Italian-American circles as "gravy," a slightly tangy marinara sauce made from the best tomatoes and little else, other than know-how. The ricotta elevates the proceedings from delightful to sublime. It's cool and milky against the acidic tomatoes, and compliments the gnocchi's own creaminess.

No Italian meal would be complete without a shot of espresso, and Frankie's delivered pretty well in this area, too. Their espresso is dark, strong and full of so-coffee-y-it's-almost-sweet flavor. Nothing settles the tummy after a giant plate of buttered pasta like espresso.

Miya took her leftover gnocchi home in an adorably stamped paper bag. I'm kinda wishing I'd brought the tiny bit of cavatelli left on my plate home with me. Maybe next time...

Frankie's 17 Spuntino
17 Clinton Street (between Houston and Stanton)
212.253.2303

Chicken/birthday, part 2.

So, it was late. I was hungry. I'd had a few Manhattans. So there's only one poorly exposed picture. But, still: fried chicken mountain, people!

Chicken. And, um, a birthday!

It's my birthday. (The big 3-1, if you're counting.) Hence, we are having fried chicken. Yes, that's right. I'm headed to a 10 PM reservation at Momofuku Noodle Bar for their fried chicken dinner.

Full report tomorrow. Maybe. But soon, for sure.

Photo by the ubertalented Kathryn Yu.

A little guidance goes a long way.

In case you're dying for another fix of either Alinea or Trotter's, I've posted copies of both menus over at GoogleDocs. (Tru's current menu can be found over here, on their website.) Now you can peruse Louisa's 30th birthday dinners over and over to your heart's content! Click here for Alinea, and here for Trotter's.

If nothing else, you have to take a look at the Alinea menu - it's too cool. For each course, the size of the circle corresponds to the relative size of the dish itself. The position of the circle indicates its place along the meal's continuum from savory to sweet: the farther the circle is to the left, the move savory the dish; the farther it is to the right, the sweeter.
Nifty, right?

Sunday night at Alinea: pure imagination.

When you arrive at Alinea, the first clue that you're about to experience something totally out of the ordinary appears pretty quickly. The entry hall, which runs the depth of the small Lincoln Park townhouse, is a Wonka-like construction, becoming drastically narrower and shorter as it progresses, ushering you into Grant Achatz's world-famous culinary funhouse/wonderland.

The real fun, however, starts once you're up the stairs and settled into the spare, dark dining room. (Very dark, so I apologize for the grainy quality of the photos!) Alinea serves two tasting menus: a 13-course and a 24-course. Our reservation was for the 13-course meal, and we started off with a bang.

Our first course was Osetra caviar, served with all of the traditional accompaniments - sort of. The caviar and crème fraiche were their usual selves, but the red onions came in jelly form, while the buttered brioche appeared as a foam. The foam was incredible - I felt like the Wonka theme was continuing, and the foam was Violet's gum. Even though the foam was light as air and vanished in my mouth, it was so well-flavored that I felt like I'd eaten a piece of toast.

The next course was a big hit with everyone at the table. Pork belly confit served between two lightly warmed leaves of iceberg lettuce, accompanied by cucumber (Yum!) and a Thai basil seed vinaigrette. I thought this was awesome, but it wasn't my favorite dish of the night - that was still to come!

Next up was a symphony of mushroom goodness - one ingredient, matsutake mushrooms, prepared in several different ways. Creamy tiles, ice cream, a sort of crumbly pastry, and one fresh specimen, dead center. Mango sauce made an appearance, as did a delicious morsel of otoro. This was delicious, and a really great example of chef Grant Achatz's ability to make you think differently about an ingredient by playing with it in an assortment of ways.

According to our server, Chef Achatz likes to include one traditional dish in each menu, in order to remind us of where we've come from, and of the fact that though he may play with foams and gases and burning leaves (Just wait!), he's a classicist at heart. Achatz likes to challenge and delight you, but never fails to create something delicious. He doesn't sacrifice flavor at the altar of surprise.

The evening we dined, the traditional dish was Escoffier's trout monseigneur, a tour of the fish featuring roe, poached trout, and trout mousse. I could recognize the beauty of the techniques at work here, but am by and large not a fan of trout. Others at the table who are, though, reassured me that they loved the dish.

After the trout, we enjoyed my very favorite dish of the evening. A series of oak branches, their dry leaves still attached, arrived at the table. The leaves were smoldering, scattering tiny bits of ash around the dining room. Speared on the bottom of each branch was a fritter filled with roast pheasant, cider jelly and shallot confit. I picked up the branch, inhaled the unmistakable scent of burning leaves, and ate the fritter in one bite. All of my senses were flooded with the taste, smell and sight of autumn. The crunchy tempura batter didn't overwhelm the filling at all - the whole thing was a bundle of perfect flavor. I. Loved. This.

After the pheasant, I could have died happy - but there were still nine courses left to go! Our next dish was another single-bite course. Like the truffle at Tru, this ravioli, filled with black truffle, romaine lettuce and parmesan, exploded in the mouth. As I've said before: no matter how prepared you are (we received another "lips together, teeth apart" warning), food bursting in your mouth is never something you expect. It's awesome. I would love to serve something that explodes at my next dinner party. It makes you giggle. I like to giggle.

When we first sat down at the table, our servers had set a sprig of rosemary at each place. Our next course was a series of lamb loin medallions served on a sizzling strip of iron. The rosemary branches were placed in holes at the far end of the hot metal, and soon the air around our table was perfumed with rosemary. This scent was as much a part of the dish as the three different garnishes on the lamb. From front to back, they were pickled quince, pumpkin, and smoked eggplant. My favorite, somewhat predictably, was the quince, which I'd wisely saved for last.

Our last savory dish was a home run - like the mushroom bonanza, this duck presentation was a tour of preparations. We had foie gras, magret, and what I think was kidney. Along with a few, peppery brussels sprouts leaves, this was served with an orange broth and mace-scented foam. Mace! I never think to use mace (a spice made from the coating of nutmeg seeds), but I love it, and hereby resolve to use it as often as possible.

Peanut butter was chosen to usher us into the sweet courses. In this case, the peanut butter was dried to a powder and spiced with chiles. Placed on the tongue, it first crumbled, then reformed into that signature stick-to-the-roof-of-your-mouth texture. Too cool, and so delicious. Josh has decided that all peanut butter should be spicy.

I seem to be missing photos of the next two courses, both of which were small bites. The first featured another exploding sphere! A grape-like ball sat atop a small glass, and we were instructed to take all elements into our mouths at once. The ball burst instantly and, it turned out, was flavored with Concord grapes and filled with a watery juice that tasted lightly of Maytag blue cheese and walnuts.

The next course, a one-bite combination of ice-cold Thai banana, beer, mustard and pecans, was delicious, even for those at the table who don't typically love bananas.

The third sweet course was fun in a completely different way. Before the plates arrived at the table, servers placed a linen pillow in front of each of us. The pillows were filled with nutmeg-scented steam, which was released little by little as the weight of our plates, placed on top, gradually pushed downward to the table. On the plate was a delicious combination of coffee and huckleberries, topped by spun burnt sugar.

The chocolate course was a big one, featuring chocolate frozen with liquid nitrogen, applewood bacon (bacon and chocolate are an excellent combination of salty and sweet) and, surprisingly, a crabapple juice. The juice was contained in that little sphere in the middle of the plate. Like an egg yolk, all you had to do was prick it to spread its goodness throughout the dish.

The staff heard us talking about Louisa's birthday, and brought her a little treat to celebrate. This is Alinea's version of birthday cake. The chocolate cake came ensconced in a little ball of tempered chocolate and was revealed by a stream of hot pastry cream poured by our waiter.

Finally, it was time for one last science lab touch. This being Alinea, this test tube filled with hibiscus jelly, crème fraiche and bubble gum-flavored tapioca, and stopped with a disk of long pepper jelly, was not only cool as hell - it tasted great, like the best bubble gum ever. It was also tons of fun to eat. You had to suck on it like a straw to pull all the goodness out of the test tube and into your mouth.

If the rest of the meal hadn't yet turned us into excited little kids, this would have done the trick pretty damn nicely. As I left, this was all I could think of:



Alinea
1723 North Halsted (at Willow)
Chicago, Illinois
312.867.0110‎

Friday night at Trotter's: setting the tone.

Our epic weekend in Chicago began with an epic dinner at Charlie Trotter's. We sat at the chef's table, tucked into a corner of the kitchen. This made for excellent lighting, a lot of hustle and bustle, and a generally fabulous time.

Trotter's occupies a town house in Lincoln Park, and the restaurant is divided into a series of small-ish dining rooms, all hushed and calm, outfitted in cream and burgundy. The kitchen is at the back of the first floor, and is a welcome oasis of activity in such a hushed place. Our group of five (Louisa, the birthday girl, her husband Nick, our college friend Josh, and his wife, Liz) were ready for an over-the-top experience, and we got what we came for.

Ready or not, here goes.

First up, the view from our table. As you can see, we were seated right next to the pass; in reality, though, the kitchen is pretty small (very different from the other kitchen in which I've eaten: Gordon Ramsay's The London), so no matter what was going on, we had a really good view.

Also, see that counter on the right? That's where the waitstaff deposited empty bottles of wine; by the end of the service, the entire surface was covered with empty bottles. (We did the wine pairings with each course, which were fantastic. This meant, of course, that we tasted 19 wines. Yes, 19 wines.)

The first course was an amuse: a Kumamoto oyster with radish (I think!) pickled in gin, osetra caviar, and coriander. It was served on a bed of grey sea salt, which meant that when you picked up the oyster and tipped the whole lot into your mouth, you got a neat little surge of saltiness along with the briny oyster and sour pickle.

Next up, a series of three little fish dishes. I'll be honest with you - we deviated from the menu a bit here (we had a scallop allergy in our group, and a few substitutions were made), but everything was delicious. I've forgotten what the fish was in this first dish, but the grapefruit ceviche preparation was great.

Next, another dish I can't quite recall. This one was a bit more autumnal, with a slice of persimmon and some hazelnuts.

Finally, and predictably, my favorite of the three, bluefin sashimi with wasabi and lime. The lime came in the form of tiny little pearls of citrus flesh, which created an incredible texture in our mouths. Such careful attention, such a tiny detail - such huge returns. Honestly, it was one of the most memorable moments of the night for me.

As you've probably guessed, Charlie Trotter has a particular fondness for fish. It popped up throughout the meal, up to and including an appearance in the midst of the red meat courses. Our first full course fish was sea urchin with a mussel, served with ginger and razor-thin slices of Buddha's hand, a crazy-looking citrus fruit with a mild flavor.

Next, an interesting pairing of carrot with horseradish and what I believe was calamari. The carrot came in the form of warm custard as well as thin slices of the veggie; also in the sauce, one of my favorite spices: star anise.

One of my least favorite courses was the steamed kisu, a Japanese fish. I didn't love the texture of this (I'm a bit odd in that I far prefer my fish to be raw or just barely touched by heat.), but the accompaniments were pretty good. The braised fennel (on the right) was tender, and so delicately flavored that I almost mistook it for cucumber. Matsutake mushrooms were slivered atop the dish, and added a meatiness to the whole thing that worked very well.

As we moved gradually to the heartier end of the spectrum, meat dishes started to creep in. The first was also my absolute favorite of the night: grilled rabbit loin with a shallot confit-filled tortellini (Tortellino? Help!) and a pickled mustard sauce. I mean, what's not to love? Shallots poached in fat? Pickled mustard? Pasta? Rabbit? This dish was rich, buttery and complex. I die.

Aaaaand...back to the fish. This time, it was a more boldly-flavored grilled hamachi with red plums and chorizo. A great, Spanish-inflected dish (the fish was most definitely grilled on the plancha), this came in a fruity broth that I finished by tipping my bowl and scrape, scrape, scraping. You feel a lot less pressure to be classy when none of the other diners can see you (except for the people who already like you).

The second meat course was suckling pig, served with crispy pig's tail (more chewy than crispy, I'd say) and the sweetest gooseberries any of us had ever tasted. Seriously! Have you ever tasted gooseberries? They are sooo tart - but not these! These were like candy.

Oh, and - did I mention the bread? Things started off civilized, with gorgeous mini-baguettes served with delicious sweet butter. Then, about halfway through the meal, these appeared on our plates. Whole wheat rolls filled with pancetta and dusted in cinnamon and sugar. Yes, you read that right: bacon rolls. With cinnamon sugar. These might be why this meal, more than any other last weekend, filled us to the gills.

'Tis the season for white truffles, and the folks at Trotter's are by no means immune to the craze. I am not an indiscriminate lover of truffles. Truffled french fries? Eh, they're fun every now and again, but I'm not likely to order them on my own. By and large, I find that the flavor of truffles (you can see one of the staff shaving them onto Nick's plate above) tends to overwhelm pretty much everything else on the plate. This dish, though, defied my expectations.

This dish was one of the largest on the menu, and was some of the most perfectly cooked duck any of us had ever tried. The fat was rendered beautifully: crispy on the outside, but still fully-attached to the flesh. An achievement, for sure. Alongside the duck were eggplant, green curry, and some midnight-colored chanterelle mushrooms. Add in the shaved white truffles, and this became a dish that pretty much encapsulates everything good about autumn.

Next up, one of the more puzzling (and my least favorite of the) courses: grilled squid with crumbled nori, fried salted shrimp, rice crisps, eyeballs, and a seawater emulsion, in the form of foam.

I'm sure plenty of people would love this dish - in fact, a few of the people at the table did. But, to me, nori tastes like salty dirt, and the rest of it wasn't much better. The eyeballs were oddly tasty, though.


Luckily, the next course was delicious. Lamb tongue with figs and cinnamon. Yum. The tongue was thinly sliced and lightly grilled, then draped over the figs. Loved this.

Next, the obligatory beef course. Note the gorgeous red sorrel - I was excited to see it used in so many of the dishes at Trotter's. You don't see sorrel often enough, in my opinion - it's delicious (a bit tart and sour, like rhubarb) and has such a gorgeous, fairy tale look to it. You can just imagine the baker stealing some for his pregnant wife in the opening scenes of Rapunzel. The steak (a tiny, perfect morsel of rib eye) was beautifully prepared, seared three times and basted in between with soy, vinegar and...something. Sadly, though, the plummy compote served with it was too tangy (for ME, even) and overwhelmed the meat itself.

The home stretch began, signaled by the arrival of the cheese course. Loyal blog readers ight remember that I have what people tell me is a bizarre aversion to cheese. I've gotten much, much better over the years (and even gladly partook of a cheese course at Tru on Saturday night), but I'm still fairly picky about my cheese. I was thrilled, therefore, to discover that our cheese would be one of my favorites, pecorino. Even better, it would be served with cocoa. To my dismay, however, the cheese had been cooked down to the whey, and the jelly-like form was served to us under a sprinkling of grated whole cheese. Just. Not. Good. Kind of flavorless and just icky. Even the cheese-lovers agreed with me here.

The palate cleanser was tons of fun. A jelly made with Saint-Germain liqueur, served with candied grapefruit (Yum!) and elderberry jelly. And, yes: Monty Python came up and was quoted in brief. No one farted in anyone's general direction, though.

Dessert was four courses, served two at a time. The first pair were fruit-centric: a creme caramel made with Kuri squash, sprinkled with thyme and served with a torched meringue resembling toasted marshmallows. My least favorite element of this dessert was the creme caramel, but the meringue, pumpkin seeds and pieces of squash were delicious.

My favorite of the four desserts was the apples with caramelized white chocolate and yogurt. I don't normally care for white chocolate, but in this case it came in sparing amounts and lent more of a buttery presence than a sickly sweet one.

The last two desserts were built on chocolate and coffee, respectively. The chocolate sorbet was served with a smoked vanilla jelly (weird but good, like a spreadable vanilla spackle) and some tempered dark chocolate. One of the pastry cooks, an adorable woman named Kady, came over to tell us about the origins of the chocolate. It comes from a fair trade plantation, and is completely free of additives or preservatives; it's pretty much the closest you can get to pure cacao.

Finally, the ginger kulfi (a frozen Indian dessert custard), served with coffee custard, ginger snaps, and a bit more of that chocolate. This was pretty good - I loved the ginger snaps (So gingery!), and the coffee custard was so intensely flavored that it had that slightly peppery, skunky aroma that really good coffee sometimes has.

Finally, just when you think you can't take any more, come the petits fours. The macaroon wasn't bad, though I'll never be a coconut-lover. The truffle was actually a hazelnut dusted in cocoa powder. The pate de fruits was passionfruit-flavored. I love anything in jelly form (Seriously, all a man need do is buy me a rainbow- colored assortment of pâtes de fruits from Byrne & Carlson, and I'll be his forever.), and this was no exception.

One espresso later, we were ready for an excursion down to the red wine cellar, one of four in the restaurant. We oohed and aahed over the inventory system and gaped at the older bottles on offer - like this 1870 (Yes, 1870) bottle of Lafite-Rothschild Bourdeaux.

All in all, I think it's clear that I seriously enjoyed our Charlie Trotter's experience. Sitting in the kitchen made the night incredibly special, and I don't think we would have had nearly as much fun in the dining room. The food was always interesting, and occasionally stupendously delicious. Trotter's fondness for foams seems a bit too slavishly trendy (Well, not so trendy any more, which makes it even more confusing.), but overall, this is very, very good food.

More than anything else, it set the tone for the rest of our weekend - things only got more luxurious and indulgent from here. Just you wait!

Charlie Trotter's
816 West Armitage (at Halsted)
Chicago, Illinois
773. 248.6228