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.

In the beginning.

A first day in Maine requires a lobster roll and copious amounts of seaside time (preferably spent lolling about).
This trip did not disappoint.
On day one, we lounged on our Rackliff Island dock, enjoyed a superlative lobster roll at Waterman's Beach Lobster (whose James Beard Award was well-deserved), and generally enjoyed ourselves.
I mean...right?

Headed north.

This weekend, a whole troupe of us (we're theater people, mostly, so we're a troupe, and not a troop) are headed up the east coast to the wonderful state of Maine. The occasion? My little brother's 30th birthday. The destination? St. George, a teeny little town not far from Thomaston and Rockland.

There will be blueberries.

There will be lobster.

What else is can't-miss, readers? What amazing mid-coast recommendations do you have for us? A heap of my fellow travelers will be golfing most days, but many of us will be on the lookout for delightful local color. (Especially of the ice cream-related variety.)

Do tell!

Photo of the Maine coast courtesy of Flickr.

Put some honey on that pizza, sir.

Oh, yes. You heard me right.

See, a couple of weeks ago, my friend Richard (Who's my cousin's wife's brother - so sort of my cousin, right?) invited a few of us to his place for drinks and guacamole. He's living in an adorable new apartment in Bedford-Stuyvesant, and is ever-so-close to the famous Bushwick hipster pizza mecca, Roberta's.

So after a delightful bowl of cilantro-free guacamole and a delicious rum, lime and coconut water cocktail, we headed over to Roberta's for dinner. It was a balmy night, so we passed our waiting time (expected when one visits such a destination) in the garden bar (the menu of which is pictured above) - a space which, to this Manhattanite, seemed positively gracious in size - then headed indoors for some serious noshing.

Our salads (one with asparagus and one a delicious take on a Caesar) were lovely, and all three of the pizzas we ordered were great. The very best one, though, was an off-menu specialty called the Bee Sting. It was a red pizza, and its sauce spiked with spicy peppers. Setting off the heat? A swirl of honey (from local Brooklyn bees, I'd bet). The sweet honey played beautifully against the earthy tomatoes and provided hints of relief from the spicy heat. It was, in short, awesome.

So, yeah. Spike that sauce with some peppers, and throw some honey down on it. You won't regret it.

Going Momofuku.

My mom was in town last week, so my sister-in-law Miriam and I decided that she needed to experience dinner at Momofuku Noodle Bar. Turns out, this was an excellent call.

The great thing about the Noodle Bar is that they feature a wide array of seasonal, rotating dishes alongside their greatest hits (pork and mushroom buns, pork ramen, spicy cold noodles with sausage). This time of year, that means both Brussels sprouts and tomatoes. Glorious, right?

We started with the tomato and avocado salad, which ended up having cucumbers, too. I was pretty darn excited. The salad was creamy and fresh and just a wonderful bowl full of early autumn.

Next up, shrimp buns. I was a bit nervous about these, with, it turns out, no reason to be. They were amazing. The shrimp were perfect specimens - impossibly plump and sweet - pressed gently into a patty, bound with something delicious and unidentifiable. The patties were made on the griddle, I think, and arrived, piping hot, tucked into their yeasty buns and topped with a spicy mayonnaise and some iceberg lettuce. Slam dunk.

The Brussels sprouts with sausage were delightfully cabbagey - just a bit stinky and beautifully set off by the sausage. Should have been served with a spoon, though, the better to sip up the sprout-y broth. Apples brought a little sweetness to the party, and some puffed grain (they reminded me of Corn Pops, but savory) added crunch.

And, of course, there were noodles. Spicy cold noodles with spinach, sausage and candied cashews. You need the cashews to deal with the spiciness, trust. And chicken ramen, which comes in the very richest chicken broth I have ever tasted in my life. Ever.

Thanks for dinner, Mom - and you're welcome.

Ringing out the summer.

My friend Richard is an all-around fabulous person. He lives a glittering life, full of fashion and fundraising and other sparkly things. He also, as it happens, makes a mean corn salad.

When we headed to Abby & Jason's apartment for dinner a few weeks ago (Abby is Richard's sister; Jason is my cousin.), I contributed a peach-blueberry pie, and Richard brought this incredible salad. It was so simple, but so good. He mixed together raw, sweet corn, red onion, feta, avocado and - though he left a bit out of mine, knowing how I feel about it - cilantro.

I couldn't believe how creamy and salty and sweet the whole thing was. It went beautifully with the steak and potatoes Abby and Jason served, and it was just such a perfect dish for the end of summer. You know how it is - we're coming to the end of the bounty of ridiculously delicious summer produce, and you just want as much of it as you can get.

The version I made at home featured basil instead of cilantro (obviously), and mascarpone instead of feta, since that was what I had. I haven't written up a recipe for it yet - though hopefully I'll be able to soon: I have two precious ears of local New York corn waiting in the fridge.

It runs in the family.

My cousin Jason makes a mean, mean Manhattan, folks. You heard it here first.

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!

A bit of Bristol.

Bristol, Rhode Island is a town full of ancient clapboard houses (lovingly preserved), grass beaches (with oh-so-rocky shorelines) and lots and lots of boats.

My aunt and uncle bought this historic house last year, and it is absolutely adorable. The rooms are small (the better to heat in a New England winter), and the house rambles around in that way peculiar to homes built before 1900. Even better, it's a block from the water and comes complete with sea breeze and harbor views.

I woke up early every morning and ventured out to the front porch to enjoy the cool temperatures, strong coffee and doorstep-delivered newspaper.

My Aunt Cathi's hydrangeas thrive on the bright sun and cool fog.

On three of my four mornings, I took a walk around town, looping back around to the house by way of High Street, where I spotted my very favorite house of all.

I spotted this oxidized copper gate on Walley Street. It sported elephants and swans, but these dudes were my favorites.

The Lobster Pot is a happening place, you know?

For putting boats in the water.

The church book sale. They had a complete set of V.C. Andrews. No comment.

Fireworks!


This float struck me as very David Lynch. It came toward the beginning of the three-hour Fourth of July parade; I eventually decamped to the beach. The perfect balance, in my opinion.

Consider.

When my Aunt Cathi is around, one always eats well, and this weekend in Bristol was no exception. There were local yogurt with berries and her own homemade granola, homemade buttermilk waffles with fruit and whipped cream, steak with roasted asparagus...you name it.

And, on the Fourth of July, there were lobsters.

If you're a die-hard vegetarian, I highly recommend you skip the rest of this post.

I killed those lobsters, you guys. I killed them dead. Typically, I steam lobsters, along with clams, mussels and potatoes, in a couple bottles of wine. If you're going to do that, the best and most humane thing to do is to kill the lobsters with a knife between the eyes before you put them in the pot.

But if you're going to boil them, as we did ours this weekend, then you can just drop them in the boiling water. I've also heard tell that the best way to do boiled lobster is to start them in a cold pot and heat the water up around them, but I haven't seen any evidence that it's more humane.

It's interesting, you know, that the killing and eating of lobsters is so fraught for so many. After all, animals with far more complex brains die for our (non-vegetarian) meals every day. And I kill mussels and clams myself on a regular basis. Why should a lobster be different?

Well, it moves, doesn't it? It's a decent size, and it has distinguishable limbs, and it's altogether alive. But while I don't relish the idea of slaughtering my own meat on a regular basis, I can't help but think that being willing to take care of business where a lobster is concerned is an omnivore's duty. After all, if I plan to eat it, I should probably be forced to look it in the eye at some point.

If you feel like pondering the issue further, I highly recommend Consider the Lobster by the late David Foster Wallace. It's pretty excellent. (And a pretty good argument for why Gourmet was unique among food magazines.)

If you don't, here's a recipe for lobster.

Aunt Cathi's Lobster Boil

Giant stock pot half-filled with water
5 lobsters, about 1 1/2 pounds each
1 lemon
1/2 stick salted butter*

Set the stock pot on the stove, cover, and bring to a boil. Gently place the lobster in the boiling water and replace the cover. Cook for 11 minutes, or until the lobsters are bright red and the antennae pull off easily.

Meanwhile, slice the lemon into five wedges and melt the butter over low heat.

When the lobsters are done cooking, remove from the water with tongs, allowing each to drain a bit over the pot before placing on a plate or platter.

Serve the lobsters one to a person, with ample napkins, lobster crackers and tiny forks to go alongside. Portion the butter out into five ramekins and place a lemon wedge alongside. Go to town.

Serves five.

*This is pretty much the only time I'll tell you to use salted butter.

Independence Day.

Not the movie, the holiday! (Though I do love that movie, in all its brash, ridiculous American-ness. Plus, aliens!)

I'm spending the Fourth in Bristol, Rhode Island, the self-proclaimed most patriotic town in America. My cousins and I are sitting on the front porch at this very moment, listening to the Boss sing Born In The USA and waiting for Bristol's celebrated (and four-hour) parade to kick off.

I've taken a few walks around town during my stay, and have snapped photos of some of my favorite decorations. Bristol is nothing if not up on its bunting.

I hope you and yours have a wonderful holiday. Enjoy the sun, the surf, the turf, whatnot, and try not to think about the fact that tomorrow is a workday.

Happy Fourth!

Does this make me honorarily Southern?

On New Year's Day, Nick, Louisa and I headed out to visit Louisa's parents and sister for a New Year's feast. In true Southern fashion, Louisa and her parents prepared collard greens, cornbread and, of course, black-eyed peas. (Black-eyed peas bring you luck in the New Year, and Louisa's mom Jan says that even "one spoonful is enough.")

It was a truly wonderful meal. The peas were sweet and tender, and especially good when topped with hot sauce - we had multiple choices on the table, including Sriracha, Tapatio and Tabasco. This is a family that takes its condiments seriously. The collards - which Louisa made using The Gourmet Cookbook's stupendous recipe - were insane. Chock-full of bacon and touched with cider vinegar, they are luxuriously delicious.

We spread butter and pepper jelly on our cornbread (and then ate the leftovers with local honey the next morning), but my favorite thing of all might have been the incredible pork roast George made. He and Jan wanted to make something out of the Zuni Cafe Cookbook, which I'd given them for Christmas. Judy Rodgers calls this roast "mock Porchetta," and it's easy to see why: the seasonings she uses (capers, lemon, rosemary, fennel) echo the flavors of a traditional Italian pig roast. Jan and George roasted vegetables alongside, and the whole thing was just so good. Tender, rich and full of amazing porky flavor.

There was salt pork in the cornbread, too, which means we managed to pork up all but one dish out of four - a highly auspicious beginning to 2011, if you ask me.

The feast.

Christmas dinner is a high stakes meal. You've likely brought together a rather disparate group of people, which means you have a disparate set of palates to please, not to mention a rather broad range of expectations. Some people guard their Christmas traditions like precious jewels, while others could, frankly, give a rat's behind. It can be a bit of a crapshoot, to say the least.

Hunter adorned in his Christmas kerchief, guarding the tree with eyes trained on the roast beast.

I like to think, however, that the menu Louisa devised for her Christmas dinner this year nicely straddled the divide, uniting family traditions (oyster casserole, sticky toffee puddings) with some new suspects (creamy brussels sprouts, squash with sherry-soy butter). Also ingenious? The way she divvied up the work a bit between me, herself and her parents - who are, unsurprisingly, excellent cooks.

Between the lot of us, we threw together a low-stress-but-impressive-looking array of dishes for dinner on Christmas Eve. Our centerpiece was a remarkably gorgeous standing rib roast for which George (Louisa's dad) took responsibility. He trimmed the meat a bit and slashed it all over before studding it with cloves of garlic and slathering it with olive oil.

With the roast's remarkable drippings, we made Yorkshire puddings, which puffed up golden and fluffy, with perfect crispy edges. You can get fussy and make these in individual ramekins, but why bother? The communal variety is just as tasty (Especially the next day, when you can eat it with eggs and really, really taste the beef.). The roast, it should be said, fed us for days, right up to and including making delicious stock for some French onion soup.

Our sides tended to the festive and calorie-laden, as such holiday goodies should. From Louisa's family, courtesy of her mother Jan, we had oyster and eggplant casserole. Now, I know what you're thinking, because I thought it too: how can you put two of the world's mushiest ingredients together - in a casserole, no less - and expect it to be anything but icky? Well, apparently, you can. You just need the secret recipe, which seems to involve copious amounts of cream, breadcrumbs and love.

We also enjoyed one of my new favorites, one I intend to usher into classics territory: brussels sprouts with cream, bacon, chestnuts and maple syrup. It's an inappropriately delicious preparation, the sort of thing that makes people forget about the other, lesser things on their plates. I take absolutely no credit for it, however: you can find the exact recipe we followed right on over here, at New York Magazine. My one recommendation? A few turns of black pepper toward the end, to balance out the sweet creaminess.

Our last side, squash and green beans with soy-sherry butter, turned out to be less transcendent than it had been in earlier incarnations. The problem, we decided, was that the squash we used was a bit too pumpkin-y, as opposed to butternut squash-y - the slightly mushier pumpkin absorbed too much of the dressing and left little for the beans to enjoy. Tasty, but not nearly as good as Louisa claims it's been in the past.

Are you wondering about dessert? Well, I'll be getting to that in a future (near future) post. In the meantime, a preview:

Yes, you should be very, very excited.

I'm full.

We had a pretty awesome Thanksgiving dinner last night at my brother and sister-in-law's place. A classic group effort, the meal was prepared in four different kitchens and served in a score of different bowls.

Turkey, cranberry-walnut relish, brussels sprouts with chestnuts and bacon, two kinds of stuffing, polenta with mushrooms, mashed potatoes, two kinds of gravy, kale simmered in coconut milk, two kinds of pie...

Pretty insane. And, speaking of insane, I cannot recommend this Zak Pelaccio brussels sprouts recipe enough. You must, must make it, and soon. If you're a vegetarian, just substitute a quarter cup or so of canola oil for the bacon. You will not be sorry; it is one of the most delicious things I've ever tasted, and it took about fifteen minutes to make, start to finish.

Trust me.