Bushwick, named by the Dutch Boswijk for “town in the woods,”  is no longer a town in the woods—it is a rapidly gentrifying section of Brooklyn southeast of tragically hip Williamsburg.  Once one of the most blighted areas in town after the blackout lootings of 1977--at that time, it was characterized by empty lots, drugs, and arson, and the majority of residents who could leave, left—it is now an uneasy mix of resident Latinos and artists moving further into Brooklyn on the “L” train.  It is also a bizarre mix of factories-become-lofts, rundown buildings, and brownstones in the sections nearer Bed-Stuy and Brownsville.

One relatively well-known restaurant is called ...

My only real dumpling experience has been at the Rickshaw Dumpling Bar, a tasty, if tad expensive little shop in Flatiron.  There you could get fried or steamed dumplings with whatever filling you wanted for around $6.  A box full of those, a warm, sun-drenched day in Madison Square Park, and all is right with the world.  I know Chinatown has some great deals, some where 5 or more can be secured for $1.  But mine were tasty, well made, and I only had to walk two blocks from work to get them.

But I haven't had them in ages.  Since I don't work in the area anymore, I can't quickly stop over.  But when I was picking up a big batch of kimchi...

Tired of paying extra for that glass of OJ?  We tested some oranges and came out with an economical alternative.   

"That's it?" you might be saying.  But yes.  This is a recipe for broccoli.  Well, roasted broccoli.  I did salt that beef lurking around out of focus in the background for hours, submerge it in lukewarm water for another hour, and sear it at high heat.  But the broccoli was better.  Even the stems were great.  Long relegated to second class citizens to the beautiful florets up top, when stripped of their hard outer cover the stems soak up all the flavors, in this case lemon and garlic, and honestly taste better.    

For every recipe about how to slow cook a chicken for 6 hours there has to be something practical, easy, and ready to eat in less than an hour.  That's where roasted broccoli comes in, seemingly one of the most...

I have been meaning to get around to this earlier: I really like the food blog New Orleans Cuisine.   I have no real connection to New Orleans outside of a dead great aunt and gorgeous visit a month before that storm came when my girlfriend and I flirted with the idea of staying.  But that's really it.  I listen to Louis Armstrong occasionally.  I've heard of Juvenile.  But I do love the food, and this site has provided much of my connection. 

I first cooked the shrimp etouffee, which still stands as one of my favorite dishes I've made all year.  I couldn't wait to dive back into the site.  So with a whole day of nothing to do but essentially waste, it was time.  Though I never...

It's the food I never really think about, yet can't help but order.  While everyone else is thinking about fries or onion rings, whenever I hit a diner for some reason the one thing I want is coleslaw.  Maybe it just has the appearance of being a vegetable dish in a fried food haven, but it seems a cool retreat for all the hot food. 

The problem with coleslaw is that it can often feel like the least healthy thing in the world.  Sure most diner food suffers from an excess of grease, but slaw can literally be taking a bath in mayonnaise sometimes.  Like playing Russian roulette, I occasionally order it just to see what I'll be brought.  It will either be tangy, crisp, and refreshing--or absolute mush.

It never really occurred to me to make my own.  I...

I tend to get caught up on certain cook book authors, and for the past month it has been all about Heston Blumenthal.  Head chef at the Fat Duck in the U.K., his cookbook In Search of Perfection has been fostering idea after crazy idea.  In a Serious Eats article, we wrote about cooking a pizza on the bottom of a cast iron skillet, to great success.  The best part is that his mad-cap search for perfection is, except for a few mentions of blowtorches,...

I was cleaning out my fridge, throwing away plastic bags full of blackened herbs and limp celery and muttering about how I felt wasteful, of course, but also uncreative.  Why does the ability to look into the fridge and dream up recipes with what’s there elude me?  I'm a failure and a hack.  Why even cook anymore?  I should just order takeout and go to sleep.

But in the midst of this crisis, a beacon: I found my duck confit.  There, in the big white dish, behind the box of baking soda, old loaf of bread, and bag of stale tortillas: glorious, fat-poached duck legs sealed under a firm layer of fat, saran wrap, and aluminum foil. 

I’d lovingly, painstakingly made them almost three months...

Sometimes all you can hope for at the end of a long day is a little bit of harmony.  Whether through yoga, walking your dog, or blasting Bona Drag, you find it and somehow the day washes away.  Often I find this harmony by cooking (sometimes with the Morrissey at the same time)--a chance to relax, create, and then have something delicious to show for it.  I have a recipe that, while deceptively simple, works so well that it manages to restore faith in the world as a generous place full of undiscovered pleasures.  It's a matter of limes, chives, and a protein of your choice.

The first time I had this meal was...