Both Nick and I are from the Midwest, proud of our work ethic and nice disposition, and find ourselves a rare breed out here in New York City. I'm not really sure what the conception is--rural, uneducated, whatever--but most people have no idea what exactly goes on in middle of this vast nation, and just assume that most of it is comprised entirely of corn. Here is an example. The other day w...
Yeah, it's true, I did decide to roast a chicken on the hottest day of the year , much to the chagrin of my girlfriend, my neighbor Jason, and my brow which had to battle the entire evening against a downfall of sweat pouring over my forehead. And while the hysterics of previously mentioned cocktail mistress (girlfriend) could be seen as an over-dramatization of slightly toasty dinner, s...
On Saturday morning, at the bright and early hour of noon, my phone began ringing. I vaguely remembered excited pronouncements the evening before about going for a bike ride out to Red Hook to visit the infamous ballfields , where soccer and baseball games unfold throughout the weekend, and outdoor food vendors set up shop on Bay St. to serve cheap, fresh food from south of the border (all...
I have yet to muster up the courage to make pickles, though I guess that would be the wrong way to describe the process. It's more of a creation, something coddled and cared for that takes an inordinate amount of time and makes you wonder whether it's worth the problem to begin with. It doesn't help that Fairway sells fresh pickles that are crisp and lovely, and I know that my own would fa...
It began when my friend Glen T. Tremaldi, who runs a community garden in Boerum Hill, informed me of his zucchini overstock. "You should see the zucchinis I picked. The size of your calves," he said. And he wasn't joking. They were the size of melons. Then he related something about a frozen rabbit that was bought some time ago from a butcher on Court St., who had divided it up into ser...
There comes a point in our party-going lives when throwing a Saturday night get-together does not entail gathering up all the expensive things around the house and stacking them nicely in the bedroom behind lock and key. No portraits need be taken down, no glassware gathered. Laptops need not be stowed away so as to avoid the deluge of spilt drinks. A party can be thrown where people act...
When I arrived into Helsinki Airport, the Finnish sun had been out for close to five hours: it was 8:02 in the morning. My bag came out of flappy rubber slats onto the belt and I sailed through customs, exiting the terminal onto a pristine pavement platform, a group of bus lanes. Everything was strangely silent. There were four other people waiting for buses, each squinting gently at the w...
It saddens me to point out that Schnack has closed. What is detailed below is a great restaurant. Hopefully they will reopen someday.
Like many, many people this week, Blake and I had better things to do. He's living the good life traveling around Northern Europe right now, eating voisilmapulla and trying to get around in Estonia with only a passable pronunciation of three words. A...
Before the poor whore jokes start to spouting out, before we talk about how quick and easy this dish was, how lustful and robust the flavors were, I'll dispel the obvious and hopefully show how these ladies of the night were actually thrifty chefs without the benefit of access to fresh ingredients. How the whores of Italy were, actually, quite creative.
Fun fact of the day courtesy of Dian...
Blake and Nick live in Chicago and have written for The Paupered Chef and other publications since 2006.