Embracing a trend, a little late

When it comes to food, I'm pretty much immune to trends. What I like to eat, and what I will always like to eat, is simple, straightforward, honestly delicious food, and that won't change, no matter how many types of goopy sugary cupcakes flood the market, or how many ways chefs find to make liquids, foams and gels out of what should be nice, fresh and unadulterated ingredients.

For the past few years, there's been one trendy ingredient on the American food scene, and its name is chipotle. No, I'm not talking about the restaurant, although that chain did indeed rise to prominence during the unstoppable reign of its eponymous ingredient. What I'm talking about are chipotle peppers, or jalapeño peppers that have been allowed to ripen past their usual green color to a deep red, then harvested and smoke-dried. In Mexico, chipotles find their way into many traditional dishes and accompaniments, most notably being incorporated into a variety of salsas, but here in the U.S., we usually see chipotles in one particular form: chipotles en adobo. Adobo, as that helpful Wikipedia link explains, can refer to a range of seasonings and marinades, but in this instance corresponds to a particular preparation of thick, rich and spicy tomato-based sauce. Chipotles en adobo are whole chipotles that are canned in adobo sauce; the chipotles absorb the liquid from the adobo and become soft and pliable, while the adobo, in turn, takes on the smoky quality of the chipotles.

Sounds pretty delicious, doesn't it? Well, lots of American restaurants and cafes would agree. Because over the past few years, many of them have snuck chipotles onto their menu, and you can usually find them in one place: on the sandwiches. Blended into the mayonnaise. Chipotle mayonnaise, or chipotle mayo, as it's more commonly (and lovingly) referred to, is everywhere. Do a Google search for the term and you'll get 559,000 results. To give you a small Brooklyn-based sampling, both the cafe I worked at as a cook for about a year and the restaurant where my roommate Anne waitresses feature the mayonnaise on their menus: at the former, we spread it thickly on a grilled vegetable-and-cheese sandwich, and at the latter, they serve it as a dipping sauce for their (highly addictive) homemade grilled flatbreads. And I have to admit that the stuff is pretty tasty. I'm not really a mayonnaise fan: for me, at least the commercial stuff just seems greasy and not very flavorful. But the heat and smokiness of the chipotles really does cut through that greasiness and adds a nice bite to plain ol' mayo.

Still, I wasn't really sold on the idea. From time to time I'd get a taste of chipotle mayonnaise and I'd think it was ok. But for the most part, I tended to avoid menu items that advertised the peppers: they just seemed gimmicky, overly ubiquitous, so I passed on them. Until, that is, I cooked with them. About a week ago, I went over to my friend Malcolm's house for dinner, and together we followed a recipe for chilaquiles that came from a Martha Stewart cookbook. The recipe was dead simple: basically, you saute garlic and oil in a pan and add crushed canned tomatoes and a little bit of chipotles en adobo. You then mix in shredded cooked chicken and simmer the sauce for about 5 minutes. That's it. When it's done, you serve it over crushed tortilla chips and top it with all the fixins, like cheese, avocado and sour cream. Yum. Am I right? Well, I tasted it and I am right. And I was amazed. The chipotles added so much flavor to the sauce: slight, pleasant heat; intense, smooth smokiness; and a little sweetness, too. I was sold. Several days later, when I set out to make a dish I often eat for dinner, Mexican-style beans, I made sure to buy a little can of chipotles en adobo and add them to my dish. Same effect: they added so much flavor, and made my beans taste that much more authentic.

So is there a moral to this story? I hope not, because if there was one, it would have to be something like this: don't be afraid to be a sheep. Don't resist. If something's trendy, it's damn well trendy for a reason, and you should just go along with it. And that's not my message at all, folks. But I will say this: sometimes, when an ingredient or food preparation really catches on, it truly is because it's tasty. Just think of McDonald's...wait, that wasn't what I meant to say. Listen, just try these Mexican beans. Maybe someday soon they, too, will be over 99 billion served.



Mexican-Style Beans
Serves 4 - 6

1. Heat a wide, heavy-bottomed skillet over a medium flame. Add about 2 tbsp. of olive oil and about 3 minced garlic cloves. Cook, stirring, for about 1 minute.
2. As the garlic cooks, add dried spices to the pan: about 1 1/2 tsp. ground cumin; 1/2 tsp. ground coriander; 1/2 tsp. oregano; 1/4 tsp. red pepper flakes and 1/4 tsp. chili powder. Stir to combine.
3. Just as the garlic begins to turn golden brown, add about 1/2 cup canned tomatoes, either crushed or whole in liquid. If using whole tomatoes, crush them as you add them to the pan. Add 2 or 3 minced chipotles (from a small can of chipotles en adobo) and about 2 tbsp. of their liquid to the pan. Stir to combine and season with salt.
4. Drain and rinse 2 small (15.5 oz) cans of beans. You can use any beans you like; I always use black beans and sometimes, as in this instance, mix in pinto beans as well. Add the beans to the pan, along with about 1 cup of water and stir gently. Bring to a simmer and let cook for 12 - 15 minutes, or until the mixture has thickened and its flavors have come together.
5. Taste for seasoning and serve. I eat my beans over rice and top them with things like fresh salsa, lime juice, sliced avocados, a cheese like queso fresco, etc., and I usually heat up some corn tortillas to go with, too.

From Europe to the Caribbean

As should be evident from my post below, I'm back from my time spent farming in Europe. It was great fun and I ate a lot of great food and hopefully, someday soon when I'm more organized, I'll share some photos and descriptions of a few of the things I ate abroad. For now, though, let's focus on the more recent past. Though I did indeed dine well during my stays in Spain and France, there were a few flavors that I started to miss, like all kinds of Asian food, and, especially, spicy food. So just a few days after my return, I met my friend Malcolm at one of my very favorite takeout joints, Errol's Caribbean Bakery.


Located on the corner of Flatbush Avenue and Hawthorne Street in the area of Brooklyn traditionally known as Flatbush but newly minted by real estate agents as Lefferts Gardens, Errol's is a true neighborhood spot. The first time I visited, it was late one summer night, close to midnight, and Errol's was one of the few spots on Flatbush Avenue that was open. A few friends and I walked in, expecting to find the place mostly empty. Yet while we waited for our food, a steady stream of people came and left, chatting familiarly with the amiable folks behind the counter. Before I even tasted a morsel, I had a good feeling about Errol's: it was warm, friendly, and homey. And, possibly more importantly, it was bursting with many kinds of delicious-looking baked goods:


That's because in addition to offering a wide array of hot, savory dishes, Errol's stays true to its name by serving up a variety of freshly made breads, rolls, cakes and other kinds of sweets. Every one I've tried has been great: from soft, sliced whole wheat loaves to more Caribbean-specific delicacies like currant rolls, soft yeasted rolls studded with currants, and both regular and whole wheat versions of bread pudding, which are huge, thick squares of dense, not-too-sweet custard. I can't remember the exact prices of these items, but I do know that they are very cheap, somewhere in the neighborhood of a dollar for individual servings, and are served in generous portions. But let's get to the hot part of the menu, shall we? You can choose from the following options:


There's a lot of good stuff there, to be sure, but if you're anything like me, you'll go for an order of the stew chicken: for a small ($5), you'll get two large pieces of tender, juicy bone-in chicken cooked down in a dark, rich sauce, served with rice and peas, cabbage and two soft, sweet plantains. Now that's a recession special I can really get behind. I can personally attest, also, to the outstanding quality of the curry goat, the curry chicken, and the jerk chicken--they're all fresh-tasting and delicious--but the star of the show, for me, is the stew chicken:


So if you find yourself in Brooklyn craving some cheap, flavorful and filling Caribbean delights, check out Errol's in Lefferts Gardens. I can assure you that you won't be disappointed.

Thanksgiving leftovers, Chinese style

After all the shopping, preparation and cooking, Thanksgiving is over and everything has returned to normal (except, perhaps, our waistlines). If you hosted or even attended the holiday meal, it's a pretty sure bet that you've got some leftover turkey in your fridge at this very moment. Not to fear: at this time of year, food publications all over the country are printing recipe after recipe designed to make use of the excess bird: some more traditional, some less so. The recipe I'm sharing today definitely falls into the latter camp. Now don't get me wrong: my favorite Thanksgiving leftovers are, most certainly, of the traditional ilk. My personal choice has always been, and always will be, a sandwich of turkey and cranberry sauce on rye (the only appropriate bread for a Jewish Thanksgiving gathering). But I have to admit that after eating one, two or three of these beauties and still being left with turkey to use up, my tastebuds start to crave something a little less familiar and a little more exciting.

Such was the position I found myself in earlier today. With stomach grumbling, I opened the fridge door and noticed two items: a Ziploc bag of sliced turkey meat generously gifted to me by my grandmother, and a small container of white rice that I had prepared earlier in the week before going out of town for the holiday. Instantly I had it: fried rice. Leftovers, basically, were created for fried rice: I've talked about it on here before, and I'm sure I will again. That's because once you've got a standing supporting cast of Asian condiments like soy sauce, sesame oil and chili paste on hand, the glory of fried rice can be yours at almost any moment: nearly any kind of protein, no matter how it was originally seasoned, or any kind of cooked vegetable, can be cut up and thrown into fried rice, and it will taste good. Take my word for it. Or go a step further and try this recipe yourself.



Turkey Fried Rice
Makes 1 serving

1. Cut a small portion of leftover cooked turkey meat into a small dice. Set aside.
2. Defrost a generous handful of frozen peas or frozen mixed vegetables by placing them in a bowl and covering with hot water.
3. Mince 1 - 2 garlic cloves and cook in vegetable oil in a large wide skillet or wok set over a medium flame.
4. After 2 minutes, add a serving of leftover cooked rice. Heat through, adding soy sauce, sesame oil, sriracha or chili paste and Chinese preserved vegetables, if available, to taste (about 1 teaspoon each).
5. Drain the peas and add them to the pan. Add the turkey meat to the pan. Stir frequently to heat everything through.
6. In a small bowl, beat 1 egg. Add it to the pan, stirring constantly, to break up and cook the egg. Taste the rice for seasoning and serve with a handful of chopped fresh cilantro.

Eating Club: Staten Island Ferry to Little Sri Lanka

Anatomy of a Sri Lankan buffet plate (clockwise from the papadum): leeks, dhal, eggplant, chicken curry, potato, bitter gourd, coconut sambol, goat curry, and kingfish curry; mango and pineapple chutney, yellow rice (center).

***

For many, the Staten Island ferry is not so much a form of transportation but rather a free, fail-safe way to entertain out-of-town guests: hop aboard, point out the Statue of Liberty, and wait in the Staten Island ferry terminal for the next boat back to Manhattan. But Staten Island is not merely a turn-around point nor an imagined place--a netherland--where Hans van den Broek plays cricket in Joseph O'Neill's Netherland. In fact, among other groups, Staten Island is home to more than 1/3 of New York's Sri Lankan population. Interesting note: while there are ethnic clashes in the mother country, Tamils and Sinhalese are at peace in Staten Island's Sri Lankan enclave (at least according to a somewhat dated City Limits article).

This month, the MTA Dining Car--a monthly eating club devoted to outer borough trekking--headed to Staten Island. The destination: Sanrasa's $11 Sunday buffet in Tompkinsville (aka Little Sri Lanka), just a 10-minute walk from the ferry terminal on Staten Island.

We gazed out of the rain-slickened ferry window, searching for the Manhattan skyline. It was the kind of gloomy afternoon in which one realizes: winter is nearly upon us once more. And yet, we knew the meal to come would warm our hearts and sinuses with hot chilis and fiery curries, chasing away the onslaught of seasonal despair.

The view from the ferry's bow: in the distance, the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge; in the foreground, what appears to be the kind of kiddy gate that one might use on a staircase.


Bay Street en route to Tompkinsville.

There's something vaguely Soviet about Staten Island.


On the exterior of the Cargo Cafe, thanks to the handywork of the local Budos Band, a pirate fights a fire-breathing dragon beneath a "Starry Night"-inspired sky. Previously, paintjobs by artist Scott LoBaido have included scenes of King Kong and giant parakeets with humans dangling out of their mouths. For the Cargo Cafe's interior, self-described "Creative Patriot" LoBaido once painted a portrait of Rudy Giuliani as a Roman soldier atop a rearing stallion, raising a billowing American flag with the flagpole doing double duty as a spear--which Giuliani uses to slay a demon/terrorist in the wreckage of what appears to be the Twin Towers.

Just up the street: a more conceptual painting, which the Cargo Cafe's manager thought to be a LoBaido as well.

One house still featured Halloween decorations. (Yes, that's a toy puppy with a knife in its skull.)

At long last! The Sanrasa buffet spread. Earthenware pots are to Sri Lankan food what the slow cooker is to flyover state American food: a sign of home cooking.

For the dhal, the lentils are simmered in coconut milk along with turmeric, cumin seed, red chili, and clove. Sanrasa owner Sanjay Handapangoda pan-roasts the spices himself.

Bitter gourd ("karvilla" in Sinhalese) is sliced, fried, and tossed with raw red onion, vinegar, mustard seed, and green chilis for a multilayered sweet and tangy flavor. If you assume Sri Lankan food to be a variant of Indian food, this dish will convince you otherwise.


The implicit question of the buffet is: how to stop? Returning to the buffet line "just for dessert" (see mango mousse in lower-right corner), one might then look down to see a full plate of chicken curry, yellow rice, dhal, pineapple chutney, bitter gourd, and coconut sambol (an all-purpose sweet and spicy condiment of grated coconut, chili, and lemon juice).

And yet: somehow we stopped eating, boarded the ferry, and watched Staten Island grow distant from the aft-end of the boat.

In the end, the sun came out just in time for it to set. Even if you live in New York, in moments like these, you're allowed to take photos with a tourist's unselfconscious sense of awe.

-Kiera Feldman

The MTA Dining Car: D/M/N/R to 36th

Last month, the MTA Dining Car -- a monthly eating club devoted to good food, good company, and outer borough trekking -- headed to Bay Ridge for Palestinian food, filling every seat at Tanoreen. The procession of courses was endless. Surely, everyone longed for relaxed-fit pants. And the same was true of the previous month's Thai feast at Sripraphai in Woodside, Queens (0f note: it is not an exaggeration to say that the red snapper changed us all).

This month, in lieu of our usual sit-down, family-style $20 prix fixe meal, we opted for a more freeform, el cheapo (~ $10/person) approach: the taco tour. Diners met at Brooklyn's Sunset Park on a warm and breezy Sunday afternoon and then headed south on 5th ave.

First stop: Tacos Xochimilco at 45th st. There was much disagreement as to the best taco--some said chorizo, others argued for carne asada, and I think one person even made a case for lengua. But everyone concurred that the staff, seemingly unperturbed by the (normally frowned upon) big group/small order combo, was kind of saintly.

By the end of taco round #1, the MTA Dining Car numbers had swelled with latecomers; concerned that the taco tourists might seem an obnoxious hoard, an executive decision was made to send out smaller scouting parties with food orders para llevar and then regroup in Sunset Park, whereupon the taco tour would morph into a taco (and assorted taqueria fare) pass-around. One group headed across the street to Tacos Matamoros, another headed down to 51st to Ricos Tacos, and a third group picked up a sampling of desserts at Ines 24-hour Bakery on 4th ave and 36th. (Plans to hit up two 4th ave taco trucks were quickly abandoned: evidently the 36th st truck is only there evenings, and--make of it what you will--no one volunteered to journey to the truck at 60th.)

When you take a bite of the carne asada torta from Matamoros, you know: this is no mass produced beef patty but rather a slab of grilled beef. Something that once lived and breathed. Something that had a mother.

The carne asada taco from Matamoros: lightly sprinkled with cilantro and onion, and a perfect texture-flavor union of charred, salty, and crunchy.

One diner double-fisted a carne asada torta and a Ricos carnitas taco, as if unable to choose between the two. (Ricos tacos were a group favorite. Look at that wrapper bleed-through!)


With French cuisine, you eat sorbet to cleanse the palate; Indian food uses raita; and with Central American food, might I recommend flan? It's slightly sweet yet balanced by the understated savory of egg--cool and refreshing to a tongue that's spent the last few hours awash in the meat juices of enough animals to comprise a barnyard. Plus, after all that tiresome work of flesh gnawing and tearing, a gelatinous course proves restorative.


Behold the towering decadence of Tres Leches cake. With each successive dessert pass, one diner--as if performing a public service--would instruct the new Tres Leches cake holder, "Eat from below!" And the advice was sound: moistened with condensed milk, the bottom layer is, indeed, the most gooey and delicious--and a bit of a spoiler for all cakes you'll eat henceforth in that they'll seem a dry disappointment. Sorry.


And so, as the afternoon faded into evening, we concluded the taco tour in Sunset Park at the eponymous hour, looking out over a pink hued Brooklyn and lower Manhattan; in the distance, the Statue of Liberty rose out of the water. Sighing with contentment, we descended the park steps and headed for the subway, bound for our respective homes, where we would nap.

-Kiera Feldman (with photos by Jen Ball)