A Slight Delay

You know the little warning stickers on pill bottles about taking the medication only on a full stomach? That goes double for Man Eat Food. Entry after entry will leave you either salivating, or listening to your growling stomach (or both). What I like about the blog is its catholic quality. This is clearly someone who loves to eat–no arguments from these quarters, certainly–and who, though he loves good food, isn’t a snob about it. It’s a nice antidote to some blogs I’ve seen written by self-proclaimed “foodies,” where the simple pleasure of a good meal gets lost amid the stuff calculated to impress the other foodies. Hold onto your napkins…

Okay, break time’s over (mine, anyway). A quick take on another tasty, addictive snack, this one from the good folks at Calbee. Well, I’m assuming they’re good, fine people. There’s nothing to indicate that they’re not. I don’t think that they use whales or baby seals in their snacks, so…

Where was I? Oh, yes. Their “Snapea Crisps.” Texture: think Cheez Doodles. The puffy kind, minus the annoying orange stuff that gets all over your fingers, and could easily substitute for a dye pack in your local bank (”Suspect was apprehended when he was spotted licking his fingers a block away from First National.”). Taste: Think peas. ‘Nuff said. If you like peas (lightly salted) and Cheez Doodles, this should be right up your alley. They also come in a Caesar flavor, which I haven’t tasted.

So much for catchy nomenclature. At least I can claim truth in advertising. “What’s that?” “Oh, it’s a sweet potato thingy.” You may, if you’d prefer, call it a whatzit, doodad, or just refer to it as “Jasper,” for all I care.

But I digress. Now that you’ve got your potato ricer (see previous entry), here’s something you can make with it. It’s a bit faster variation on a recipe my mother makes every Thanksgiving. You can use an electric beater or a potato masher, but the ricer will give better results. What you’ll need:

Two decent-sized sweet potatoes or yams (I’ve used both)
1 small can of crushed pineapple
A bit (say, a quarter- or half-cup) of shredded coconut
Spices and nuts (optional; see below)

First, you’ll have to deal with the coconut. If you want it sweet, you can just dump it in straight from the package, and skip the remainder of this paragraph (you can also toast it if you’d like, and then skip the rest of this paragraph). If you want it moreso for the texture, and want a flavor that says “coconut” and not “would you like some coconut with your sugar,” find a small bowl, put the coconut in there first, and pour enough milk over it to cover it. Then, cover and refrigerate the bowl, draining it when you’re ready to use it.

Next, peel and dice your sweet potatoes. Go for a medium dice, since they’ll cook quicker and more evenly. Next, boil them ’til they’re done. They shouldn’t be mushy, nor should they be too raw. Drain, and set aside.

While the spuds are cooling, drain the crushed pineapple, reserving the juice, and set that aside. Run the sweet potatoes through the ricer in batches, ’til the lot of them have been mashed. Then stir in the pineapple and coconut. You likely won’t need to add any liquid; if you do, you can use either the reserved pineapple juice, or a bit of orange juice.

What you’ve got now is a pretty suitable side dish. You can add nuts if you’d like; pecans or walnuts work well. Cinnamon gives a nice flavor to the proceedings. Or, if you’d like something that’ll give a nice contrast, add a bit of chopped cilantro to taste.

I’m suspicious of anything I see advertised on television. So I’d been skeptical for a while about the George Foreman Grill, in any of its guises; if television advertising is cause for suspicion, then a celebrity’s name attached to a product is the kiss of death.

On the other hand, when you live in an apartment with no balcony, no patio, and not quite enough room to swing a cat, it’s not like you can set up a gas grill in the living room. So we caved in and bought the G5, the latest incarnation of the George Foreman Grill. (more…)

Nothing beats fresh spices. The taste of a clove of crushed garlic, cilantro snipped right off the stem, or fresh-cut parsley (just try making tabouleh with parsley flakes) puts dried spices to shame. On the other hand, if you’re short on time, it can be a pain in the neck cutting, washing, snipping, et cetera.

Polaner–the same company that makes fruit preserves and whatnot–have done a nice job of bridging the gap between the produce section and those little jars of sad, dessicated horticulture. Most supermarkets will carry at least the garlic and basil (which, between them, put you well on your way to a good pesto), but oregano and jalapeño peppers are also out there. They’re relatively inexpensive, and while they’re not the same as going to your local farmer’s market they’re a good compromise, especially if you want fresh taste but you don’t have as much prep time as you’d like.

Have you ever eaten or drunk something, disliked it intensely, decided to give it a second chance, and then wondered why you bothered? I bring this up because today–for the third time, no less–I had V8 V-Fusion. You’ve seen the commercials. This is the V8 for the people who don’t like V8.

I’m not one of those people. I like V8 just fine. It even makes a good Bloody Mary (with or without the alcohol). But I’m always open to trying new things, and you figure that if someone makes a product you like, it’s a reasonable bet that the next thing they come out with will also be good, right?

Not so much. (more…)

One of the best things about northern New Jersey is an abundance of good restaurants that don’t charge Manhattan prices. It’s especially good if you’re a fan of Latin American and Caribbean food. 

But if you don’t feel like going to North Bergen, for instance, or (God forbid) Elizabeth, there’s Cuban Pete’s, in Montclair. We stopped in today, and were greeted by a funky fire hazard of a place, with some very good Cuban food. Prices are reasonable at a time when not much in Montclair is, and the food was delectable. (more…)

Not too many people get all poetic over potato chips. But then, Augusten Burroughs isn’t most people. In Possible Side Effects, there was a passage on crispy spuds that left my mouth watering:

Slow Roasted Lamb and Mint Potato Crisps.
It can’t be, I thought.
But then, it was. And there were other flavors, too. Char-Grilled Steak and Peppercorn Sauce, Oven Roasted Chicken and Thyme.
My God, why aren’t these in America? Why did we ever split with Britain in the first place?

Well, I’ve found Augusten Burroughs’ potato chips, or something pretty darned close, in the Montclair-based London Food Company. They’re made by Walkers, and come in flavors such as Roast Chicken, Beef and Onion (both of which I tried, and both of which tasted true to their names), Prawn Cocktail, and Smoky Bacon. They’re addictive, and they won’t cost you airfare to Heathrow or Gatwick.

Supermarkets try too hard. You can’t walk into a supermarket anymore that doesn’t have a full selection of “Home-Cooked Meals”: hermetically sealed roasted chicken, baked hams in little plastic coffins, and ribs sulking in oversweetened barbecue sauce.

One day, I got to thinking. Why not take the next step, and have a potluck aisle? You could have everybody in the neighborhood bring something, and sell it all on consignment. There’d be aisles of steam tables piled with goulash, mashed potatoes, creamed corn, and all the stuff that someone found in the back of some Betty Crocker cookbook, some of it edible, some not. After all, what potluck is complete without at least one or two dishes that can be identified only by their dental records, or by some kind of culinary DNA analysis? (more…)

  Hooray! The cardboard is gone! So what, you ask, does John Heartfield have to do with sports nutrition?

Well, here’s the thing: I don’t always have time to eat breakfast, or find myself needing a little something to pick me up during the day. I thought, a long time ago, that “sports nutrition bars” might be the way to go. And I would see the bars in health food stores, at supermarkets, and in train stations, all promising flavor with a burst of energy. Sounds good.

But what it tastes like is something else altogether. Power Bars, for instance, taste as though someone has bound pine needles, rat ears, tree bark, eye of newt and the bones of some saint or other together with high fructose corn syrup. Zone, Power Bar Pria, and others taste about the same; less like food than the byproducts of some industrial process or other. The only energy generated by these things comes from the calories burned when you discreetly rid yourself of (or spit with tremendous force) the offending mouthful. I invariably feel, in other words, like one of the hapless individuals in Heartfield’s montage.

But I keep trying. They can’t all taste like you’ve licked the floor at a bad Country and Western joint (ie. sawdust and peanut shells), can they? The answer is, they don’t. Clif Bars (roughly a buck at your local Trader Joe’s) have a great texture, and a taste that’s maybe a little too good. Take your pick: Cherry Almond, Crunchy Peanut Butter, Peanut Toffee Buzz… not a dud in the lot. Even flavors like Chocolate Brownie, Banana Nut Bread, and Carrot Cake taste like the things they purport to represent. No more cardboard!

Trader Joe’s
Clif Bar
The art and life of John Heartfield, courtesy of Towson University.