“Stepping In” on the town - Madrid, Spain

Day 1 (cont'd):
Mo’ Mojitos: My favorite activity is moseying around a new city and stepping in here or there for a quick nip or nibble. Our next “step-in” was at the bar, La Solera where wise cracks were quipped from wine casks turned tables and olives were served with our much stronger mojitos.

The bathrooms left the mark of a more rowdy joint with graffiti scrawled over every stall, so when Bubba and I ventured back here again after 11pm and it had morphed into a smoky den with music videos flashing above the bar, it all made sense.

Yay for Paella: Bubba stopped us in front of a low-key restaurant, Meson Cardena, crowded with locals - always a good sign. Ceramic, tiled walls were broken up with photos of matadors and various animal heads (the wild boar’s hair could have used a deep conditioning...)





(...and the coat rack of upturned deer’s hooves was a bit disturbing).











But we were immediately greeted by a plate of pasta salad that was surprisingly flavorful for its ordinary components – krab, onion, pepper and white beans - nothing but compliments for this complimentary starter.



For drinks, we switched from mojitos to sangria = best decision ever. Best decision ever = best sangria ever. Was that a cinnamon stick floating around in there? This brought the same spiciness of mulled wine and put fruit in the background so it wasn’t sickly sweet, as some sangrias can be. What was the secret to their house blend? Well, the woman behind the counter was marrying various wines into one bottle and that might have had something to do with it – genius. Waste not, wine not.

And even though we got a couple of dirty looks while inquisitively eyeing our neighbors’ spoils, we decided paella was king here. Pretty as a picture and good enough to eat, yellow rice offset the brilliance of red crayfish and sleek, black mussels. Tender, tiny clams made me happy as one and we fell back from the table content.

Street serenade: If New York is the city that never sleeps, then they have some competition because not only does Madrid stay wide awake, but this city sings…at the top of their lungs at 4am. But getting serenaded by drunken Spaniards was another pleasant reminder that I was a stranger in a strange land and I planned on embracing all that encompassed. Perhaps belting a few bars of Springsteen out the window would help me assimilate quicker…

**animal head photos courtesy of Mom Alkema

Madrid – Stranger in a Strange Land

Viva la Spain! Our layover in Newark allowed us to coordinate times so that we caught the same plane as Bubba’s mom and step-dad. It was a family affair – all of us were on our way to see my sister-in-law sing opera in Sevilla, so we decided to spend a few days in Madrid before we took the train to meet her. It had been a bit of a debacle getting to our apartment. But who cared? Because even I was about to puke from the taxi looping in lost circles and heaved to breathe beneath an army of luggage, I was here.

Jetlag drugged every last one of us, but after a nap and shower, we finally got that shot of adrenaline that only visiting a foreign land can give. Immediately taken out of our bubble, not only with the language barrier, but also our loss of cell phones, made me giddy with the notion of becoming invisible while remaining alive and well.

Day 1 – Madrid: Tapas, Jamon and Mojitos, oh my!

Tippy–tapas
Our first place was first rate to get our mouth’s mindset ready for a city of small portions. Miranda’s patrons smoked and chatted quietly, wedged between wooden tables stacked close together, making it hard to find a seat for four. Our waitress was patient with us, as we communicated by pointing and grateful smiles, leaving the first taste of Spain in our mouths with language rather than food.


A platter of neatly wrapped tapas reminding me more of Asian appetizers were followed by smoked salmon on rounded bread similar to a toasted bagel without the hole – decent, if not a bit boring. But then they brought the jamon for our first of many meetings with the country’s most beloved mascot.

Jamon: No, this isn’t what Michael Jackson shouts while grabbing his crotch, but instead a delightful cured meat close to proscuitto. If you’re a leg man, Spain is the place to be, if you’re a vegetarian, not so much. Jamon gams hang in every window like edible curtains and it seemed everyone owned their own pork leg…I could see myself living here.

Our “firsts” didn’t end with the jamon as we lifted our first Mojitos to toast our first sip on our first night in Madrid…and then we went on to have seconds.

Coronado Brewing Company - San Diego

Brew Ha-Ha
You can’t beat the Del for a drink or two, but around the holidays it’s a nuthouse (ice skating + palm trees = swarm), so we stuck closer to the harbor, walking along the water and stopping on the way for some lunch-time libations at the Coronado Brewing Company.

Orange Ave beer: Its hue matched its name, and its name matched its fruitiness. Light and crisp, this citrus sipper was 5.5% alcohol. Who says you need to guzzle OJ for vitamin C? This would cure what ales you.

Grilled mahi tacos: fresh, well-seasoned and best because my healthy choice of grilled fish left no guilt when hula-hooping onion rings around my tongue.





Buffalo chicken pizza: surprisingly tasty for an east coast pizza snob like me. Nothing to write home about and the crust could use some work, but the chicken was beautifully cooked breast meat, juicy and blanketed by melted cheese and the crunch of red onion for one well-balanced bite.

Lowdown: Relaxed and affordable, raised wooden rafters, open windows and fresh ingredients on bar-food favorites.

Holiday Happenings

Christmas Eve
Our annual dinner at the Yarlings (the Ricardo to our Mertz) meant an exquisitely set table, cheese boards gorged with Gouda, sliced proscuitto and a ball of Burrata mozzarella nestled next to bread, figs and olives. After a dirty martini, we settled down to dine for a classic menu of surf & turf.

Surf
Grilled shrimp marinated in white wine and worchestire gave the rare gift of correrctly cooked crustaceans. They lingered in that fleeting moment between raw and rubbery that's almost impossible to attain.

Turf
Dinner was rounded out with filet mignon as thick as novels, grilled asparagus, mashed potatoes and a famous hand-whisked, brown sauce of Julia Child's that almost gave Tiff carpal tunnel, but was worth every earthy, wine-based layer. We washed it down with a magnum of Malbec…Merry almost Christmas!

Christmas Brunch
Pajama wearing and gluttonous feasting were staples for Christmas brunch at our place and by now we had it down like clockwork. Our two go-to dishes were flawless for feeding a large group and the best part was they were both made the night before, so my only job Christmas morning would be turning on the oven:

Sausage strata
6 slices white bread 2 cups shredded Swiss cheese
2 lbs bulk sausage 6 eggs beaten
2 tbsp dry mustard 3 cups half & half
½ cup chopped onion ½ tsp of each: salt & pepper

Trim crusts off bread and place in bottom of greased, 9x13 pan. Brown and strain sausage, stir in mustard and spoon over bread. Sprinkle cheese and onion over sausage. Mix rest of ingredients and pour over top. Cover and refrigerate overnight. Cook at 350 degrees for 30 min.

Caramelized French Toast*
1 loaf day-old French baguette 1 cup milk
1 cup light brown sugar 5 eggs ¼ cup half & half
¼ lb butter 1 tsp vanilla

Melt butter, mix with sugar and pour in baking dish. Slice bread ¼ inch thick and arrange in pan. Mix remaining ingredients and pour over bread. Refrigerate overnight. Bake at 33 degrees for 50 min and flip bread pieces halfway through (so both sides caramelize). Sift powered sugar on top (I usually double the recipe when I have 6 or more people).

Finishing touches: We also got a spiral ham that Bubba glazed in mustard and brown sugar, along with an array of homemade Christmas cookies from Jersey. All of our brunch bases were covered, including beverages - mimosas, coffee and sparkling grapefruit soda.

Celebrating 2011 with (all) Purpose (flour)

New Year’s Eve Resolutions

I was ready to ring in the New Year and who says you have to wait until January first to start making changes? So I decided to begin my ritual of resolutions on New Year's Eve.

1) Work on vocabulary: You say potato, I say spectacular spud. Doused with butter, cream and cheddar, this sassy starch became the "soup-er" star of the evening.





2) Eat more greens: As long as they’re caramelized in the oven with olive oil, sprinklings of salt and sugar, topped with parmesan and served with a slab of prime rib.




3)Exercise more: For some reason it just doesn’t feel like a workout when you're dressed in silver pants and in the middle of a dance-off. XBOX Dance Central is my new best friend. I’m already feeling the burn…of getting served!

db Bistro Moderne - Manhattan

Lean with Envy
Could this be happening? My husband, Bubba, had nonchalantly mentioned that while he was in Manhattan for the holidays, he and his family had eaten at a “really nice” restaurant. But I didn’t get the full scoop until later, and once I did my pangs of regret were only matched by pangs of hunger. The “really nice” restaurant was only one of the most successful, respected, suber (= super + uber) chefs around, Daniel Boulud’s, db Bistro Moderne. And that was only the beginning. Why not go for the full-blown, red carpet treatment? I'm talking complimentary bottles of champagne, appetizers and a dessert menu in its entirety that would make even Willy Wonka blush...here's how it happened.

Back story: My sister-in-law, Keri (the opera singer) had rented out a room when she first moved to Manhattan a few years ago, owned by an eccentric, older woman whose shelves were stacked with valueless volumes and walls decorated in artists’ canvases. She provided reasonable rent to inspired, young talent, so Keri and her husband shared the place with another couple, who both happened to work at Thomas Keller’s, Per Se – she was a pastry chef and he cooked on the line.

So needless to say when we stayed with Keri that Christmas, I found myself in the same space with my version of superstars, and the best part was that the pastry chef had been baking like mad to bring her family treats for the holidays. Emerging from the kitchen with broken pieces of rosemary shortbread, she offered them up saying, “They’re cracked so can’t use them in my gift packages.” One bite and I was tempted to run in the kitchen and throw every other tray to the ground, adding, “These look broken too” as I shoveled baked goods from the floor into my mouth. Their fractured pieces had made my heart whole…full of happy, herbaceous, artery clogging love.

Flash forward: to Christmas 2010 and Ms. Pastry Per Se had now become the executive pastry chef at db Bistro Moderne in the theater district...and that is how my husband came to revel in the high life for a few hours. Champagne was delivered and tarte flambée (a pizza-like pastry with fromage blanc, bacon and onions) came to the table without ordering.

Plus, Bubba loves a nice rack…of lamb and said it was probably one of the best he's ever had. And believe me, he's quite the connoisseur. They should call him Shari Lewis for all the lamb chops he’s had his hands in.

Since the pastry chef was their “in”, dessert was the main event. A taste of every item on the dessert menu was sent out. Bubba’s recollection was foggy (and believe me I grilled him), but he recalled, “There was a lot of chocolate and the desserts were all neatly rolled up...kinda of geometrically cut.” When I led him to the online menu, there were only a couple of items that were included in his visit and he raved about both:

1) APPLE MILLE-FEUILLE - Apple Confit, Confiture De Lait, Rum Ice Cream

2) VANILLA POACHED PEAR VACHERIN -Toasted Almond Chantilly, Marzipan Mousse, Milk Chocolate Ice Cream, Pear Sorbet

Yum!

Take out: Bubba did bring me back a slender, gold bottom box and inside rested some unexpected jewels…an exquisite row of house-made treats – fudge, dark chocolate and one item whose spiced scent had intoxicated my nostrils since I’d opened the box: cinnamon marshmallows. As someone who has never enjoyed marshmallows (not even in novelty form like S’mores), these brought new perspective as they dissolved on my tongue. Granted, they were homemade and prepared by a four star kitchen, but I could now say me and the "marsh" were mellow. Boulad had changed my mind and even though I hadn't been at the table, I still sat impressed from afar.

Forno's of Spain - Newark, NJ

Layover Leftovers

We were officially on our way to Spain to see my sister-in-law perform in Sevilla (she’s an opera singer, don’t ya know?), but before we left the States, our four hour layover in Newark allowed enough time for my mom (in Jersey) to grab us for dinner. Forno’s was fitting fare to say the least, known for its classic, Spanish cuisine and only about 10 minutes from the airport. After seeing crowds pour in from 5pm on, I knew we were about to be properly schooled...old school.

Enough fancy floated around the table for us to be impressed with waiters dressed in vests and bowties fawning over us (“Is your preference white or red sangria?”), while busboys bustled, bringing baskets of warm rolls, followed by garlic bread, followed by greens dressed with balsamic vinaigrette…and that was all before we even had time to read the menu. Entrees were a bit pricey (high $20-low $30), but along with the impromptu items from the start, dishes of saffron rice, veggies (green beans and cauliflower) and thinly sliced, crispy "papas" were lavished upon us during dinner.

Fish here was fresh and fabulous, plucked from the ocean and cut into thick filets. My mom snacked on sautéed snapper with garlic, olive oil and red chili flakes. The chili brought some bite, but otherwise it was a bit flat - an acute case of seasoning sickness, though I can’t fault the fish, because that was one quality catch.

My hubby went for halibut, grilled to perfection and topped with paprika and pine nuts. Thick, substantial and masterfully handled like a fine steak, my meat-and-potatoes man never once asked, “Where’s the beef?” Served with boiled taters, I realized how much these people loved their carbs (two types of bread, rice and papas, plus a potato with dinner?) - my kind of people!

As for myself, I went for the sole Francaise. Flaky, white filets were dredged in flour and egg, then doused in butter and lemon to combine the guilty pleasure of comfort food and fish’s natural ability to remain light = sole food.



By the time we got up to leave, there was an hour wait. We hugged our goodbyes and my mom happily claimed my leftovers that wouldn’t make it across the Atlantic. Forno-cation ( = Forno + vacation) had been one righteous rendezvous, leaving us relaxed, content and sleepy for the long flight. Next stop...Spain.