Learning to Salt a Margarita Rim: A How-To Video

Being that it is summer, I've been drinking my fair share of margaritas.

We even had a margarita taste test on vacation to determine the group's favorite recipe.  In the midst of doing such research, I came across instructions for salting the rim of your margarita glass.  This is what I read: "Fill a pie plate with 1/4-in. of kosher salt..."

A quarter inch??? In a PIE PLATE??? Gee-zoo-weez! How many margaritas are they planning on you making? Enough for the whole freakin' neighborhood? I don't care if it is "just salt."  Waste not, want not, my friend.  (Not to mention how a quarter-inch rim of salt on your glass would taste... Echhhhhh!)

To prevent future heart attacks and to show you how to efficiently salt your margarita glasses, I made—you guessed it! Another cheesy video! Woohoo! Here you go: How the Hell Do I EFFICIENTLY Salt a Rim?

Here's to saving the salt mines!

A Foodie Honeymoon: Friday Lunch at August

Going to August was like going to church (at least the last church I used to go to).  You knew that there was a good chance that you were going to experience something great when you went, and perhaps the best part of going was that what you did experience was not this big, communal experience.  It was--as church should be--completely private and personal.

Such was our experience at August.  Even its architecture and decor felt church-like: its main dining room with its vaulted ceiling and soaring windows; its private dining rooms with their cloister-like spaces, dimly lit and glowing with wood and candles.  Age poured from its pores.  Even the stairway that led to the bathrooms on the balconied second floor was banistered with heavy balustrades.

(Speaking of church, I need to confess to you, dear reader, once again.  Thanks to the same damn iPhone incident mentioned in the previous post, we lost almost all our pictures and most of our notes of our August experience.  Please pardon the lack of pictures besides that of the gorgeous entrance.  And to our amazing servers, we loved you just as much as all the others.  I just, ashamedly, don't remember names after so many months.  I sincerely apologize.  And, now--on to the food.)

The dishes that appeared before our eyes at August were miraculous.  An egg cup was placed before me (an hors d'oeuvre that came with the meal, unordered).  Nestled in the bottom of its carefully cracked shell was a delicate seafood custard topped with a creamy truffle mousse.  Its crowning adornment was a tiny scoop of caviar, a beautiful fennel frond, and a brioche toast stick.

Five years ago, there was no way in hell I would have eaten such a thing.  Eggs??? And CAVIAR??? It is just another example of the wonders of becoming a foodie.  When you are constantly creating your own food, you suddenly have an understanding of what it means for someone to create a dish for you.  You know what the processes are.  You know what the ingredients are and what is involved in collecting them.  Food and its evolution become a reality for you.  So much of the unknown in food preparation is removed (remember those moments as a kid? When your mom would set a casserole on the table and you had NO idea what was buried in those layers of stuff?).  With the removal of that unknown comes the removal of fear.  Sure, I had never had caviar before.  And, yes, I knew that I was about to eat the eggs that some mama sturgeon laid somewhere in the Caspian Sea.  I didn't know if I would like them.  But, god, they were mine! Tiny and round and purple and beautiful.  I knew that many people love caviar--and since I'd never had the experience, I wanted to try it.  I wanted to remove a foodie unknown.  So I took my tiny little spoon and scooped down through the multiple layers of meticulous food-turned-art and spooned them all into my mouth in one inhaling bite.  

Dear Lord--DIVINE.

And then came my Pimm's cup (finally! I got to try one!).  And my baby greens salad with fresh figs, goat cheese, and pistachio brittle.  My gorgeously homemade pasta ribbons with porcini mushrooms in a silky cream sauce.  Chef Reiton's unbelievable trout on the thinnest toast imagineable.  Goat milk cheesecake with balsamic caramel. Homemade pralines (god, I can still see these pictures in my head!). 

Speaking of pralines, we got to meet the chef who made them.  We were getting ready to leave August, ready to head to the airport,--and I had to use the restroom one more time.  Chef Reiton and I headed upstairs, giving the restaurant one last perusal before we left.  Passing by the dessert kitchen, I paused; I couldn't help but be nosy and poke my head a fraction of the way into the room.  One of the chefs saw me.  "Hey! Come on in!" she called.  

I think my eyes must have popped out of my head at the invitation.  "Are you serious?" I asked.

"Of course!" she said.  "Come here."  

Chef Reiton and I tenaciously stepped into the kitchen.  The chef walked toward us with a tray of pralines.  "Try one," she offered.  "They are my grandma's recipe."

Beautiful little golden plops of brown sugar and butter stood in perfect rows on a baking sheet.  I peeled one off of the parchment and popped it into my mouth.  Angels started singing.  What a perfectly heavenly way to end the honeymoon of honeymoons.

With the sincerest of thanks we headed back into the hall.  "I can't believe this is it," I said, so strangely happy but sad at the same moment.  I didn't want to leave.

But it was time to go.  Time to head back to our own life, to our own home, to our own kitchen.

And yet I wasn't going home empty-handed.  I had a myriad of experiences that I was taking home: tastes, and conversations, and drinks, and laughs, and generosities beyond anything that I ever had imagined.  

A Foodie Honeymoon: Tuesday Dinner at Besh Steak

When I found out that Besh Steak was inside Harrah's Casino, I was a little startled.  No offense, but I always associate casinos with the word "cheap," no matter how fancy and glitzy and flashy they make things seem.  But, there she stood as we pushed through the casino entrance, just past the security station, waiting quietly and with poise amidst the flashing lights and stoic faces.

We were greeted by a very sweet hostess who led us past the bar, through an archway, and into the main dining room.  Blue Dog's eyes followed us as we went.  After passing tables and booths moderately filled with guests, we were directed to a booth nestled in a little curtained alcove.  So romantic! I happily slid into my seat.  We were given menus and a wine list, and the hostess slipped away.

Momentarily, our waitress approached the table.  She was a little thing, gentle and appearing to be a bit shy.  She introduced herself as Margaret, took our wine orders of a cabernet and a malbec, and she, too slipped away.  I remembered our experiences with Vanessa and Corey, and then Billie, and I wondered how this evening's relationship would develop.

At this point I excused myself to wash up after our rather warm walk and traipsed myself through the casino to what I thought was the closest bathroom.  I took a good look around as I walked.  Within my two minute walk (I got lost), I passed what must have been hundreds of people, seated at slot machines or crowded around game tables, none of them smiling, none of them even aware of me--dressed in a bright red dress--as I passed within inches of them.  What a way to spend your money, I thought.  I wonder how much they are spending for the hope of enjoying that ever elusive win?

I'd rather spend my money knowing that I'm going to enjoy something--namely, food.

When I returned from the restroom, Chef Reiton informed me that he and Margaret had had a chat while I was gone.  She had seen from our reservation that we were on our honeymoon, and he had told her of our honeymoon plan.  Besh's employees seemed to appreciate our little plan--I'm assuming because they agreed with how awesome he is.  I was glad to know it; I wanted it to be known that we appreciated him so.  I sat and soaked in the warmth I was feeling from my husband, my own enjoyment of our honeymoon thus far, and the wine I was sipping.  I reached across the table for Chef Reiton's hand and took a look at the items that had been placed on the table.

"Chicken liver paté and crostini," Chef Reiton explained.

Huh.  I'd never eaten chicken livers before.  Never really wanted to, either.  But here it was.  I took my knife and scooped up a little bit, then shmeared it on a crostini.  It looked like pink peanut butter.  I took a bite and chewed slowly, noting the contrast of textures: the crispy crunch of the crostini and the buttery smoothness of the paté.

"It's good, isn't it?" Chef Reiton projected, as he scooped up another blob.

I had to agree.  The paté definitely had a deep, dark flavor to it, but it was so gentle that you didn't mind.  And it's texture was so pleasing, smooth but full--it added a little contrast to the coarse crispness of the toasts.

As we were analyzing our virgin paté experience, a gentleman walked up to the table.  It was the general manager that we had seen eating his lunch that afternoon at Borgne.  He introduced himself as William and congratulated us on our marriage--and thus began another relationship for the evening.  We talked with William about our wonderful experiences so far, of which restaurants we had left to go to, of what brought him to New Orleans.  He was delightful.

"Hey," Chef Reiton interjected at one point.  "What is a Sazerac? We keep seeing them on menus."

Being a cocktail junkie (which my darling husband shamelessly encourages), I listened intently as William described the process of making the New Orleans cocktail:
   1) rinse an old-fashioned glass with absinthe
   2) pour in a couple ounces of rye whiskey
   3) squeeze a twist of lemon peel over the glass
   4) drop the lemon twist into the whiskey
   5) sip and enjoy

"It's a drink that is pretty much just straight whiskey, but if you like them, most people love them,"  he said.  Hmmm...I was intrigued.  William told us to enjoy ourselves and thanked us for coming, then headed off to the next table.

A moment later, Margaret appeared, ready to take our orders.  She had definitely warmed up to us.  She was starting to bubble.  Chef Reiton had decided on the smoked and roasted prime rib which came with fingerling potatoes and summer vegetables.  I wanted to expand my seafood experience further, so I opted for the surf 'n' turf, two beef tournedos served atop a bed of grits and topped with lump crabmeat in a béarnaise.

Off Margaret went with our orders, only to return a few minutes later with warm sourdough bread, butter--and two flutes of sparkling rosé.  "Congratulations!" she said with her darling smile.  I couldn't believe it.  Two nights in a row! What an amazing organization it was appearing that John Besh had built.  Talk about feeling like royalty! We thanked her repeatedly, then reached for our bubbly and reminisced of the past 24 hours with absolute glee.  What an experience to be having with someone who loves what you love--and who appreciates your loving it with your whole being.

Before we knew it, our food was ready and placed piping hot before us.  First, Chef Reiton's prime rib

and then my surf 'n' turf.

There was a moment of silence.  I think the next words spoken were: "Oh    my     god."  Chef Reiton's prime rib was the size of the plate.  And my dish was gorgeous.  Simply GORGEOUS.  Knives and forks were picked up in slow motion.  We looked at each other and smiled.  And then we began to eat.

Now, I am a country girl, but one from the Northeast--so grits were not regular fare at my house.  In fact, they were a fare I had never tasted before in my life.  I knew what it was, basically, and that people ate them at breakfast--and that was as far as my knowledge went.  To find them on my dinner plate with steak and crab was exciting.  I was going to try them for the first time in an unusual way.

My first bite held a wonderful combination of a very faint sweetness from the grits and crab and a sour bite from the balsamic glaze that lightly dressed the tournedos.  The béarnaise, an ever delicious way to dress up a bit of beef tenderloin, provided a creamy butteriness that cut the vinegar's tartness.  As for my other garnishes, I unfortunately never found out what the purple leaves were on top, nor the bright green drizzle.  If I find out, I'll let you know.

The smoked prime rib was quite different for Chef Reiton.  He knew that the meat was smoked, but he declared the flavor to be more pronounced than he expected, and therefore, in his head, completely changed the meal.  It didn't seem like prime rib anymore; it was something else.  "It's good," he said.  "It's just not prime rib."  I tasted it and agreed.  Delicious, but different.

We continued our meal slowly, taking moments to rest and digest, talk and sigh.  Eventually Chef Reiton finished his meal; my meal--almost.  All except for one of the tournedos.  I just couldn't do it, as much as my mouth wanted it.  We settled back and sighed, and told Margaret how delicious everything was when she returned to our table.

"I'm so glad you enjoyed it," she said with a twinkle in her eye.  And as she backed away with our plates, William walked up from behind and placed a platter--and I mean a platter--of desserts right smack in the middle of the table.

At first I thought it was one of those trays of fake desserts that you pick your favorite one from.  But, no.  It was all real, and all for us.

"We want you to try our desserts," William said with a smile, and Margaret explained what each one was: molten chocolate cake with blackberries; homemade vanilla ice cream with homemade peanut brittle; white chocolate cake with berries; dark chocolate truffles; and warm bread pudding with caramel and pecan pralines.

"Just when I thought I couldn't eat anymore!" Chef Reiton said.

"I'll just have a bite of each..." I rationalized.

Ha ha haa! "A bite of each!" (You should have seen the platter when we were done.)

When we were moments into our dessert exploration, William one more time appeared at the table, this time with a Sazerac in hand.  "You have to try a Sazerac while you are here," he said and placed a glass on the table.

"Thank you so much for celebrating with us," he said as he shook our hands.  "And have a wonderful rest of your honeymoon."  And with that he walked away.

I turned to Chef Reiton and shook my head.  "I cannot believe this treatment!" I said.  "It's just unbelievable. And it's everywhere we go!"  And then I took a sip of the Sazerac.  Ahhhhh.  Warmth and the scent of licorice and lemon.  De-licious.

Our leisurely evening of dining was drawing to a close.  I was so happy, I didn't want to move.

"So what's next?" Margaret asked as we paid our bill.

The answer? American Sector, Besh's nod to retro American comfort food.  That is: amped up comfort food.

As full as I was, I found myself thinking: I can't wait.

Summer Lovin': A Simple Summer Menu

I just got back from a fantastic trip to Massachusetts with my eldest sister.  We were visiting family that we see very rarely (unfortunately).  One of them was my great aunt Jane who turned 92 yesterday.  She is a marvelous human being: strong, witty, independent, and incredibly generous.  She, so like my passed grandmothers, is the exact example of who I want to be.

The other family member, my dear Uncle Fred (U.F. as he has been dubbed), is the uncle I was going to visit when I met Chef Reiton (happy sigh).  My sister and I spent two nights with him pre- and post-visit with Aunt Jane.

For our first night with him, my sister provided dinner: a meal so delicious I kept inappropriately making yummy-sounds at the dinner table.  It was really quite simple: a grilled sesame-chile chicken served with a watermelon salsa over coconut rice--a meal that I don't know that I'd ever have eaten if it wasn't presented to me.  But, true to most flavors that are forced upon me, once I dug in, I couldn't stop.  The flavors were delightfully summer--bright, zingy, sweet, and salty.  And, thankfully, they weren't the stereotypical burger and corn-on-the-cob.  They were simply OMG.

So now, today--it was a brew day, so D and I decided early that we would make dinner on the grill and eat outside. The kitchen is just too much of a disaster zone on brew days to even think of finding an inch of counter space or room on the stove to cook indoors.  At the word "grill" my brain immediately recalled my sister's amazing meal.  What a perfect evening to try it! I emailed her for the recipe, and present it here for your use: http://www.myrecipes.com/recipe/sesame-chile-chicken-with-gingered-watermelon-salsa-10000001065509/

It's an incredibly easy meal to prepare, perfect for just the family or to impress company.  To make coconut rice, mix a cup of coconut milk and 7 oz. of water with 1 cup of jasmine rice and cook as you usually do (all brought to a boil and then simmered covered on low for about 15 minutes, resting for 5 more after the heat is turned off).  Oh, and I also pounded out and cut up the chicken breasts like my sister did.  It makes for a nicer presentation and more flavorful chicken:

To drink we made a new favorite concoction taken from Men's Health.  It's the Costa Rhode Island:
- 3/4 oz. elderflower liqueur
- 3/4 oz. fresh squeezed grapefruit juice
- 1 1/2 oz. tequila
- 6 oz. light beer (we used our home-brewed Belgian wit)

Salt your pint glass rim, mix your juice and liquors in the glass, fill it with ice, and top it all with the beer.  Mmmm mmm. Summery and deliciously light.

Dessert consisted of the simplest of summer ingredients: fresh berries and cream.  I had some whipping cream that needed to be used; so, armed with the balloon whisk my other sister gave Chef Reiton and I for our wedding, I whipped up about 1/2 a cup of whipping cream with about 1 tablespoon of sugar, then whisked in about a tablespoon or two of sour cream and a teaspoon of vanilla until relatively stiff peaks formed.  Everybody had their own little dipping bowl, and voila! Dessert was fast, healty(er), and fun!

Speaking of wedding, I really need to tell you all about that marvelous day.  It will be the next post, I promise.  :)

The Buena Vista Cafe—San Francisco, CA—A Restaurant Recommendation

I can't go on a romp about CA and not write about something alcoholic.  I am happy to report that in our search for a trolley ride that didn't happen, we landed right across the street from the first American bar to serve an Irish coffee,

Below is their delicious concoction.  I'm a dork and got it decaf.  I'm just getting old and can't do caffeine past noon...

Photo courtesy of Michelle

Check out their story on creating it: http://thebuenavista.com/irishcoffee.html.  Makes you want to go create something...

House of Nanking—San Francisco, CA—A Restaurant Recommendation

Another restaurant that my siblings and I, our uncle, and Chef Reiton and son visited in our recent California trip is apparently known by many.  It is the infamous

a Chinese restaurant in downtown San Francisco that you need to get to by 6 p.m. or you will have a looooooooooooong wait for dinner.

Photo courtesy of Michelle

My brother had visited before, and we took his recommendation: DON'T order off the menu.  Ask the waitress what is good that day, being sure to tell her what you don't want, and then wait for your table to be flooded with food.

Below are two of the eight items that were deposited onto our table: fried chicken wontons with peanut sauce and beef with green beans, garlic, and fried rice noodles. I'm not going to show or tell you anything else because I don't want you ordering off the menu!  Follow the directions above!!!

Still have concerns about ordering en masse? The bill came to about $25 per person, which included beer and tea and tip.  Not bad for an incredible meal that gives you leftovers AND has you rolling out the door.

The Gateway Cocktail: The Sidecar

I believe I've had a Sidecar before, but I don't know that I've ever actually made it myself.  So here she is:

• 2 oz. Jacques Cardin cognac
• 1 oz. Cointreau
• 1/2 oz. fresh squeezed lemon juice

I was a little afraid to try it, but now I'm happy.  Mmmmm.  Smoooooooth.

And dangerous.

A Dry Gin Martini—and An Apology to Mr. Hearn

R,

I feel like I cheated on you tonight.

You, the man who got me into martinis.  The man who made me my virgin martini with Grey Goose vodka and blue cheese-stuffed olives.  The one who piqued my fascination with vodkas and made me who I am today.

Well, tonight I made a classic dry martini.  That means a martini with gin.

And...

I LOVED IT.

I'm sorry.  I'm so sorry.  But I need to follow my heart.

The culprits are pictured below.

If you see them, be kind to them.  It's not their fault.  And (sigh)—there was an olive.  A plain, pitted green olive.  

Alright, alright! I admit it... There were three.

Please know, despite my change in heart, I will always be grateful to you for what you have taught me. Always.

Sincerely,

R