This is not going to be another “Julie and Julia” blog. Much as I loved that movie (and Amy Adams and Meryl Streep), I have no illusions that I’ll be rolling along in my mundane daily world, toiling in a dull day job all week, blogging about food in the evenings, and suddenly get a call from Hollywood. Stuff like that only happens once, and usually in the movies.
What this IS, however, is a blog about food. Mostly eating it, where to go to get really good stuff to eat (probably for cheap since to date Hollywood hasn’t called), sometimes making it, ALWAYS about enjoying it. Because you should always write about what you know and what you love, and I love food. Scratch that. I ADORE food. If I could marry my boyfriend’s stuffed chicken breasts with Gorgonzola and asparagus, I would run off to Reno right this minute and tie the knot. (I should mention here that my boyfriend is a chef – which is a total bonus for me.) I also adore discovering eateries that very few people have yet to find, places that from the outside look like nothing but, inside, hold epicurean delights the likes of which can only be described as sublime. That little storefront in a strip mall in suburbia that serves the best Portuguese shellfish in salsa verde ever made. The innocuous-looking coffee shop/bakery in Brooklyn that has on offer a brownie with salt and caramel – that’s right, salt and caramel – over which you would murder a relative. Places like that. Eventually, these places get “discovered,” and then they either become too expensive for the people who found them in the first place, or they sink under the pressure and the food becomes, at best, average. But sometimes we get lucky and the places thrive and keep their prices in check and their quality standards beyond reproach. So we’ll be talking about those places.
As for recipes, well, I have quite a few of my own, but I rarely cook these days (did I mention I live with a chef?) because I don’t have to. Chef Boyfriend is classically trained, but his food is not bogged down in old world snobbery and pretentious, pointless tradition. It would never occur to him to tell someone they shouldn’t mix things if they like them. He has even gotten me to eat beets – a bewitching combination of roasted fresh beets with goats cheese and a balsamic reduction of some kind – and I detest beets (they taste like dirt). Neither is he a health fanatic who views food merely as something to keep us moving. Butter is his friend. His BEST friend. Since we got together I’ve put on 10 lbs. And I don’t even care.
The problem with Chef Boyfriend is, he won’t give up his recipes. Not to me, not to his boss, not even to his own mom. As he likes to say, “I’ll cook it for you, I’ll bring it to you, I’ll even feed it to you. But I will not give you the recipe.”
But that’s okay. I get fed and I don’t have to do any of the work. And, here in this little corner of the interweb, we can take one of his dishes and try to deconstruct it to see if our palates are what they should be. Even if we don’t get it right, we get to eat the yummy failures.
So, in my upcoming posts I will be writing about local eateries that you’ve probably never heard of (especially if you’re not from NY), doing interviews with certain chefs – if I get Gordon Ramsay I may not actually write the interview because I will be dead from excitement – and just discussing food and drink in general. What makes something good. What makes something suck. The American love-hate relationship with food. Food as fuel. Food as comfort. Food as sex (that will be a fun post).
So, til next time, happy eating (I can’t say bon apetit – Julia will rise up and bean me in the melon with a saucepan).