"Why are you taking pictures of my food?"

I suppose it was bound to happen eventually.

I headed out last night with John the Irishman to have a look at a couple of pubs which have opened in the past few months here in the neighborhood. We started at the Morrison Hotel, which in addition to nearly 100 different beers, offers a menu of "Mediterranean street food" which skews heavily Spanish. The tortilla española wasn't on the menu last night, so I ordered the special, a seafood stew of monkfish, scallops, prawns, squid and octopus. The bartender granted me permission to take a few photos, and thanked me for asking (always ask first, people!). I took my camera and mini-tripod out of my bag, set up my shot, and got a few images. Then I felt a tap on my shoulder...

The protocol which surrounds photographing food in a restaurant is still a little cloudy, it would seem. Now, don't get me wrong. Charles Trester, the Morrison Hotel's executive chef, is quite a personable guy. My only previous experience with him was a very positive one (back about a year ago, when he was running the Terra Sol wine shop on Hawthorne, he helped me through a particularly tricky pairing. The dish was a maple butternut stratta. What he came up with for me was a mildly sparkling spanish white called Blanc Pescador, crisp and dry, and with just enough acidity to stand up to the mapley richness of the custard. It was a hit with my dinner guests that evening). I explained my situation to him, and he eventually nodded his approval. But I sensed that he couldn't help but view what I was doing with a little bit of suspicion, which I can understand. Chefs and restauranteurs at the top of the game pour a considerable amount of expertise, dedication and sacrifice into their work. They endure incredible financial pressures, crazy hours, outsized egos, substance abuse issues, fickle and often cranky patrons, and now... bloggers. To suddenly find yourself confronted with a roomful of potential amateur food critics night after night must be, as I can only imagine, un-nerving at best. As Mario Batali rather infamously illustrated a few months ago, the relationship between food professionals and food bloggers can be an uneasy one from time to time. But it needn't be.

I do this as a hobby, and I try to do it as responsibly and respectfully as I can. My background is in neither the culinary arts nor journalism, and as such I tend to tread lightly when it comes to offering my opinion of what I encounter in any given restaurant on any given night. I don't review so much as describe. But there are certainly those in the food blogging world who don't exercise as much caution as they could.

The stew, by the way, which was somewhat akin to a cioppino, was excellent. The prawns stole a little bit of thunder away from the monkfish, which I felt should have been at the fore, but hell, it was the special. I guess if enduring a few prawns is the sacrifice I have to make, well so be it...

Eastbank's Last Hurrah

September 27th is photo essay day here at Casa del Belmont... So to wit, some images of a bittersweet occasion, the Eastbank Farmers' Market's very last day of the season:












We'll miss you too, Butter Man, we'll miss you too...

Southpaws, Arise and Fight the Power!

I've never posted someone else's material on this blog, but I felt this rant from Jesse over at Corduroy Orange would be appreciated by you, my valued readers (many of whom are, no doubt, left-handed). Enjoy.

I know I’m a bit off-season with this, as it will still be a couple of months for grapefruits to come back around. But, it’s not too early to think about them—or the discriminatory silverware policy in place at Williams-Sonoma.

Williams-Sonoma makes perhaps the best grapefruit spoon I have ever used. My father and sister, on the other hand, will never be able to use it because for some inexplicable reason, Williams-Sonoma has toothed this spoon on only one side. As a result, southpaws can not use this spoon without putting themselves through considerable contortions.

I first contacted Williams-Sonoma about this matter in 2005, at which time I noted in my letter to them that their 2004 annual report lamented, “we may not be able to reposition existing brands to improve business”(33). I pointed out to them that a simple re-toothing of the spoon so that both sides are serrated could increase their potential market for that particular product considerably. I never heard back.

Two years later, the spoons are still the same. Narrow and well-proportioned to get every piece of the grapefruit section out, but only if you are right handed. Their 2007 annual report declares, “Our success depends, in large part, upon our ability to anticipate and respond in a timely manner to… customer demands”(10). Well, if you’re a lefty who likes grapefruits or are friend or family to someone who fits that description, let them know that as a customer, you demand citrus equality! Write W. Howard Lester, Chairman of the Board & CEO; and Laura J. Abler, President at Williams-Sonoma, 3520 Van Ness Avenue, San Fransisco, CA 94109.

My letter to Mr. Lester will be in the mail by the end of the week. I urge you all to do the same. Thank you, Jesse, for leading the charge on this!

Jay's Amazing Curried Chicken

Judging from the photo, you might not think a whole lot of this dish. I'll give you that much. The presentation leaves a little something to be desired, to be sure. But bear with me here, my friends, because I promise you, this is truly something special...

Anyone who's ever worked the night shift on "The Hill" (which is to say, OHSU's main campus) has inevitably made their way down to the 3rd floor cafeteria, sometime after 2:00 am, drawn by the intoxicating smell of the work of a brilliant Indo-Fijian chef known to us only as "Jay."

Nobody knows this man's last name. We can't even be sure that "Jay" is really his first name. He's a mysterious figure who gives away few clues as to his background, other than the fact that he grew up in Fiji's Indian community and at some point, under circumstances unknown, made his way to Portland. But his history notwithstanding, Jay's way with curry is legendary among the shadowy community of freaks and misfits who work the graveyard shift at this most revered of Portland institutions. As soon as the clock strikes 2:00 am, a hungry zombie crowd of doctors, nurses and technicians alike collect en masse in the bowels of the hospital to get their share of the best curry in Southwest Portland, if not the Western Hemisphere...

A few months ago, the OHSU Sleep Disorders Clinic (which, as many of you know, is where I make my living) relocated to a site off-campus. So on one of my last shifts on the Hill, I made my way down to the cafeteria, pulled Jay aside and persuaded him to share with me the secret of his etherial Curried Chicken. He graciously obliged, and I've been sitting on this recipe ever since. I finally got around to making it this evening for a couple of friends of mine. I was worried that Jay may have sandbagged me, perhaps left out a crucial ingredient or two to throw me off the trail, but as it turns out, my concerns were completely unfounded. What I made this evening was pretty much exactly what I used to enjoy so much all those months ago on the Hill. So without any further ado, I give you Jay's Amazing Curried Chicken...

The ingredients:
Two lbs chicken thighs
One cup chicken stock
One small onion, finely chopped
Four cloves garlic, minced
One Tbsp ginger, minced
One Tbsp Masala curry powder
One Tbsp cumin
Two cinnamon sticks
Two Tbsp fresh squeezed lemon juice
Salt and Pepper
Olive oil and butter

The process:
Bone the chicken thighs and cut into bite-size chunks. Heat 2 Tbsp of olive oil and 1 Tbsp of butter in a large saute pan over medium heat, and add the onion. Saute until just translucent. Add the garlic and ginger and continue to saute for another minute. Add the chicken and cook until it just begins to brown. Add the chicken stock, lemon juice, and cinnamon sticks, reduce heat to medium low, and continue to cook until stock has reduced by about half. Remove cinnamon sticks. Add curry powder, cumin, a generous pinch of salt and a few twists of pepper, and continue to cook for about ten minutes. If at any point the liquid reduces too much, add a little water. When all is said and done, it should look something like this:


Serve with rice and a cold beer, and imagine yourself transported to the lower stories of Oregon's pre-eminint medical school! I should mention that Jay also makes beef and lamb versions of this dish, so feel free to experiment with those meats as well. And enjoy!

Torta Margherita!

About a month back, Nina over at Sweet Napa posted about a tart she'd made with peeled cherry tomatoes. Ever since, I've been wanting try something like it. So this evening I made a sort of tart version of Pizza Margherita.

I'd picked up some cherry tomatoes at the farmers' market on Thursday, but they didn't weather the three day wait very well, and I ended up with three dollars' worth of compost. Cherry tomatoes, it would seem, don't have quite as much patience as their larger cousins. So I picked up some even smaller grape tomatoes, along with some other ingredients, at New Seasons today and set about my task.

The first step was to peel the tomatoes. I blanched them for about a minute, and shocked them in ice water for another minute. Given the size and amount of the tomatoes, this was a bit labor intensive. The orange tomatoes peeled pretty easily, but the red ones more often than not required a little work with the paring knife. It was well worth the effort though, as these tomatoes are an entirely different animal without their skins. Once they were peeled, I set them aside and began work on the dough.

I used Shuna Lydon's All Butter Pie Crust recipe. This being a somewhat savory tart, however, I cut the sugar by half. Pie dough is notorious for being difficult, but if you have a decent stand mixer, it's really not that tricky. The key is to keep everything cold. Freeze the butter. Put your mixer's bowl into the fridge for a while. Turn the heat in your house down. Pie dough, particularly when made with butter instead of shortening, likes it cold.

After the dough had come together, I kneaded it for a minute, rolled it out, set it into my tart pan and put it into the freezer for a half hour. While the shell was getting its chill on, I pre-heated the oven to 350F. I then mixed about 8 oz. of ricotta with 1/2 tsp of dijon mustard and some chopped oregano and marjoram (about 1/2 tsp of each). I set this aside with the tomatoes.

Once the oven was up to temperature, I took the shell out of the freezer, I docked it (that is, poked holes in the bottom with a fork to allow for airflow), lined it with parchment, threw in some dried beans and set it into the oven to blind bake. Blind baking basically amounts to pre-baking a shell when the filling doesn't need to cook for as long as the dough. It shouldn't take more than 15-20 minutes for the dough to take on a light golden color, according to my Internet sources. I hadn't rolled my dough quite thin enough, however and mine took upwards of 45 minutes. It also shrank quite a bit. Rolling the dough thinner, and perhaps baking at a higher temperature for less time, might have allowed it to keep its shape a litte better (Pastry chefs, feel free to weigh in with your two cents here...). But it turned out well enough in the end, if a little underdone.

I let the shell cool for a while, then spread a 1/4 inch layer of the ricotta mixture on the bottom. I put the tomatoes in with enough space to pack some fresh mozzarella in between them. I added some sliced kalamata olives as well (I know, dijon and kalamatas are a departure from the traditional Margherita, but hey, I like dijon and kalamatas) and put the whole thing back into the oven until the mozz began to melt, about 15 minutes. I took it out, sprinkled on some chiffonaded basil, and voila! Torta Margherita!

Buon Appetito!

Oh My God! Oh My Friggin' God!!!

THAT, my friends, is a... Bacon! Wrapped! Hot Dog! Yeah, you heard me right. It's pretty much just what it sounds like. Disgusting? Yes. But delicious? Oh, yes...

I headed out to my first Midnight Mystery Ride last night. I met up with my buddy Fuller and his friends Paul, Dylan and Gabe at Plan B, whose menu does indeed include the artery destroying bacon wrapped hot dog. Paul and I each ordered one. I wouldn't eat this on a regular basis. In fact, I'll probably never eat one again, but when you're confronted with something like this for the first time, there's no way you can refuse...

From Plan B, we headed to the Lucky Lab, a few blocks away, for another round. From there, our five-man fixie gang made its way to Roots Brewery, the starting point of the Mystery Ride, where we met up with Paul's friend Spencer. There was a pretty good crowd amassed at Roots for the ride, I'd say close to a hundred people. At the stroke of Midnight, we set out through the streets of SE Portland. The bulk of the ride took us around the circle and through the alleyways of Ladd's Addition. Eventually we made our way down 20th, ultimately winding up at a party in a parking lot somewhere near 21st and Powell, where cold Pabsts and Hamms were enjoyed by all. Here we see Spencer and Paul posing with April Danger's tall bike (the two of them took turns riding the thing, which made for some good comedy):


Here's a shot of your humble author:


Our contribution to the party was Jiffy Pop, in camouflage packaging (this was apparently military issue Jiffy Pop), cooked over a camp stove:


Once we'd had enough of the party, the four of us (we'd lost Gabe and Spencer at this point) headed north to that classic SE late-night mainstay, Bistro Montage. I ordered the Crawfish "Beignets":


That's a pretty blurry photo, I realize, but no matter, because these really weren't beignets at all, they were more like corn fritters. Don't get me wrong, they were tasty and all, but hey, Bistro Montage, come on... I've never even BEEN to Louisiana and I know these ain't anything like the real thing (which, as I understand it anyway, consist of deep-fried pate-a-choux liberally sprinkled with icing sugar)! If you want beignets, it would seem there's still no way around a trip to Cafe Du Monde...

Run For Your Lives! Take Cover!! Or Suffer the Wrath of... NEWZILLA!!!

Since I moved to Portland eight years ago, I've become something of an inner city kid. Apart from the odd venture out to Beaverton to hit up Uwajimaya, or the occasional trip to Lake Oswego to hang with my cousins, I don't tend to stray very far from Portland's urban core. That said, I do head a ways out Foster Road every Thursday evening to tend to the chickens at Zenger Farm. So this evening, after locking said birds up safely in their coop and collecting their eggs, I headed to Happy Valley, a suburb a bit south of the farm, to pick up some supplies at the most recently opened location of Portland's favorite organic/local/sustainable grocery store chain, New Seasons.

Now, I love New Seasons as much as the next Portlander, but this place might just be TOO big. It's gigantic. No, gigantic doesn't begin to cover it. It's GINORMOUS! No, wait, that doesn't do it justice either... it's SUPERNORMOUS!!! It's by far their biggest store. It goes on for miles. It's even bigger than Uwajimaya! Really, the place is huge... Home Depot huge! If you're in that part of town, check it out. It's pretty impressive. I was impressed, anyway.

Of course, as you know, New Seasons also carries non-food items, such as kitchenwares, Nalgene bottles, and... dog leashes! So naturally, I had to pick up a souvenir for Burke:


The skull and crossbones motif perfectly suits his dark and brooding personality...