Bunk and Voodoo in Portland OR

Dear Mouse,

There ought to be a word for food tourism (besides "food tourism", or heaven forbid "gastrotourism", which I bet is what the word is. (Well, if I go look it up now I'm just going to have to think of another opening gambit.)

In any case, I want to share some more food discoveries I made while "in the field", if you will. My trip to Oregon! last weekend was not intended to be a gastrotourism (blech!) jaunt at all. The point of going to McMinville was my friend Titania's appropriately fairytale wedding (on the summer solstice under the apple tree in her grandmother's backyard, a harpist, a horse and carriage, a guided meditation, yoga on the lawn before the ceremony, ice cream sandwiches and pink champane after. Uh-mazing). I went there with no preconceived notions, not even knowing I was heading to the heart of Oregon wine country...!! as in, even the hippie grocery store with seven kinds of agave syrup (I do not exaggerate) sported a wine tasting and a a guy playing an acoustic guitar. Oregon, in a nutshell, is wine, coffee, live music, and men determined to abstain from facial hair grooming ('homeless chic'?). Also, as it turns out, some pretty delicious deliciousness.

If you do visit McMinnville OR - stay in the quirky, haunted Hotel Oregon where all the rooms have names like "The UFO Room" and "The Coaches Room" (mine -- inspirational bios of local football coaches handpainted on the walls). Have a drink at the rooftop bar around sunset. Kill an afternoon eating hot gougeres and tasting all the 'Big Fire' wines at R. Stuart & Co. Winery, which I loved not just because they are named after one of my songs. I went home with a bottle of the Big Fire Pinot Noir in my suitcase: Blackberrylicious, easy and dark at once, smooth, I dont know how to describe wines. Bistro Maison (two words: pommes frites) is a great great, light, airy, pleasant place to have lunch and feel like you actually stopped off in France for the afternoon. Oh, and the Red Fox Bakery next to the hotel is where you wanna go in the morning with your paper to eat a just-from-the-oven "cinnamon snail" pastry. I saw one of the cute young women on staff pull an actual red wagon full of baguettes up to the door and I deeply regret not taking a picture.

Wow. Well, that was pretty much all the space I allotted for this post and I haven't even gotten to Portland yet, where the real gastrotour-Oh, I can't do it - adventure took place. Basically I found myself with several hours to kill in Portland before my flight home, and two die-hard 'foodie' companions, who had already mapped out that afternoon's itinerary: Bunk Sandwiches for lunch, and Voodoo Donuts for dessert. I went along for the ride.

I'll switch to mostly visual aids for this part.

One rail journey, one bridge, one park, and then through these winding empty streets and abandoned buildings we bravely marched in search of sandwiches.
We joined the other hopefuls lining up for lunch.

Then we had lunch. Pulled pork sandwich on toasty buttered bun with pickles and chips. Tasty, tangy, satisfying. A little dare I say it too greasy. I didn't need the mayo, but then I rarely do.

Voodoo Donuts is most famous for its 'Maple Bacon Bar' (rectangular donut iced with deeply maple frosting and crowned with a strip of bacon) but I couldn't do it. This is the 'Marshall Mathers' Donut: a modest offering from the 'cake donut' menu (they also have a 'raised donuts' for the Krispy Kreme types) with vanilla frosting and yes, tiny eminems. Voodoo is a hole in the wall with no seats, but the magnificent Stumptown Coffee two doors down makes a perfect eating location. (Warning: not even this delicious, fully charged cup could lift my food coma.)

So, there you have it, Mouse. Another beautiful destination wedding with pleasant unexpected fringe benefits. Traveling is great. But, as they say, home is where the Hart is:



This pressed sandwich (the famous pernil (pork shoulder), sliced pickles, home-pickled onions, provolone, chipotle mayo ), made by you and the Boyfriend and served toasty warm to me at the Mouse House with black beans and rice, trumps it all. Next to it, 'Bunk' is, well, just that.

Love,

The Boo

The Sauce That Changed Everything

Dear Boo,

You know that feeling when all of a sudden in a stroke of ingenuity or practicality, you try doing something differently, something new, make one tiny change, and think to yourself, why didn't I do this ages ago? My life would have been so much easier/better/less expensive! You know what I mean, right? Like when you turn your desk 90º and suddenly realize that you have a better view and your productivity has shot up, or when you walk past your normal lunch place and try that other spot on the corner only to find that their salads are fresher, their prices cheaper, they carry your favorite brand of chips, and the old guy behind the counter tells you you look nice today in a way that makes you happy, not skeeved out?

Well, I just had one of those moments.

I love Vietnamese food. Pho, barbequed beef, spring rolls, summer rolls, bun. From my (albeit limited) experience, it's all delicious. And the thing that usually makes it so good, is the ubiquitous nuoc cham sauce that's served alongside so many of these dishes. I'm a sucker for dipping sauces, and this one really takes the cake. Like so much of vietnamese cuisine, it hits notes of sour, salty, sweet, and spicy. It's light and fresh, (even healthy!) but so flavorful, and it tastes good on everything from stir-fried veggies to gym socks.

Until this week, I thought I could only indulge my passion for nuoc cham-dunked bites (I'm salivating as I type this) when I got it together to take a trip to Nha Trang in chinatown, or a couple extra bucks to go to O Mai nearby, or in a pinch to Saigon Grill for some take-out Goi Cuon Tom. Then it occurred to me. Why can't I make this at home? It's only got a few easy to find (and cheap) ingredients. I have access to the internet, home to a bajillion recipes, and I own the necessary equipment: bowl, spoon. How had I never thought of this before??

Well, I hadn't. And I regret that. But my discovery has left me forever changed. I suggest you try it too. Prepare to have your mind and tastebuds blown. And try not to obsess too much over all those times you could have eaten this and didn't. We live and learn. Onwards and upwards.

Love,

The Mouse

Nuoc Cham Sauce (adapted from Food and Wine)

Like most staples, there are a million different recipes for this sauce, and it varies depending on where in Vietnam it comes from. This is the version I made and loved, and will probably stick with because the proportions are so easy to remember. Of course, you can taste and adjust to make it sweeter, spicier, more acidic, or add more water to dilute it. As for what to eat it with, I poured some over a bowl of simply stir-fried veggies and rice. I also stirred some into a bowl of sauteed kale and scallions. It would be delicious with grilled beef, pork chops, shrimp, rice noodles, or over a salad with some tofu and crushed peanuts. Vietnamese food features a lot of fresh herbs such as cilantro, basil, and mint, all of which go well with this sauce. Make a double batch and keep it in the fridge--it'll last in a jar for a month. Though I dare you not to eat it before then.

2 red thai chiles, 1 medium jalapeno, (or a hefty pinch of dried red pepper flakes which I used because I didn't have a chile on hand)
2 medium garlic cloves, thickly sliced
2 tablespoons sugar
2 tablespoons Asian fish sauce
2 tablespoons fresh lime juice
2 tablespoons water

In a mortar, pound the chiles, garlic and sugar to a paste. If you don't have a mortar, which I don't, you can mince the garlic and chile and then mash it into a paste with the sugar using the back of your spoon against the bowl. Stir in the fish sauce, lime juice and water. If you'd prefer a smoother sauce and have an extra couple of minutes, use hot water to dissolve the sugar. Feel free to garnish with crushed peanuts or finely shredded carrots.

Schmoo To You, Winnipeg

Dear Mouse,

There are many ways to answer the question 'What is Winnipeg?' For example:

It's the capital city of the Canadian province of Manitoba.

It's where you and I and spent last weekend at our friend's beautiful wedding.

It's the home of Tim Horton's, a coffee shop chain that strikes fear into my heart for reasons I can't quite fathom.

It's the city where our dear friend and former New Yorker the Cat Lady lives with her new husband, the Nicest Guy in the World (NGIW, going forward)
It's (as the kind lady from the city of Regina put it on my flight over) "just one big Regina". And yes, she pronounced it like that. (I'll wait).

OR,

It's the home of this cake.

I can stop looking. I've found (him?her?it? whatever), the cake of my dreams.

First some context. Camera, zoom out. Mind, prepare to be blown.

Ladies and gentlemen, the wedding cakes. CAKES. Twenty-two, to be precise. Who knew you could do that? Cat Lady tells us it cost the same as ONE traditional wedding cake which would have been, you know, all white and tall and eaten by no one.

So I know I've had a bit of a theme going this year about Sarah Leah Chase and the various ways she's both nurtured and disappointed me, and I'm just going to go there one more time. In the Open House Cookbook, she has a recipe for something called a French Nut Icebox Cake which she describes as "creamy, crunchy, and intensely nutty, all at the same time". (Yes, Mouse, that was from memory.) I've never made it because -and perhaps here I'm revealing too much about myself- I am so sure it cannot possibly live up to this description. Over the years I've fantasized some really great desserts that might be like it, but I had come to accept that I would never, in fact, taste it in reality. (In my defense, the ingredients involved ladyfingers, which do nothing for me. Also - Icebox cakes: Meh.)

But what a diference a day (and a flight to northern Canada) makes. As I said, there were 22 cakes!!! to choose from. But the moment I laid eyes on (him?her?it?whatever), I knew it was The One. Not even the unfortunate name ("Schmoo" apparently is just an affectionate nickname for the caramel sauce) could deter me from this More Perfect Union.

The thing that pains me is that I know however I describe it here it's not going to sound like much. It's basically a light spongy pecan cake layered with whipped cream, textured with chopped nuts, and drizzled with caramel sauce. There are, of course, variations, but that's basically it. To give you a better idea of the experience, I'll just say that while researching this post, the Internet suggested the following as "Related Searches": Earth Layers, Seizure Types, The Antichrist, Heaven, Hell, Love, and Egypt. Yep. This cake is that apocalyptic, that mythological, that universally themed. Its allure and relevance know no bounds (unless you dont like caramel or something, but... what?)

I have yet to make it, but just to get it out there, this recipe looks pretty solid. On a completely unrelated note, my birthday is coming up pretty soon.

Love,

The Boo

PS. The delightful blog Mennonite Girls Can Cook (yes), suggests a version with bananas, claiming that "banana and schmoo just belong together, a marriage made in heaven". Like this one:

photos here by Joe Zarrow and by LuckyGirl Photography

Risky Business, Or how The Mouse gained a recipe and almost lost a finger

Dear Boo,

Call it my Aries nature, but I sometimes have this intense urge that rises up inside me to do highly risky, questionable, and frankly, insane things. Like, say, get a full-scale image of my profile tattooed to the side of my face.* Or to pick up and enter the Race Across America endurance event.** Or to butterfly a chicken without kitchen shears. Most of the time, that other tiny part of my brain that houses practicality kicks in and takes me down a notch. But there are some times when the urge is too strong, when before I can think twice, I find myself in the kitchen armed with a dull chef's knife and gripping a pale, raw chicken in a humiliating position on the counter.

But I didn't mean to write to you about my neuroses. What I meant to do was to thank you for introducing me to the Splendid Table podcast and tell you about a recipe I found there in case you missed it, despite it almost directly leading to me very nearly losing a finger or two.

(apologies for the lame pics--these were taken pre-new camera with built in smell-o-vision)

On your recommendation, I started downloading the podcast a few months ago and was immediately hooked on one Lynne Rossetto Kaspar (even her name conjures up images of canned peaches and gingham, runner beans and noodle casseroles). Listening to Lynne's soothing voice as she interviews an expert about the steel used for an ancient knife-making technique, or cooks lunch with Diana Kennedy in her home kitchen in Mexico became my routine on my sleepy trip to school in the early morning, staving off any anxiety or sleep-deprived crowded-#4 train grumpiness. I look forward to the weekly visit from Jane and Michael Stern, roadfoodies extraordinaire, as they describe in excruciating detail their latest fried/glazed/cheese-smothered local discovery. Doesn't it always sound like Jane is licking her chops when she talks? I worry about their cholesterol, but I always enjoy the vicarious thrill. And then there's the few random tips and tricks Lynne throws in between segments. It was one of these that got stuck in my craw and wouldn't go until I gave in, bought a chicken and set to work, shears or no.

The premise is simple. Lynne says to take a can of chipotle peppers in adobo, throw in some pitted dried prunes, a dash of vinegar, a load of garlic, and some sugar. Whirr it all together in a food processor and you have a hot, sweet, acidic, garlicy sauce for slathering. Then, Lynn says, take your chicken, cut out the backbone and flatten it for optimal roasting. Spread the sauce all over, and roast in the oven at 350 (I think I'd prefer a higher temp, say, 400). Simple, quick, and when the sauce cooks and caramelizes into a sweet, sticky, crispy, gooey, spicy glaze, you'll want to lick your fingers with glee. That is, if you have any fingers left after removing the backbone.

This recipe is awesome. It's easy, yummy, and I think I'm sold on butterflying as the best way to cook a chicken without some parts drying out and some being underdone. But for lord's sake don't let the demons of spontaneity win out over sanity. Be sure you have a pair of shears (or some really stellar knife skills and a one hell of a sharp knife) before you attempt this. The combination of slippery chicken skin, stubborn bones, and delicate fingers, is nothing to take lightly. I'll spare you the gory details, but suffice it to say neither the chicken nor I went down without a fight.
The side bar/post script note to this is that shortly after I made this (served with roasted sweet potato wedges and a salad), I slathered the leftover sauce on some boneless chicken thighs, roasted those at 500 for a hot minute, sliced them up and served them as a stellar taco filling. Delicious. I think this rub would work for any meat you plan to throw on the barbie this summer: ribs, pork chops, even maybe some shrimp skewers? I dunno--try it.

Thank you, Boo. Thank you, Lynne. Thank you, instructional videos on youtube. This chipotle-fruit rub is definitely becoming a staple in my kitchen. As are a sturdy pair of shears. I'll save the dare-deviling for the stage.

Love,

The Mouse

*Don't worry, mom, I would never.
**Okay, not this either. I don't enjoy sweating. Or exercise.

Lynne Rossetto Kaspar's Chipotle-fruit Puree (an approximation by the Mouse)
Listen to Lynne's recipe here!
1 small can of chipotle peppers in adobo
1 handful of pitted dried prunes
1-2 Tablespoons white or cider vinegar
5 cloves of garlic
1-2 Tablespoons brown sugar or honey
1 3-4 lb chicken, though boneless chicken thighs, drumsticks, or pork chops would work beautifully (cooking temp and times will vary)

Puree first 4 ingredients in food processor until smooth but chunky. All amounts are estimates--adjust to suit your taste. This will make more than enough for one chicken. It keeps well in fridge until you want to use the rest. With shears, cut out the backbone of the chicken. Flip it over and with the heel of your hand, press down until you hear a crack and the chicken lies flat. Salt and pepper, and spread generously with puree. Roast in pre-heated oven at 350 for 50 minutes, or if you're me, at 400 for 40 minutes, basting every so often. For a built-in side dish, slice wedges of sweet potato, toss with olive oil and salt and lay chicken on top to roast.

Baker's Dozen #3: Chef Daniel Brooks

Dear Mouse,

It's a wet spring afternoon and I'm supposed to be writing my play (!!) that goes up end of August. What better time than this for a really great batch of blueberry muffins , and our third Baker's Dozen Interview?!

I'm very excited to present this interview because of its truly MouseBouche-ness. If this blog is devoted to the intersection of food and art in our lives, there was no way Danny - excuse me, 'Chef Daniel' - Brooks - was not going to appear at some point. He may have become a Barcelona-trained, San Francisco-based food professional, but to me he'll always be the tie-dyed, Phish-following, music-theory spouting twentysomething who once cooked an entire roasted venison in my off-campus apartment... and who asked me, backstage at our college production of Assassins, "Hey, have you ever thought of being in a band?"

Danny Brooks introduced me to many important things, including live rock music, acupuncture, Southern California, mango salsa, seared Ahi, the Fender Rhodes, Taylor guitars, Indian vocal percussion, overtone singing, transcendental meditation, and let's stop there. Since I have just as many memories of Danny cooking as, say, taking pictures of our keyboard player on the toilet in the House of Blues green room, I'm not at all surprised at where he is today. And now...

1) What are your earliest food memories?
6 years old. A bucket of manila clams on my tiny white legs. Opening and eating them with my bare hands.

2)What was the first meal you made for your wife?
New Years Eve 2003 in Barcelona. Everyone ooh-ed and aw-ed and told me how extraordinary the food was. Teresa told me she was unimpressed. I didn’t understand her cause I didn’t speak Spanish at the time. I took her rumblings as a compliment. I think I even may have said “muchas gracias”.

3) You grew up in SoCal, have lived and cooked extensively in Spain, and are now in San Francisco. Which is your favorite food city?
San Francisco. Los Angeles is just too much driving. Period. Even when you can find good shopping or restaurants, it is just too far. I LOVE Barcelona ... However, in Barcelona you can eat the best and worst food in Europe…very inconsistent and VERY expensive! The shopping is great for proteins, particularly fish and shellfish, and mediocre for fruits and vegetables. San Francisco has AMAZING grocery stores, specialty markets and farmer’s markets. It also has a pretty good restaurant culture, especially for cheap regional foods.

4) You have now worked extensively in both entertainment and in food. Similarities? Differences?
Lots of arrogant assholes work in both industries. Lots of interesting, creative people work in both industries. It is easy to find the former, hard (yet very satisfying) to find the latter.

5) What are the top mistakes home cooks make that could be easily solved?
Home cooks have a tendency to add ingredients to pans before the pans get hot. Then, once their ingredients are added, they incessantly poke and prod and slide them around. (The Boo: Yup. I totally do that.)
LET YOUR PAN GET HOT, then LET YOUR INGREDIENTS COOK.

6) Most annoying food trend at the moment.
People who demand local, humanely treated foods but do so while simultaneously wearing leather shoes made in a sweat shop in Indonesia.

7) Weigh in on this for me: Defrosted shrimp has been in the fridge four days. Eat it? or no?
No. And shame on you. It is so mean to do that to the poor shrimp who gave their lives to feed you!

(The Boo: Are you hearing this, Mayor??)

8) Favorite hangover cure?
Less drinking the night before.

9) In 1998, you convinced me to try sea urchin. I still remember it vividly as the worst thing I ever tasted. Do you still like it?
Perhaps my favorite food.

10) One food you simply could not live without.
Ice.

11) What do you do when you go to someone's house for dinner and the food is really terrible?
Lie and say I have been ill and don’t have much of an appetite.

12) I've heard chefs like to play a game of "last supper"--as in, what your final meal would be if you could choose. What would yours be?
Sushi with my wife.

13) The Mouse and I were reminiscing recently about the food you used to make in college, and how wild and out-there something like mango salsa!!!! seemed to us then. What is similarly ahead-of-the-curve in your present repertoire?
I feel my food ideas come almost always from something I have eaten or from a combination of techniques I have learned. I really don’t feel like I invent or innovate. I’ll leave those “ahead of the curve” critiques to the people eating my food.

Well played, Danny. Just like a great Rhodes keyboard solo.

Love,

The Boo

P.S. Chef Daniel Brooks' web site posts a "Monthly Menu" with recipes. Please note the "Amuse Bouche" selection - !!! - get it? - which right now features yummy sounding "Gulf Shrimp Croquettes with Salsa Brava". For the love of god, make them the same day you buy the shrimp.

Chicken in a Pot: The Return

Dear Boo,

I realize this may feel like deja vu, me extolling the virtues of another Jamie Oliver creation, which happens to also feature a whole chicken cooked in a pot. I realize I'm rather boring. But hear me out. Consider this the spring equivalent of the other Jamie Oliver chicken in a pot. And we know how delicious that was.

When I mentioned to Mom the other day that I was making poached chicken for dinner, she very politely wrinkled her nose and said: "How old fashioned. And boring." And who can blame her, really. Poached chicken conjures up thoughts of rubbery mayonnaised salad and bland dietetic food. Luckily, I tasted this dish before I had the chance to judge it based on its title, when the student I tutor offered me some of her leftovers while we worked. I'm not usually in the habit of taking food from my students, but I was hungry, she was having some, we needed a break, and it just looked so pretty, studded with bright green peas, orange slices of carrot, silky leaves of spinach wound around pale pink baby radishes and half moons of potatoes. With the richness and kick of the horseradish cream, there was no trace of the wan pale chicken mom was anticipating.

The broth isn't bold in its chicken flavor, and when I made it at home I was disappointed at first. When it came together in the bowl, though, the beauty of the dish emerged. It's not chicken soup--oh no--the focus is the fresh vegetables and chicken, with the broth as a warming accent to bring it together. Jamie's description of how to serve it reflects this: "divide a nice mixture of veg between 4 bowls, put some shredded chicken on top, then ladle over some of the wonderful, comforting broth. Sprinkle over some of the chopped reserved fennel tops or some celery leaves, with a healthy dollop of horseradish crème fraîche on top and a drizzle of nice peppery olive oil" Doesn't that sound lovely? It is.

Right now, when the markets are full of baby vegetables, just making their spring debut, this is the perfect recipe for the transition from spring to summer. Just warm enough to comfort on a rainy May day, fresh enough to satisfy that intense urge some of us get the first time we see a bit of color among the Farmer's Market's wintry bins of root vegetables, with a surprizing note of heat that hits the back of your tongue and hints at June's rising mercury.

Love,

The Mouse

Jamie Oliver's Spring Poached Chicken (slightly adapted by the Mouse)

• 4lb free-range, organic chicken
• a handful of fresh flat-leaf parsley
• 4 bay leaves
sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
• 2 handfuls of new potatoes, scrubbed
• 2 handfuls of baby carrots, or carrots sliced into 2 in lengths
• 2 handfuls of baby radishes
• 1 bulb of fennel, quartered, herby tops removed and reserved
• 1.5 T drained bottled horseradish (or to taste)
• 1 Cup of crème fraîche
• 2 handfuls of fresh or frozen peas (I used frozen)
• 1 colanderful of spinach or Swiss chard
• olive oil

Clean your chicken and stuff it with the parsley and bay leaves. Salt and Pepper it. Put it in a large pot (very large--my 7 qt dutch oven was almost too small, but you could always use a smaller chicken) and fill with water to cover chicken by a couple of centimeters. Add potatoes (halve if they're large). Bring to a boil, then cover with a lid and lower heat to simmer for about 20 minutes. Add carrots, radishes, and fennel, and simmer for another 30 to 40 minutes.
While this is cooking, prepare the horseradish creme by mixing the creme fraiche and horseradish, taste to make sure the proportions are right.
By now, the chicken should be done--test to see if the leg comes away from chicken easily. Remove the chicken from the pot and set aside to cool.
Add the peas and spinach to the broth and cook for one minute. Season to taste.
To serve, spoon vegetables into bowl, top with shredded or sliced chicken, ladle over some broth and add a generous dollop of horseradish cream. Sprinkle some chopped fennel fronds, parsley, or celery leaves over the top if you like.

The Mouse Goes to New Orleans: In Which I Eat 150 lbs of Crawfish, Finally Hit my Salt Limit, and Discover the Next Food Trend to Hit New York

Dear Boo,

It's been a few weeks since I got back from New Orleans where I was celebrating Chef Josh and LadyKate's wedding, and I'm STILL FULL. Only just days ago have my pores ceased to emit the perfume of Abita, have the callouses on my fingers from tearing the tails off of crawfish been pumiced away by an unfortunate manicurist, has every airline official at JFK been satisfied that the suspicious white powder found in the luggage compartment was not anthrax but powdered sugar and beignet crumbs.

Lemme tell you, I did some serious damage down south. And by south I mean of course, my lower intestines. HO!

But seriously, folks. It was a magical time. Not only because of all the gloriously warm feelings one experiences watching two very special people declare their love and join their lives together (for the second time, really) in the presence of the people who adore them most and all that hullaballoo, but also because New Orleans has some seriously delicious food.

Our first night in town, the boys had scheduled a bachelor party, so us ladies got together to wrastle up a little trouble of our own. Acme Oyster House was the destination...for half the city of New Orleans, apparently. Here's the thing: waiting in line is something I hate to do, probably in part because in NYC we have to do it All. The. Time. Solution? A pitcher of beer, drunk out on the sidewalk in the balmy weather, while friendly folks stationed on the balcony above drop free jewelry on you! In no time, we were seated inside in front of an obscene and voluptuous platter of local Louisiana oysters. Briny, smooth, slippery, and like the city itself, larger than life, they were seriously the best I've ever had.
Until these arrived. Char-grilled oysters which from what I could gather, are smothered in butter, seasoning, romano cheese, and southern hospitality, and stuck under the broiler until crisp, white hot, and terrifyingly good.
For my main course (as if I needed one), the shrimp etouffee. Creamy, salty, rich with seafood and that unmistakable cajun kick, it was so. so. so. good.

The bride's plate of fried shrimp with a side of crawfish hush puppies. I may have sneaked a few fried morsels.

All photographs from the rest of this evening have been confiscated and I have been sworn to secrecy. Suffice it to say, we did not go hungry. Or thirsty.

I woke up the next morning with Muffuletta on the brain. We headed to the Central Grocery, the original home of the sandwich. Since everything in New Orleans seems to be portable: food, alcohol, live music, we took our football-sized sandwiches to M.R.B bar where we drank some seriously delicious bloody marys and watched the three-legged bulldog hang out by the pool table.

Between the drink, the sandwich, and the dill gator chips I grabbed at the cash register like a fool, I nearly shriveled up and fell off my barstool. It was like spending the day with my face stuck to a salt lick. A tremendously enjoyable salt lick.
That night was the rehearsal dinner. Or more aptly put, the let's all get together at this amazing old bar in the beautiful warm sun-dappled evening light where everyone looks radiant and happy and we can chow down on, oh, 170 POUNDS of boiled crawfish. Plus some assorted po'boys, red beans and rice, and a healthy dose of beer to wash it down.
Crate after crate appears, and we do rotating duty sitting at the table, twisting tails, sucking the heads, and eating the meat, one after another, like corn nuts. When we get full, we stand and stretch and complain about our distended bellies, get another beer, crack a few jokes, and then get back down to business, hunkering down over another mound of shells. In the end, all that's left is 20 uneaten pounds, mountains of tiny carcasses, and a blister on my thumb, evidence of a battle well fought.Just look at that destruction.
Naturally, the next morning I woke up hungry. What else to do but get a po'boy? And where else to go but Johnny's Po'Boys, with a line out the front only a hard-core sandwich shop can produce.
I opted for the crabcake po'boy (because I can never resist a crabcake) foolishly thinking I was being virtuous by not ordering something deep fried, and forgetting of course, that this is New Orleans, and what can be fried, will be. It was delicious. Duh.
The Boyfriend got the catfish. Cause that's how we roll.

To cool our bellies after lunch, we went to Meltdown Popsicles, an amazing little shop with homemade, all natural ice pops made from fresh fruit and herbs combined in the most creative, refreshing and charming (can a popsicle be charming?) flavors. I went for the pineapple cilantro, and the Boyfriend had some combination of honey, lavendar, and canteloupe. I grabbed a taste of strawberry basil (to die for), vietnamese coffee (dying), and coconut lemongrass (dead). We inquired about franchise opportunities in NYC and the lovely proprietor laughed us off. We walked away scheming.
Of course last week in the Times, I spotted this piece on all of the folks who got the jump on us bringing this treat to the tri-state area. How much you wanna bet there's a popsicle truck in our future?

And then, the wedding. What else to say, but beautiful, joyous, raucous, spunky, romantic, and utterly and perfectly like the couple themselves.

I don't have too many pics to offer since I was too busy cutting a rug on the dancefloor, but I did manage to grab a bite or two of shrimp and grits, crab dip, etouffee, seafood gumbo, sausage, boudin, pork rillettes, and a few oysters. Oh, and of course the krispy kreme bread pudding, though I missed the root beer floats, I'm afraid.

I did, however, get a shot of the pig bar.

Yes, you heard me. None of this namby-pamby sundae bar ridiculousness.

The Boyfriend and I were cursed with a 7am flight out the morning after the wedding, and naturally the ONLY thing that could soothe the sting was a bagful of beignets bought in advance from the famed Cafe Du Monde. Of course I couldn't help but sneak a bite when they were hot and fresh, greasy, crispy, and airy, dusted in a snowdrift of powdered sugar.

As someone who is increasingly and alarmingly becoming challenged at just relaxing and being and doing nothing (even and especially on vacations), I thank you, New Orleans, for asking nothing more of me than that I have a good time. I sure wish you could catch a break, Big Easy. Between hurricanes and oil spills, the proverbial neighbor sure is determined to call the cops on your party. But still we say, Laissez le Bon Temps Rouler. And roll, and roll and roll.

Love,

The Mouse

P.S. If you want to help the greater New Orleans area affected by the oil spill, go here. And if you want to speed up the reconstruction of homes in the ninth ward, join Brad Pitt's org here.

P.P.S. Thanks also to Josh and Kate for including us in such a beautiful celebration, and for introducing me to the food I've been missing out on all this time.

Yes We Cater! ( A Mouse Bouche Goes Public)

Dear Mouse,

People keep asking me how to subscribe to our blog. What's the best way to let them all know that they can simply enter their email address in the "Subscribe" box to the right (scroll down)?

Oh, there we go.

So ... we did it! I feel almost exactly as if we opened a show on broadway to rave reviews! Well, no, really, way OFF broadway, and then at theatre festivals around the world, and THEN back to one of NYC's most beloved venues finally to mount a groundbreaking production that had been denied the rights to open here for years - Oh wait, no, that's Elevator Repair Service, the brilliant downtown theatre company known primarily for their luminous stagings of great american novels and their excellent taste in desserts.

We are not caterers, but we played them on Monday for the ERS benefit.

Let's recap, shall we? The rehearsal process AND the show.

Friday Night: Tiny Salted Chocolate Chip Cookies
The Boo is dying to make these little sweets and The Mouse suggests an added sprinkle of coarse sea salt. We've never made the before, and so we read almost every one of the conflicting user reviews online (not recommended). Follow the recipe exactly,it's perfect. Don't follow the recipe; add 1/4 cup of flour. They're too crispy. They're not crispy enough. (My fave, from someone in Russia: 'Replace the chocolate chips with raisins and grated swiss cheese.' ???!!!) We decide these people are all crazy (swiss cheese???) and we will follow the recipe exactly. The result? They are FLAT FLAT FLAT and crumble at the lightest touch. !!! Take it from us; you should add 1/4 C flour to the recipe. The next batch is perfect.

The Boo forgets to sprinkle sea salt on at least two batches before baking. We'll serve them anyway. Whatever. The Mouse yells at The Boo for eating batter.

Saturday morning - Spicy Chocolate Bacon Bark!
The first HOT HOT weekend of the year! Let's celebrate by ... .baking! for hours ! in a tiny kitchen! And, since it's going to reach 90 degrees, why don't we make the one item in the menu that must. be. kept. cold. or will become Floating Bacon Goop Smeared on Kitchen Table. This is the one item we kind of made up ourselves, so it has to go well. We melt bags of chocolate, put trays of bacon in the oven, pour/spread chocolate onto parchment paper, sprinkle cayenne on bacon, crumble and scatter over the chocolate, and chill it. Once it's solid, the Mouse breaks up the bark with scary knife while The Boo frantically shoves the pieces into plastic bags before melting can set in. We get it back in the freezer with only minimal damage to rug/table/clothing. The Mouse yells at the Boo for licking her fingers.

We get a text from The Baker: "What does it sound like when bacon barks?" Ha ha.

Sunday night: Lemon Bars.
The Boo gets sleepy and accidentally forgets half the butter - half! - while making the second round of shortbread crust. The Mouse Saves the Day with a carefully overseen gradual re-mixing technique and all is well. (Ok, here I have to weigh in on this recipe, from Ina Garten. The flavor is PERFECT, but, for my taste, the crust-filling ratio is off. Next time I'd do a thicker crust and just a leeeetle less lemony goodness. Easier to eat, less goopy and overwhelming.) The Mouse chastises The Boo for criticizing Ina. Sorry, Ina.

My other regret is not making them Rosemary Lemon Bars!!!!! Wouldn't that have been great??!!

Monday: The Day of the Show, Yall: 430PM, Mouse House: We cut remaining lemon triangles, put bacon bark on ice in cooler, defrost mini-cookies, and put on catering uniforms (heels, jewelry, cute dresses). Mouse's Boyfriend pours vodka-sodas and surreptitiously packs garbage bags, paper towels, and napkins, none of which we would have remembered. Bless Him. In a stunning, historic role reversal, The Mouse has a meltdown (we will be late, the bark will melt, the lemon bars will stick together, the other caterer will hate us and not give us platters, we shouldn't dress up or attend the actual party) while the Boo says "I think it's going to be fine."

We arrive. There is both a 'playing space' (out on the floor) and a Backstage Area for the Food Folks! We're immediately at home. We know how to do THIS.

Half Hour: Guests in room, tiny savory snacks going around. M&B are hovering and plating and getting in the way of the servers. The Boo gets a white wine and speculates that we have made way, way too many lemon bars. The Mouse is drinking absinthe. What could go wrong?

NOTHING! ISn't it gorgeous? Business Cards by EKT.

15 Minutes: packed room! M&B are playing both sides like pros, socializing in their cocktail attire and talking shop with other actors... then dashing madly backstage for last siftings of powdered sugar and checking of Bark Status. The Mouse wisely sets up a glass of water and a stack of towels for The Boo - I mean, either of us - to wash hands between plating.

10 Minutes: We're undercover among guests, somewhat guiltily eating the savory snacks as they come around.

5 min: Plate the bark! Now! (pic)


PLACES!

Look at them go!

I think you'll agree, Mouse, that the show went well. The servers coming backstage almost immediately saying "We need more bacon bark!" Our business cards disappearing from the trays too! The cookies - GONE before we know it. Fred Armisen, Fran McDormand, and Lili Taylor are out there eating OUR FOOD. Platter after platter of lemon bars goes out and comes back empty. We drink more absinthe and high-five each other. The other caterer takes The Boo aside and asks if we'd be interested in doing other events. Why not? In the end, this is all that's left:

A volunteer begged us for the leftovers. Flattery=Effective.

Afterwards, when you went home to study (Finals!! during all of this!), I took a seat in the balcony to watch the post-reception show. The ERS actors took the stage with the celebrity guests, reading from great American novels. The audience was boisterous, appreciative, attentive, drunk. And looking down at all 150-200 of them, I realized that they all (probably) had bacon bark, lemon bars, and tiny salted chocolate chip cookies INSIDE THEM. Whoa. I've never felt so close to so many humans at once. Or so omnipotent. Like Tim Curry at the end of LEGEND, where he's about to be defeated by Tom Cruise and hurtle into space, yelling, "IIIIIIII ... Am a PAAART... Of you AAAALLLLLLL!!!..." ? (Just me?)

Only, like, nicer, in a cocktail dress covered in butter, a little teary-eyed, and applauding wildly. Go ERS. Thanks for eating.

Love

The Boo.