Oh Honey
I hate bees, but I love honey. Okay, love may be strong.
When I’m sick I’ll make a ginger and honey tisane. During Rosh Hashana I’ll dip apples in the stuff to symbolize a sweet new year. In the winter, I’ll warm up with a hot toddy with whiskey and honey. And when the weather warms up, I like a drizzle on some tart frozen yogurt.
You know who really loves honey? Young Master Fussy. Almost every morning he requests the same thing for breakfast. And it’s a little unusual to be sure, but like they say, the branch doesn’t fall far from the tree.
His favorite breakfast by far is peanut butter and honey in a bowl. He eats it with a spoon with some milk to wash it down. So when I saw Deanna’s tweet from earlier yesterday about illegal honey smuggling, I was naturally curious and alarmed.
Could the honey I buy be affected?
Undeniable Facts About Time
I saw the first Back To School displays go up in Walmart at the end of July. That was crazy. Summer had just barely started. Now in mid August they seem to make a lot more sense.
When the heat broke, and the cool air started to come in, I was glad for a little relief. But it got a little too cool, and I started to worry. Because it was still August, and August shouldn’t be that cool, right?
The sad truth is that I know precious little about the normal ebb and flow of the seasons having spent most of my life in Florida and California. So maybe it does get cool in August. I just don’t want to be one of those people who jumps the gun on the upcoming season, and writes of the current one prematurely.
However, driving from New York to Rhode Island yesterday, one thing was totally obvious. The leaves are starting to turn.
A Most Unusual Wine Glass
Mrs. Fussy is gone, but she will return. Friday we brought her to Albany International Airport, where she easily made it to Newark. But because of thunderstorms, in Newark she stayed. And stayed. And stayed. Finally making it to the western United States sometime on Saturday afternoon.
I suggested she spend the wee morning hours at a 24-hour diner nearby the airport, but instead she chose the airport Dunkin’ Donuts. Let’s blame her choice on blinding tiredness and dementia. As you may know, I find Dunkin’ to be disgustin’.
As for me, Friday was spent with another fun filled family outing with Albany Jane and John. It wasn’t the traditional shabbos dinner. Instead it was pizza at Red Front, ice cream at The Snowman, and bacon. Let me tell you, it’s amazing to be friends with people who make their own bacon from Berkshire pork bellies. Uh. Maize. Ing.
The whole evening was a bit over-indulgent, even though the bacon was to take home for later. So once the kids were safely tucked into bed, it was time for a little red wine. Except this time I did something a little differently.
Making Stuff Out of Nothing At All
Last week I mentioned Virgin Atlantic’s Next Top Cocktail contest. I’m not really sure what’s going on with it, but officially the entry period ended on August 16. Oddly, the entry portal is still up, along with the form that allows you to submit your recipe.
It’s a good thing too, because otherwise I’d be hard pressed to remember the details of this promotion. Because while the entry period is closed, this exercise provides an interesting platform to talk about how to build a tasty cocktail, as well as an opportunity to discuss what you would do with the ingredients on hand.
And in this case, that would be everything in the beverage cart.
It’s Called a Magazine
Because of my past career in advertising, I have a deep relationship with food magazines. I ate lunch with Ruth Reichl, attended tastings hosted by Bon Appétit and went to wine awards presented by Food & Wine. But I’ve always preferred the smaller niche publications.
Soon after Gourmet or Bon Appetit published one of its annual reader polls naming Chablis their least favorite wine, Saveur did a multi-page feature on this far too often maligned region. And with that, they stole my heart.
The quick story with Chablis is that the name has been stolen in America and appropriated for cheap white wine sold in jugs. Chablis, however, is a serious wine region that produces a unique and delicious expression of chardonnay.
So the big and bloated food magazines are suffering and going out of business. Their advertisers are spending money elsewhere and publishers are practically giving away subscriptions for free. But the smaller operations like Cooks Illustrated that have a different revenue model seem to be thriving.
Now, there’s another small food magazine on the market. Have you seen it?
Peach Paranoia Passes
Yesterday was a bad day. I won’t bore you with the details, but let’s just say that young children can be trying. At the end of the day I really could have used a peach. Yes, I said a peach. A walk around the neighborhood in peace and quiet would just have taken too long. A stiff drink might have helped, but sometimes you can throw one back and still be angry.
However, it is impossible to stay grumpy when eating a sweet and fuzzy peach over the sink with its juices dripping down your hand and chin. I challenge you to try it.
Regrettably, I had just brought home some peaches and they still needed some time to ripen. This trick does not work with underripe peaches. The peaches I have on hand came from our CSA, but are not grown on the biodynamic farm. They are instead sourced from neighboring producers and are not even organic. In the past this has been a source of great concern, but slowly I’m becoming a bit less dogmatic.
I think it has something to do with winter.
Making Memories and Eating Them
One day Mr. Dave will decide to introduce himself to me when he spies me in the P-Chops with the Fussy children in tow. Really, I’d love to sit down with him for a beer and a deep fried hamburger at Swifty’s. But he’s a hard man to nail down.
I don’t think our stances are as far apart as he may believe. It comes down to a matter of perspective.
Mr. Dave has been un-thrilled with the Fussy Little Tours, and I totally respect his opinion. In fact, whether he chooses to believe it or not, his watchful eye moderates how I think about the task at hand as well as the ultimate evaluation of the tour.
You should really read his entire comment from yesterday, but here is the part I’d like to talk about today:
Why must Mr. Dave quote Proust and ramble on for 4 paragraphs in response to a blog post on Fish Fry you ask? Because I think this wanderlust for the tastiest possible thing available is one of the fundamental issues with food in America. Fish fry is probably an awful analogue, but it speaks to the fact that the urge to treasure your hometown gem, your regional treasure is often lacking in our culinary decision making process. You heard that your local potatoes aren’t as good as the neighboring towns? Get in your giant car and drive twenty miles to get the better ones, or just have them airlifted to your local mega-grocer… I say be happy with the potato (or fish fry) you have. Treasure it for it what is, because should you find yourself in the land of the most delicious possible potatoes you will find that it is the crappy hometown tuber that you will [miss] the most.
He sees this as the problem of my tours. But I see my tours as the solution.
Best Fish Fry of Five
Yes, I know we should have gone to Harbor House in Clifton Park. However, all attendees of last Saturday’s Tour de Fish Fry agreed that a sixth stop would have been arduous.
But that’s about all we agreed upon.
At one place the fish was both praised and panned for being salty. At another the chili sauce was both elevated and diminished for its generous amount of relish. But while four of the five restaurants got at least one vote as someone’s favorite, there was one Fish Fry that was the favorite by majority opinion.
Over the course of the day, eleven people joined me as we tried to sample and evaluate some of the area’s best examples of this regional delight. We had Albany natives, transplants, and new arrivals. People came from near and far, stretching all the way south to Hyde Park and east to North Adams. Some had been eating Fish Fry for years and others were Fish Fry virgins. At the end of the tour, I had a belly full of fish and nine completed score sheets.
Here is the story they tell.
A Wine on Day Two
Do you want to know the real secret to making sure you get a good glass of wine when ordering by the glass? Choose a sparkling wine.
When a bottle of sparkling wine fades it is completely and totally obvious: the bubbles go away. So when a bartender pours a glass from a bottle that has been open a bit too long, they should see immediately there is a problem, open up a new bottle, and pour a fresh glass.
Preserving sparkling wine is easy. One of my favorite wine tools is a spring-loaded cap designed specifically for the task. Of all the wine preservation tools that exist, I believe it’s the most effective. Everyone should have one of these in their possession to encourage the enjoyment of more bubbly.
Saving the remainder of a bottle of still wine is a bit trickier. And in my mind, the best approach may be the worst method.
The Old Fashioned Old Fashioned
When I got back from the trip to Pennsylvania, there was a package waiting for me. It was two airplane bottles of VeeV. Someday soon I’m going to try my hand at producing better cocktails with the stuff than the guy at Ruby Tuesday’s corporate headquarters. I don’t expect it to be hard, but I just haven’t gotten around to it yet.
Actually, that’s not entirely true. I did included VeeV in a drink I submitted for Virgin Atlantic’s Next Top Cocktail contest. You should really try your hand at this contest, as I’d be curious to talk more about this once the contest period closes on August 16.
But today isn’t about fanciful cocktails, it’s about The Cocktail.
On the farm in Pennsylvania I found almost everything I needed in order to make this classic drink, and it may be the thing that turned my father-in-law around on rye. And oddly enough it wasn’t Donald Draper who inspired me to make it, but rather Rachel Maddow.
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