Is It Homemade or Is It Memorex
If you live in the Capital Region, maybe you’ve heard that Grandma’s Pies & Restaurant is closing. This is the very last week for the decades-old Central Avenue institution.
For some, this is a tragic loss. I’ve heard it said it’s the end of an era.
Personally, I’m more concerned about the neighboring Parivar. While these two are separate businesses, Parivar is on the same property, and both buildings are for sale. Parivar is more up my alley. The kitchen there makes vegetarian South Indian street food, without pretense. It’s a cuisine I never expected to find in upstate New York when we moved here over a decade ago.
Pies? Great pies are everywhere. But the feelings people have about local businesses are just that. Feelings. Although in the last few days, there’s a thorny issue surrounding this beloved local business.
Were the pies actually homemade? A lot of people have their doubts.
An Immigrant Nation
Where did your family come from?
Mine is from eastern Europe, but they have been here for awhile. Fortunately, my ancestors left before the Holocaust. But while Hitler’s Germany may have been the most efficient at slaughtering the Jews and other maligned populations of Europe, it wasn’t the first.
Earlier Jewish immigrants fled religious persecution and violence in their homelands. And they had to endure countless hardships, including further prejudice and discrimination in America.
It’s hard to imagine, especially living in New York, because Jews read largely as white. Italians are now white. Irish seem about as white as white can be. But this did not always used to be the case. We were all foreigners. We were all stereotyped. We were all reviled.
Well, maybe not the British. Except to the Native Americans. Who, incidentally, migrated here from the land bridge across Asia. Or at least that’s what I remember from my school days. The Dutch have always kept a low profile. And obviously, there’s a lot I’m leaving out.
So, what does any of this have to do with food?
New York Love and Spirit
We live in a big, beautiful state. And it’s filled with good stuff.
There is nothing quite like leaving—even for a couple of days—to help remember the magnificence of New York. As the sun set in Burlington, and we watched it descend from the lake’s eastern shore, the Adirondacks dominated the skyline. Those are some majestic mountains. It’s an incredible view.
Just earlier in the day, we had been driving through that very same range. I love long drives. I love experiencing the distance between places, and watching the scenery change from region to region.
It was a poignant reminder of the size and beauty not just of New York, but the country as a whole. Part of me was looking for something to love, and I definitely found it.
Speaking of love, New York, and good stuff, I recently made a delicious discovery.
Back in the US
Been away so long I hardly knew the place
Gee, it’s good to be back home
~The Beatles
Canada is great, but it always feels good to come back home. Even after a quick lunch in Chinatown.
We got really lucky. When Little Miss Fussy and I pulled up to the dragon beard candy shop, they were pulling fresh morsels. That meant our first bite in Canada was exactly what we wanted. Then we made it into Maison Kim Fung and scored a dish of silken tofu pudding, which is now a favorite of both my daughter and myself. After walking off lunch, we went back to Chinatown for some sweet baked buns.
By that point, there was no more sugar being pulled into magical powder white threads. And sadly, one of our favorite bakeries was no longer in business. But you take the good with the bad.
It was hard to leave, with so much left uneaten, but that’s how it goes. Plus we needed to make it to Vermont for dinner and Maple Creemees with friends. Which brings us to today.
Gone to Look for America
Sometimes you just need to hit the road.
If all goes according to plan, tonight I will celebrate our Independence Day with one of my childhood friends in Burlington, Vermont. But before then, I’m going to cross the border.
Have you ever had one of those experiences when something is going wrong, so you decide to leave the room, in the hopes that when you come back everything is better? Well, I think I’m going to try that. But with America.
I am just going to step out for a bit and clear my head. It reminds me of a song.
Actually, my plan in Montreal is even a bit more ridiculous. There is this ancient Chinese candy that Little Miss Fussy wants to try. So we’re going to drive four hours for a bite. I can’t wait to tell that to the border control officer. Read more…
Heated Ice Cream Rant
On a hot hot day in July, cooling down with some ice cream sounds like a fantastic idea. You’ve probably never asked yourself if it’s ever too hot for ice cream.
That’s ridiculous.
Sure, the hotter it gets, the faster your ice cream will melt. But that’s why God created cups instead of cones. Then when your ice cream melts, you aren’t wasting that delicious custard down your fingers and arms. Rather, you get to scoop up every last drop with a spoon, like a civilized adult.
Yes. I said, when your ice cream melts. Look, ice cream is frozen dairy and eggs. And you know what? It’s supposed to melt. The hotter it gets, the faster it will melt, and I can’t even tell you how hot my blood boils when people ding ice cream because it melts quickly in the sun.
The colder and harder you serve ice cream, the less flavor it possesses. Those who would give up essential flavor, to purchase a little more rigidity, deserve neither flavor nor rigidity.
Now that I’ve gone all Benjamin Franklin on the matter, let’s get back on track. As it turns out, there are some well intentioned—if slightly misguided—people out there who are looking for the best ice cream in Upstate New York. But if they come to Troy this week, they aren’t going to find it… because it’s too damn hot.
Heat Break
The heat won’t break until Friday.
For the past two days I’ve been sweating it out. Yes, we have air conditioning at home. Thank god. Without it, I would probably find myself curled up in a ditch somewhere. Maybe I would bury myself under a pile of damp leaves with all the ticks and hope for the best.
Eat Drink Saratoga was a ton of fun. Thanks to the event I made some new discoveries that I can’t wait to share. But nobody wants to read about booze on a hot and sticky Monday.
Heck, I even considered running away to Montreal. But it’s insanely hot up there too. At least until Friday. Burlington is in the same boat.
Here’s the good news.
Not Eggs Benny with Emily: The Shop
This Friday, I wanted to send you into the weekend with something different than Emily’s eggs benedict quest on your minds. Especially since this week was marred by a disaster. I don’t want to ruin the ending, but at no point along the line was Emily ever close to actually getting eggs benedict.
Her post does raise an interesting question. Eggs benedict is a thing. From the bottom up it’s an english muffin, canadian bacon, poached eggs, and hollandaise sauce. Sure, there are variations, but some variations become their own thing outright. Take eggs florentine, for example.
Sure, there is now the entire classification of dishes labeled as “eggs benny” much like “martini” became the shorthand for any strong, short cocktail served in a cocktail glass. But how many steps away can it take from the original before it stops providing the same satisfaction?
Or is simply “poached eggs on stuff” close enough. Without any further ado, here’s Emily L. to tell you the story.
Read more…
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