The Amateur Gourmet

There are three parts to every cooking experience:
1. The planning.
2. The cooking.
3. The result.

It is during the planning stages (1) that you anticipate the result (3). During my planning stages (1) for the Pan-Fried Onion dip (see title) I expected that it would come out tasty. In fact, the actual result (3) far surpassed my expectations during (1). Thus 3 > 1.

But first (2). The cooking. I took two onions, I sliced them, and then caramelized them in oil and butter using The Barefoot Contessa's recipe. (I'm not going to share this recipe because I shared the other two and I feel like that's generous enough. This poor Contessa's gotta live, damn it! How else can she make payments on her BMW and her Hamptons estate?)

Here's the onions cooking:

[Hey, that worked! I was able to make the picture bigger by typing width=400 after entering the rest... thanks Andrea T and everyone else who offered their help on this matter!]

The onions were cooked with salt, pepper, and cayenne pepper. After 30 minutes, I let them cool and then added them to the electric mixer with cream cheese, mayonnaise and sour cream. (Those last 3 products form the basis of many Barefoot Contessa dips.) Their union is miraculous. Behold the pan-fried onion dip:

It's salty, creamy, a little sweet and it has a nice little kick. It's a winning dip. Which dip will be gone the quickest? Your choices are: pan-fried onion, hummus, eggplant spread, sun-dried tomato, and guacamole. Place your bets now!

26 years ago at this very moment my mom was panting in a hospital bed as angelic music played and I made my way into the world, fork and knife in hand, lobster bib already in place. Stories are told of me at a young age: I was a glutton for food. Mom says that when the baby food jar was empty I'd start sniffling a little and then break out into a huge wail. She worried very much that I would be fat.

Well I'm not fat (yet---I'm getting there). But I still love food. And today, after getting a haircut in the West Village (at a place my friend Alex recommended) I realized, quite accidentally, that I was two blocks away from The Spotted Pig. I walked past and it was nearly empty inside, but it was open. This was shocking to me because every time I've been there it's been packed to the gills. I felt fate on my side and made my way in. This is the story of what happened thereafter.

I took a seat at the bar. Sunlight crept in and I watched as the waitress/bartender (she was a one-woman operation) served a table a large plate of scrumptious skinny french fries. She came to me and asked what I'd like to drink. I ordered Prosecco. I don't know why I ordered that--this was 3 hours before class on a Thursday and, also, I'd never had Prosecco. I think it was the fact that I spied it on the large chalk board hanging over the bar. And that it was cheap. $7. So Prosecco.

"I love Prosecco," she said. "I seriously drink it all the time. It's like champagne only sweeter."

I felt incredibly validated. She popped the cork on the Prosecco and poured me my glass.

"Ready to order?" she asked.

"Well," I said, and pointed to the gnudi on the menu. See, first some explication: The Spotted Pig is a gastropub based on the cuisine of The River Cafe in London where Jamie Oliver got his start. And the chef at The Spotted Pig, April Bloomfield, worked there before doing a stint at Chez Pannise. She knows her stuff. (I later found out that my bartender/waitress is April's roommate.) Anyway, at The Spotted Pig April's most famous dish is gnudi---it's a dish I've read all about for the longest time and have craved, for the longest time, to try. So then. I asked the waitress: "Is gnudi enough for lunch?"

"Well," she said, "It's substantial, but I'd also get a salad."

So I looked at the salads and asked her which was her favorite. "The pumpkin," she said, "Definitely the pumpkin."

Pumpkin salad? I'm sold!

Now then--prepare to feast your eyes on the following images. I'm uploading them especially so you can click them and feast. This is the first time you've truly feasted vicariously through my new camera and what you are about to behold is so visually sumptuous you may be tempted to lick your screen.

This salad is truly one of the most dazzling salads I've ever eaten. I spent a good part of the rest of my day conjuring back this salad in my memory--trying to remember the individual pieces that made it so great. There was the pumpkin, yes. It's a strange textural component to have in a salad but it totally works. The pumpkin is roasted with...with? I have no idea. But there's pine nuts in it and it's sweet and snappy and savory and perfect. It's balanced against the arugula which is peppery and coated in a lemony dressing that made everything bright and dancey. Then there was the pecorino which added a creamy component and a few drops of balsamic which were like perfect angel drops of tartness. This salad is earth-shatteringly good. I scraped my plate clean and begged for more. But then came the gnudi:

Oh my God, the gnudi. Can you smell it? Can you taste it in your head? Can you feel it? Feel the magic? Look at that. Is it not a work of art? What is it exactly?

Well, let's defer to Josh's post on it on The Food Section: "Gnudi are 'nude' ravioli whose fillings have been shorn of their pasta clothing. The gnudi (pronounced with a silent g) are made of sheep’s milk ricotta and fried to a golden brown and served with crispy sage leaves."

Additionally, the gnudi sits in a brown butter sauce that is so decadent and comforting, I wanted to float away in it. Instead, I gobbled the gnudi up. You hear certain metaphors used over and over again when describing food (we might call these "tired metaphors") and so please forgive me when I say the gnudi was pillowy (haha, tired metaphors--pillowy!), that it tasted like eating a cloud. But it was the combination--the combination of that glorious texture and the butter and the crispy sage and the cheese grated over the top. It was SERIOUS perfection. I nearly died of pleasure.

Instead, I got the check and resisted the urge to eat dessert. I know, I know--Adam, how could you, the King of Dessert, not eat dessert at a place with such brilliant food?

Well, for starters, I was stuffed. But secondly, I'm totally going to go back--I must go back. I must eat my way through their menu. I must move in to The Spoted Pig.

And so we conclude this post by linking it back to my birthday and to the post's title: May my 26th Year Be Like Lunch At The Spotted Pig. May it be filled with surprise and wonder, with light and color, with personality and flavor, with crispy sage and roasted pumpkin, with decadence and balance and hominess and cozyness and spontaneous glasses of Prosecco. Cheers to a year that promises to be well lived!

The party was Friday and, to quote Jason Schafer, Lauren and I both turned 26 "without a hitch."

There was music (pumping in from my bedroom via my Airport Express), there were little candles on the tables (purchased from Illuminations at a very low rate (I found it amusing that Illuminations doesn't sell matches or lighters (well, they sell this one lighter but the woman who worked there was like, "Don't buy this, it's a rip off))), there were drinks and the people who drank them (photo by James Felder):

And then there was dip. You know about the dip. You watched me make it. The question has been raised: which dip would prove the most successful? Various readers (ok, like 3) wagered on this very issue. Now let us explore it.

The First Dip: Hummus with Toasted Pine Nuts on Top and Toasted Pita Chips on the Side for Dipping

This dip began the night with several fans. "It's really lemony," said one fan. "And I like it." Eventually, the bowl (which I purchased from Fish's Eddie, don't you like it?) would go empty, but it took a while. Here, the Hummus supporters speak out:

"The hummus was nice and hummusy" says Adele.

"I liked the pine nuts on top," says Russell.

"Your cooking disgusts me," says Lauren. (It was Lauren's birthday too, so we can cut her some slack.)

The hummus came in 3rd place for the evening.

The Second Dip: Pan-Fried Onion Dip Served With Potato Chips

Don't you like the bowl? I also bought this at Fish's Eddie. If you don't know about Fish's Eddie, it's this dish store that sells funky dishes on Broadway and 19th (?). Some are pricey and some are CRAZY reasonable. The large ceramic dishes I put the chips on for each dip had a price tag on it that said $2 and then two 0s that looked like they hovered ever so slightly above the 2. So I asked, "Is this $20 or $200?" They said: "$2." "Whoah," I said, and bought them.

Now then, the pan-fried onion dip. This is what I secretly predicted would go the quickest. But James Felder took issue with it. "It would be better if the little pieces of onion were chopped up more, because they dangle off the chip," he complained. (I actually took that into account after a reader suggested I put them in a food processor; instead I chopped them up with two knives.")

The Onion Dip supporters felt differently:

"It's like people don't really understand this dip," said Ben's roommate (on left).

"Ya," agreed Ben, "it's like who doesn't like a little onion in their dip?"

"I made the sun-dried tomato dip," offered Lisa, to which there was an awkward silence. "Seriously, I made it."

John, Merideth's boyfriend, smiled and nodded his head. "I like dip."

Merideth agreed, "John does like dip. And we both like the onion dip. Well done!"

All in all the onion dip comes in 2nd place. Lisa's sun dried tomato dip (ok, it was really my sun dried tomato dip---I just told her what ingredients to put in the food processor) came in second to last. The Eggplant Dip came very last. Don't make eggplant spread for your next party.

The Third and Final Dip: Guacamole

People love guacamole. That is the lesson of this party. If you are having a party, make guacamole. Something about it--the creaminess, the tanginess (from the lemon), the heat (from the tabasco) and the hallucinatory qualities (from the LSD) make guacamole a winner. These writers from my writing program agreed:

"Haha, everyone," I said. "Look at this picture of yourselves! You're so high from the LSD I put in the guacamole!"

Ok, there wasn't LCD in the guacamole. But everyone loved it. It definitely went the quickest. The guacamole is the winner!

[And thanks to everyone for your birthday well wishes, cards, and other ephemera. (Ephemera means "things of short-lived usefulness." I am not sure how that's appropriate here.) I plan to turn another year older every year from now on. That is my pledge to you. And I will make guacamole because guacamole is the winner.]

I haven't had a chance to acknowledge all the lovely food-related birthday gifts I was given last week for my birthday. There used to be a time when the idea of giving me something food-related for my birthday would have been absurd. "A spatula? You got me a spatula? THAT'S IT, DAUGHTER, YOU'RE OUT OF MY LIFE---NEVER CONTACT ME AGAIN." (Constance, if you're reading this--daddy loves you. He wants you back in his life. I love the spatula.)

Now then, what did we get? Well three major clusters of food-related gifts. (I say "food-related gifts" because I don't want to seem ungrateful for the gifts I received from people that weren't food related. Like that large vibrating spider you gave me, grandma. Thank you.)

The first major gift: Cookbooks from Mom and Dad
Well you know they bought me a camera, but you don't know about the cookbooks. My parents lavished me this year. What can I say, I have generous parents.

The cookbooks:
1. A Return to Cooking by Eric Ripert. I'm starting with this one because even though it was on my Amazon wishlist (that's how my mom knew what books to buy) I didn't really know what to expect--every time I'd seen it in the stores it was wrapped in plastic. Well. I dunno. This is the one I'm least enamored with. It's crazy impractical. (I know this sounds ungrateful, but I love the other two a great deal---this one I'm kind of shoulder shruggy about). There are truffle recipes, foie gras recipes, and all kinds of recipes I will never make because the ingredients are so wildly expensive. However, there may be a few gems in there so I'll flip back through it. The pages are really pretty though. I like the art.

2. The Bouchon Cookbook by Thomas Keller. Now this one's really cool. It's like all the doable recipes from The French Laundry cookbook multiplied and filled a new cookbook. These are recipes that are totally approachable and yet promise to be truly exquisite. Like the onion soup or the salads or the roasted chicken (there are several recipes for roasted chicken). This is a great cookbook--I'm excited to cook from it.

3. The Gourmet Cookbook by Gourmet. This is on my bed right now. I'm going to flip through it before I go to sleep. I can't imagine I won't like it. Gourmet is great because it marries the familiar and the exotic---every recipe has a little twist so they all seem worth making just to experience the twist. More on that once I cook from it.

The second major gift: Bundtettes from Lisa and Annette
These are so cute. They're bundt pans but they come in a tray of six. I only have one recipe for them so far, but I'll be cooking from them soon---so watch for that. Thanks Lisa and Annette!

The third major gift: Jacques Torres Hot Chocolate Mix from James Felder
James Felder is the nicest guy ever. You really need to go visit his website right now! He loves it when I link to him because he gets lots of hits, so do him a favor and click click click. After all, he bought me Jacques Torres Hot Chocolate Mix! Check it out---I made this last night:

What's amazing about this mix is that the end result tastes remarkably like what you get in the story. It's gooey and thick and filled with chocolatey gunk. I think it's because there are reall pieces of bittersweet chocolate in the mix. Plus, you make it with milk not water. (I guess you make most hot cocoa with milk not water, but in my childhood my mom made it with water (mixed with Swiss Miss)---which is how I did it for most of my life too. I LEARNED IT FROM YOU, MOM, OK? I LEARNED IT FROM YOU.)

Now with all of that said, I have to make a confession. This kind of hot chocolate always hurts my stomach. I'm not sure why. But long-time readers may remember a LONG time ago when I made a dinner and a dessert that involved fresh homemade hot chocolate (with the chopping of the chocolate and everything) and I had an atrocious stomach ache the next day. Well this one wasn't atrocious, but something's going on here. Quality hot chocolate hurts my stomach. But it's a testament to how good this is that I'm totally going to make it again---it's worth the pain.

Thanks James and thanks everyone else! You made my birthday great.