Get in my belly

Memorial Day Weekend 2007 looks like this:

Those are horses at the end of my block. And a bale of hay. This is not your run-of-the-mill sighting in Fort Greene. But then again, neither are people on stilts.

And this — this is bliss. Fette Sau’s barbecued pulled pork, pork belly, brisket, and flank steak (which I will substitute with something fattier next time), German potato salad, broccoli salad, squishy buns, smoky baked beans, a gallon of Six Point ale, and excellent company.

I was prepared to not love Fette Sau. But now I kinda do.

Community gardens are little patches of paradise in the concrete jungle. Standing in the one at 6th Street and Avenue B is like being transported far, far away from the city. And yes, this is that garden with the crazy sculpture tower.

And because one night of porking out was not enough this weekend, I got another fix — this time, Robert’s delicious pernil.

And apparently you don’t know either. Sorry if you don’t have TimesSelect, but basically, Krugman addresses our food system’s problems thus: “Who’s responsible for the new fear of eating? Some blame globalization; some blame food-producing corporations; some blame the Bush administration. But I blame Milton Friedman” [who "called for the abolition of the food and drug sides of the FDA" and "help[ed] to make our food less safe, by legitimizing what the historian Rick Perlstein calls ‘E. coli conservatives’: ideologues who won’t accept even the most compelling case for government regulation.”].

And then goes on to say that our compromised food system is the result of failings in regulation (the FDA has neither the jurisdiction nor the resources to ensure that all that stuff coming over from China (or the Ivory Coast or Chile or wherever New Yorkers’ and Ypsilantians’ food comes from these days) is safe to eat.

[On a sort of related note, why hasn't there been more talk about all the tainted drugs and dog food that have been traced to counterfeiting in China? There's mention, and maybe I'm just not very cognizant of what's going on, but you would think this would prompt, I dunno, more of a reaction from the public or lead to calls for more local sourcing. Which is really the issue with Krugman's piece, but I'm getting to that.]).

He also points out how the FDA seems powerless to really do all that much about agribusiness giants like ConAgra, who aren’t really required, it seems, to explain themselves when their products are suspected of contamination.

I’m not even going to get to the point of his piece here, because I think, what he’s really not getting, is that the reason his salad might be a “risky” lunch option is that he’s not getting any of it from a source he knows (and trusts, obviously) — doesn’t even know just where that lettuce came from (because nobody is required to tell us in this country). It might require a little more time on your part, but maybe, Mr. Krugman, you should think about getting your lettuce from the farmers’ market (directly from the people who grew it — they can even tell you how they did it and would probably love for you to see where your salad came from) or a CSA (ditto).

What’s most disturbing about your salad, Mr. Krugman, besides the fact that you don’t seem to know where it really came from, is that you don’t seem to care that you don’t know.

[Update: Irene notes that Krugman does make a good point about the FDA and the need for more regulation, and I don't disagree. However, he (and I and probably you, if you're reading this) can afford (on many levels) to make food choices that make this of less import.]

Funny, but I never declare anything. Not even bottarga. But then again, I can pull a very innocent face. It’s a wee asian thing.

Thanks, Gus, for the shout out.

Okay, technically, this is the second week I’ve seen strawberries at the Greenmarket, but today I managed to stop chowing down long enough on the quart of these I had at my desk to get this one down for posterity. They only get better from here.

– which means music!
[Namely: Arcade Fire's "Neon Bible." It does not disappoint, people. But even more importantly, having the good fortune to see them a couple weeks ago at the United Palace Theater reminded me just how fucking awesome they are. Goddamn do they know how to put on a show. And also: Modest Mouse's "We Were Dead Before the Ship Even Sank." "Dashboard" is, like, their best ska song ever. "Spitting Venom" is this album's "Bury Me With It" for me: perfect to knit to.]

and movies!
[Specifically: "Spiderman 3." Ugh. Blech. Retch. "The Ipcress Files": Michael Caine is THE COOLEST DUDE alive. "Triad Election": wow. You need to watch this. And "Election." "Hot Fuzz": dead-on, no punches pulled. I didn't laugh as hard as I'd anticipated, but I quite admire what they did. "I'm a cyborg, but that's OK": totally cracked out and utterly beautiful. "The Departed": riveting. "Infernal Affairs" is not, in my opinion, better necessarily. Different, I think, because of the nature of the setting and cultural context. "Steamboy": barely watchable. "Tokyo Godfathers": imbued with a cinematic realism that really tugs at you on multiple levels. (And speaking of Satoshi Kon, what do we think about "Paprika"? I, for one, cannot wait.) "Amores Perros": so, so brutal. Heart-rending. And that's the last 3 weeks in a nutshell, pretty much.]

and gastronomical delights!

I got sick of posting about Spring (hence the prolonged silence) and got rather hungry for it: garlic chive and pea shoot salad with lardons, sauteed oyster mushrooms, and chive blossoms (made by yours truly — the salad, not the flowers. that would be photosynthesis or something.) with an awesome pumpkinseed oil vinaigrette (courtesy of well-trained-from-an-early-age-in-emulsifying Justin).

Though Robert wanted to do his own celebration-of-Spring dinner, he bent to my wish for some offal: tripe, in the classic Italian style.

I’m still averaging two ice creams a week with the wunder-maschine: here, vanilla and mint. Which look awfully alike when they’re both made from custard base and without that sickly green food coloring. So far, I seem to have found the most success with the Guinness and mint flavors.

The fried prawn head from my omakase at Taro Sushi, my new favorite (and perhaps only worthy) neighborhood sushi joint.

I just got home from Flushing after a trip to the food court with my mom, who popped in this weekend and managed to drive me totally insane in just the few hours we spent together. But she made me realize that maybe, just maybe, this whole food thing may also be in some small part a way for me to actually be able to connect with her. Because regular ol’ talking sure doesn’t seem to work.

start with a trip to the bodega to pick up the paper, continue over a long, leisurely breakfast (sometimes biscuits, eggs, and bacon; today congee with pork sung and roasted eel with fermented black beans), and ultimately look like this:

I will never tire of Spring.

Busy day today: got up early and stopped by the Fort Greene Greenmarket. Got my window box together and put it on the fire escape. Walked to Prospect Park and lazed in the sun amongst child-bearing, frisbee-throwing aging hipsters and yuppies. Marvelled at the explosion of flora all over my borough. Made kumquat compote. Can’t wait for jam- and passata-making season to start.

But somehow the one package they’re all going to end up in is my stomach. There’s been a lot — and I mean A LOT — of intense eating going on over here. Maybe it’s the arrival of Spring and everyone’s coming out of hiding. Maybe we’re just really hungry. Whatever it is, it looks good.

Martha Stewart ain’t got nuthin’ on Allan. It’s like he was born frosting cupcakes.
Dinner at Brian’s looks like

Spring on a plate.

Any workplace that has “Eggstravaganza” themed lunches is the right place for me.

I really couldn’t help myself today. It was the sun blinding the sense out of me. It told me that I needed 5.65lbs of slab bacon for five months of bucatini all’amatriciana. And I concurred.

This is the freezer of a person with a serious eating disorder. We’ve got the 5.65lbs of slab bacon, broken down into four slightly more manageable porcine chunks. There’s the portion of pork belly I picked up today as well (Tamarack Hollow Farms loves me right now), the best English muffins (Bays), Daisy’s sourdough from Clear Flour (the best bakery in the Boston area), plus five different kinds of ice cream (Ronnybrook butter pecan, Toscanini’s banana sorbet and basil ice cream, handcarried from Boston) — two of which I made (cinnamon and Guinness, both from Sunday Suppers at Lucques). Those are totally not my frozen waffles, by the way. Not pictured: kimchi dumplings.

Mom, you’re the bestest. Clementines and kumquats from Uncle Jack’s backyard in Pomona. This is when I desperately wish I lived in California. Also because it’s still sub-70 degrees here. It’s May, fer chrissakes.