My New Toy: A Photoessay

Grown-ups get to have toys too. They may or may not be of the stuffed animal variety, but they always reflect the spirit of their owner. They are never what you need, only what you want. Grown-up toys can range from huge (car or motorbike) to small (iPhone - I reeeaaally want one). They are frivolous and fun and make life more interesting. You don't need a very good reason for wanting them - that's the good part about being a grown up.

Since I am pretending to be a grown-up, I figured it's alright to buy a completely excessive and partially superfluous toy. I am going to try to take the blog and the restaurant reviews up a notch. My point-and-shoot camera was really not cutting it for me. I have had to physically restrain myself from throwing it against a wall on numerous occasions. Its limitations would take a year to list. I couldn't take it any more. I thought about it for months on end, yearned for it for longer still, took a deep breath, spent a week online, and bought a Nikon D70s, the pet of food bloggers the world over.

I love and despise my new camera all at the same time. I love how fast it is, both in powering up and in getting ready for the next shot - it's practically instantaneous. It is, however, willful and a lot smarter than I am. Every once in a while it refuses to do its job, to take pictures when asked to - this is likely due to the fact that I need a second PhD before I figure out even a tenth of the settings.

The following are a few shots that I have generated with my new toy and time sink. They are still rough, but I will get there, eventually.

Edible:

Fresh strawberries, picked by yours truly at a farm in Northern Mass. These berries in no way resembled the styrofoam pellets on sale at local supermarkets. They were small, sweet juice bombs - one would have to have superhero levels of self control not to eat them all in one go.

Chocolate chip cookies, in progress

Pasta with green beans and hot Italian chicken sausage, recipe to follow


Non-edible:


Chicken wire

Next up on the toy roster: a faster lens. This will allow me to take pictures in low light (restaurants) and should greatly help in lowering my blood pressure (not to mention frustration level).

Bartender Andy

Next to eating, drinking is a favorite pastime of mine. It seemed only logical I should talk to a bartender and learn a little more about the thing that I love so dearly.

Meet Bartender Andy. He is a (most excellent and wonderfully nice) bartender at Eastern Standard (one of my all-time favorites) who used to work at the B-Side (yet another favorite). Andy let me have a glimpse of restaurant life and told me what bartenders drink, both before and after a hangover.

Thank you so very much, Andy, for taking the time to chat. It was great fun.


SND : How does one get a job as a bar tender? What’s the process?
BA : I get a lot of guests who ask me “Did you go to bar tending school?” No I didn’t. I think the best experience is bar backing. I was lucky enough to have the opportunity to bar back at the B-Side. People tell me they want to be a bar tender and they say “Oh I am going to bar tending school” and I say don’t do that, because people will laugh at you.

SND : Do you ever drink while on the shift?
BA : I have definitely had a drink while working before, but you don’t want to get drunk while you’re working. I mean, it’s not like Coyote Ugly. You figure out pretty quickly that you can’t get wasted all the time while you’re working. It’s not very productive.

SND : I would be an alcoholic if I worked at a bar.
BA : [Complete silence… guess it’s just me then.]

SND : Do you eye how much you’re pouring? How do you do it?
BA : Mostly we use jiggers, for consistency’s sake. If I make you a cosmo on a Monday and you come in on a Thursday and [someone else] makes it, it’s going to taste the same. Consistency is a big part of cocktails, an important part, definitely. If I had a bar I would definitely use jiggers… and no Bloody Mary’s past five o’clock. It’s my bartender pet peeve.

SND : Why is that you get a can get a regular Grey Goose martini, slightly dirty, and it tastes so good but you order it somewhere else and it tastes like ___. What is the difference?
BA : They probably out too much olive brine in, maybe they shake it and not stir it. You should always stir. One of the first things that Pat Sullivan, the owner of the B-Side, told me is that if it’s all liquor you stir it, if there is any juice or syrup in it you can shake it. Stirring the ice doesn’t let it melt as fast [as when you shake it], it doesn’t chip. If you ever get a shaken martini you will notice there is a layer of little ice chips at the top, which a lot of people are into and like.

SND : You don’t have Jager at Eastern Standard?
BA : No we have Fernet-Branca, Jagersmeister for grown ups. It’s an Italian digestif. If you go to a bar and they have Fernet-Branca, you know you are in a pretty decent bar. I think it’s the best thing to happen to alcohol since bourbon. It’s amazing. It’s a secret blend of over 100 herbs and bitters. Most digestifs, liquors and cordials are 35 - 40 proof, this one is 80. It’s an amazing blend of flavors and probably the best hangover cure I have ever found, and the best after dinner drink, ever. The first time I had it I thought it tasted horrible, but after two or three times you pick up all these subtle flavors in it like liquorish, mint, and tart berries. As far as staff drinks, it’s the most consumed drink at Eastern Standard.

Editorial note: I have tried Fernet-Branca. It may take me more than two or three tries to stop wishing for death immediately after swallowing it.

SND : Does it mess with your day to work so late at night? Are you completely nocturnal?
BA : Yea, pretty much. We work pretty long shifts, 3 or 4 till 3 or 4 in the morning. I think most people who work in restaurants are pretty nocturnal. It’s the nature of the beast. We all work a lot but it’s worth it. I don’t want to sound like a cliché but it is like a big family. It’s a massive staff and it’s a big place, it’s really intense, and it’s a lot of fun. It’s a restaurant job and anyone that has done it knows, there is a certain fraternity. You want to pull your hair out sometimes but the same time, some of the best moments I have had were working with people behind the bar or at a restaurant, or not even working, just hanging out with the people. You develop a certain bond. It’s a lot of fun.

SND : I really want to quit my job now.

Lab Gourmet

Technically, this post is cheating, a shortcut. It is the product of cross-pollination (or cross-contamination?) of two blogs. I recently wrote a food-centric post for my science-y blog and I think it may fit well here. You are about to get a glimpse of the true depths of my dork-hood.



I spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about food. Eating food, cooking food, foraging for food, reading and writing about food are always at the front of my mind. I consider going to restaurants a full-blown hobby (and a most excellent occupation). Since I spend the majority of my waking hours in a laboratory, a lot of my food day dreaming has no choice but take place in a lab. Many may be disturbed by the combination of lab and food. In reality, labs are full of edibles – you just have to look closely to find them.

- The most obvious lab food items are seaweed extracts such as agar and sodium alginate. The former is prized by vegans as an animal product-free Jell-O alternative, while the latter has been elevated to new heights by Ferran Adria, chef of El Bulli, one of the best-known restaurants in the world. Adria uses sodium alginate to create liquid pea ravioli, in which a thin membrane encloses a sphere of bright green pea soup. The bubble bursts in the mouth, releasing the soup and all of its glorious flavor in one big gush.

- We use 5% milk to block Western blots. It is ordinary, reconstituted non-fat dried milk, whatever brand happens to be sold in bulk at Costco. Milk in itself is not terribly appealing, however, one of the labs I rotated in used autoclaved milk for storing HSV plaque picks (why, I have absolutely no idea). Autoclaving milk turns it a beautiful light caramel color. Does autoclaved milk taste slightly bitter and sweet, like burnt sugar, or is it simply burnt? I had to exhibit considerable self control not to tip some out into my cupped hand and try a sip. I would have done, if it wasn’t for the disgusted and perplexed stares shot my way when I mentioned it.

- Bottles of ultra pure PCR-grade water line a shelf in my lab. Would be the best, cleanest and crispest tasting water of all time, putting Poland Spring and Evian to shame? Likely not since its deionized, but it calls to me nonetheless.

- I, on multiple occasions, have gazed longingly at a giant jug of purified caffeine sitting on the dry chemical shelf. Enough said.

That’s all I can think of at the moment. Have I missed anything? What other food-related items are found in labs? I promise not to tell the radioactivity surveyor.

Alien Invasion

Aren’t lychees weird? File them under “I didn’t know they actually exist.” The first time I tasted a lychee was in the context of booze, appropriately enough – a lychee martini at Bond St in New York. It was sickly sweet and strangely cologne-like. There was a very odd perfumed edge to the drink that I attributed to the lychee canning process. I was wrong. That edge is the nature of the lychee, the most alien-looking thing I have consumed in recent memory.


I recently let my curiosity get the best of me at Whole Foods and grabbed a box of fresh lychees. Lychees are fruit technically, but resemble fleshy nuts more than anything else (to my fevered imagination, in any case). Peeling back the thin and spiky red skin reveals what resembles a large alien eyeball. Fear not, that’s the edible part. Under about 5 millimeters of translucent white eyeball flesh lies a large and shiny brown seed, it looks like an elongated marble. To eat the lychee, one has to suck the flesh off the seed, making alien slurping noises in the process (perhaps that was just me).



Lychees taste like perfume, intensely floral and cloying, very much unlike anything else I have tried. It felt almost illicit to eat, like it couldn’t possibly be a natural product and not horrifically bad for me, pickling me from the inside out like many artificially flavored foods do (this is not a medical opinion, by the way). So there you go – a natural fruit that looks alien and tastes like fake candy… in a good way.









P.S. A germinating lychee seed looks remarkably sperm-like, doesn’t it? I cannot possibly be the only one to think this. Please tell me I am not the only one.

Going Underground

I started school in the 5th grade when I came to the States. I was never the cool kid. This may be an understatement. Where do I even start… I had a perm (why lord, why), braces, glasses, and absolutely no idea of what kids are supposed to wear. Oh yes, there was also that pesky Russian accent and difficulty understanding humor, sarcasm, and idioms.

I came a relatively long way in a few years. I lost the accent, outlived the braces, grew out the perm, got contacts… things were looking up. I figured out that shopping only at thrift stores made me interesting and alternateen (it also irritated my mother to no end, unfortunately) and that being funny and sarcastic was way easier than being open and nice. I mastered sarcasm, bleached hair, and torn jeans. By the time I was ready to graduate high school I was voted most sarcastic in my class, infuriating my poor mother once again.

It was around this time that I thoroughly stopped caring about whether or not people considered me cool. It helped that there weren’t really cool kids in my school. We were all dorks in equal measure. There were kids who thought they were cool, but mostly they were just drunk and slutty and no one cared about them.

I am now ten years out of high school (and trying not to hyperventilate). There is no longer such a thing as cool kids. We are all on an even playing field, no one is better or worse (although some have clear asshole tendencies). Except me. I am cool, now more than ever. Why? My friend Maiya and I raided the food underground, an emerging species of restaurant - a supper club run by fellow (but far superior) food bloggers out of their own home.

Love and Butter has the air of a speakeasy, full of secrecy and quiet planning. The weekly menu is posted online, inspired by what’s in season, locally grown, or simply great to eat. The address is sent out shortly before the dinner, the attendants are limited to 6-8, you bring your own booze, sit with strangers and eat really good food made with copious amounts of attention, care, and time. They make the food just for you, taking as much time as it requires. The monetary compensation asked for is absurd. I don’t see how it could even cover the cost of the high quality ingredients used to prepare the meal. The supper club cannot possibly be for profit. It has to be for the love of food. And that, people, is cool.

Maiya and I attended the first lunch put on by the wonderful L&B folks. We sat on the patio on the most beautiful Boston day is recent memory – perfect mid 70s, blue sky, tons of sunshine and trees for shade. Everything was so well thought out, treated with much respect and care. Fresh dense bread and butter waited on the table, along with fresh zucchini heavily salted and spiced with cumin and other things I could not identify.

Shredded radicchio with white beans - bitter, slightly sour, the beans were little soft packets infused with herb and stock flavor; melted leeks in a mustard vinaigrette. It's too bad there were people watching me - I could have eaten all the sweet, soft leeks on the table.



Chicken is boring, boring and ordinary. Love and Butter chicken, however, was most memorable - with herbs and garlic stuffed under the crispy skin, it was some of the most moist chicken I have ever had (brined before roasting? Forgot to ask). Served with a salad of supremely fresh mixed greens with large crystals of salt and linguine dressed with chicken juice. [Never thought that would sound appetizing. Chicken juice…]


Spot of dessert – deep fried ripe peaches with marjoram.

Mead sorbet (sounds remarkably like MEAT sorbet when said aloud – even I didn’t think that sounded good), and addictive, crispy butter cookies that were more butter than cookie (picture at head of post).

Next time (oh there will be a next time) I hope to bother the hosts a little more, get to ask more questions, figure out why they do what they do and how they see it evolving. Right now I am just happy knowing something others do not – I have a way into the food underground, where all the cool kids hang out.


P.S. I pleaded to be let into the kitchen to help out whenever they needed a hand. Somehow, I don't think I am cool enough. It's never going to happen.

Hasn't Gotten Old Yet

Not for me, anyway. New set of restaurant reviews are up on Nature Network Boston. I am really happy with this set, although I have to say I wish they would let me leave a couple of jokes in. Sheesh. You would think dining out is a very serious matter. It's not. It's fun.