Popping my macaron: Madeleine Patisserie, Bouchon Bakery

I'd never had a French macaron before, but had been reading about them forever. People seemed to be nuts for these airy, pastel-colored sweets, but I still had no idea what they tasted like. It's not that I didn't have access to macarons; they're sold in many places, but I wanted my first experience to be…perfect. So unless I was in a bakery where I knew someone else had deemed them worthy, I always passed them by.

However, when I met GQ for coffee at Madeleine Patisserie one afternoon and she started exclaiming over the macaron display, I gave in. They looked tasty for sure, winking up from the display case in their jewel-like glory. She chose crème de cassis, I chose pistachio, and we took them outside with our cups of coffee and settled ourselves on a bench to dig in.


And they were delicious. I know I'm just a newbie, but without anything to compare them to, these were some damn fine macarons. Each bite of the light, chewy cookies gave way to a buttery-soft creme filling. They were moist and dense and just sweet enough. The only quibble I'd have is with the flavoring: while I could taste the floral, nutty flavor of almonds, I couldn't taste much pistachio or blackberry. Really though, I didn't even care—I liked them just fine.

Several weeks later I was with TL in the Time Warner Center, and I dropped in at Bouchon Bakery to check out their macarons. Theirs are ones that I have heard about, and after sampling Madeleine Patisserie's, I was eager to see how my first ones had compared.

I bought two for us to share, but for various reasons TL and I didn't get to sample them until a day or two later (so they could have been a bit stale, though they seemed okay). I wasn't as into the "Fruits of the Forest" flavor, which had a hard, jellyish filling that seemed to detract from the sensation of biting into soft cookie with soft filling. But the other one was divine—and unfortunately I can't remember what flavor it was! I do remember a sweet, jammy filling; I want to say passionfruit but I don't want to mislead anyone. But yeah. If you see that macaron above: get it.

Now I know the allure of the macaron…and how some have been driven to obsession over them. Overall I think I liked Madeleine Patisserie's macaron's better, but I wonder if it was also the magic of my initial taste. Because you know, there's just nothing like the first time….

To market, to market: Westville East

For simple, fresh food, Westville is the place to go, but though I'd eaten at the original Westville several years back and liked it a lot, its small size had always made it tricky to suggest it for meals and I hadn't returned since.

Westville East to the rescue. With nearly triple the amount of seats as the original, BH and I managed to get a seat in no time. It's still not huge, but it can certainly accommodate more diners than their eighteen-seat West Village location.

One of the notable features of this restaurant is their offering of "The Westville Market," which is a daily listing of seasonal fresh vegetable sides. For five bucks you can choose one, or for thirteen you can choose four, the latter being what BH and I decided to share as one of our two entrees.

Above: cauliflower dijonaisse; brussel sprouts with honey dijon; Asian style bok choy; lemon grilled asparagus with parmesan. It's been a while since this meal, but I do remember especially liking the cauliflower and the sprouts. The only bummer was the "Asian-style" bok choy, which had been overwhelmed by a too-liberal dousing of soy sauce.

One half of the "cast-iron" turkey burger, which we requested with sweet potato fries. This was a generously sized burger, paired with pickles and tomatoes on a slightly sweet Portuguese muffin. The burger was juicy and flavorful, and the pile of fries deliciously crisp, too. For a turkey burger, it might be one of the best I've ever had.

Westville East had a tempting menu of desserts, too, but BH and I were happy after our veggie plate and turkey burger and opted to hit up a nearby bar for a beer instead, feeling quite virtuous after our hearty and semi-healthy meal.

Pio Pio: Roasted chicken for giant appetites

Note: I am in Fort Collins now and no longer in New York City, but though the Colorado posts will definitely follow, I'm going to continue with the backlog of New York posts for now….

One afternoon several months ago, RL came online and began raving about the meal she had eaten at Pio Pio, putting the place once again on my radar. It wasn't the first time I had heard of the Peruvian restaurant—BH and I had also attempted to go before (and never made it) and even before that, I had been hearing about the chicken at the various locations of Pio Pio for years. Specifically, the thirty-dollar Matador Combo: a whole roasted chicken accompanied by rice and beans, tostones, salchipapa, and an avocado salad. That's what had inspired RL to her ravings, and I wanted in.

So last month, with GQ in town and RL and I trying to figure out where to take her for dinner, Pio Pio seemed like the perfect choice. At the Murray Hill location (home of the world's surliest waiter) we started with a pitcher of sangria, too syrupy for my tastes and nearly without fruit, but sweet-toothed GQ seemed to enjoy it.

Before we get to the Matador Combo, let's talk jalea. Misled by RL's assurance that ordering both the combo and another item wouldn't be too much for three people, I added on an order for jalea, described on the menu as "typical Peruvian seafood platter topped with an onion and tomato lime sauce." I was completely bowled over when the above plate came out—not only was the entire damn thing deep fried (I had been expecting something more like ceviche), but that was the small size! I cannot even imagine how big the large size would have been.

And then the rest of it came out….


Tostones, avocado salad, salchipapa, rice and beans. It was all a little bit nuts. The fried green plaintains were huge, the fries and fried hot dogs were huge, all of it was huge. Including the chicken:

Yeah. I could barely hide my shock over how badly we had misjudged the portion sizes.

But so? you're thinking. How was it?

In a word, awesome. The jalea, a good mix of fish and seafood though heavy on the shrimp and squid, was really well fried and paired perfectly with the vinegary red onions scattered on top. The chicken was extremely flavorful and juicy as hell, and had a nice crisp skin. And the sides, aside from the tostones (which were dry and hard) made excellent companions.

We couldn't finish everything, of course, and the tragedy is that fried food never keeps very well. So though we ate what we could and took whatever we couldn't finish home, the leftover seafood and fries eventually went into the bin. So here's the lesson: go to Pio Pio, order the Matador Combo and the jalea, but come prepared with a huge appetite—or several other people!

I'm here, I'm here

Yes. I made it to Fort Collins, and have been here for several days now trying to get settled in. I flew in with two suitcases and a backpack, and on the way managed to get a free round-trip ticket to anywhere in the US by volunteering to give up my seat for one on a flight an hour later. And though it took some huffing and puffing, I still made my originally scheduled shuttle bus which would take me from the Denver airport to campus. Score.

On my first and second day here CH was nice enough to take me grocery shopping, both at King Soopers (a local supermarket) and at a huge Vietnamese grocery an hour away in Denver, followed by a massive trip to Target for apartment needs. My place had come furnished, thankfully, but was still missing all the little things: the lamps, the bathmats, the shoe racks, the bowls and plates. I think I blew nearly 250 bucks on groceries and about 400 at Target…brutal but necessary, I suppose.

I did pretty well though, don't you think? Since I don't have a car, I figured I should stock up on as much as I could while someone was driving. So now I've got rice, and noodles, and sauces and snacks and pickley things, and a whole bunch of whatever else caught my eye that day. I've got eggs and produce in the fridge and another cabinet full of condiments. I just hope I can make everything last.

Because honestly, I don't fancy the walk needed to make it to the nearest supermarket. I tried it a few days ago and it's about 1.5 miles, mostly on this road above…gone are the days of popping into a bodega for a lime, an onion. The walk is alright once or twice for novelty, but until I get myself a bike (soon) I don't think I'll go for it again. And who knows when I'll make it into Denver again for the Asian goods?

What I've been eating for lunch these days: fried eggs with oyster sauce over rice. There's some cut-up broccoli hidden under there.

So I'm thinking that the nature of my posts is going to be quite different. Lots more home cooking, far less eating out. Which is all well and good I suppose, since I was getting just a wee bit indulgent with restaurant-hopping in NYC. I've still got a backlog of posts which I'll finish up, but after that…we'll see what this graduate student life holds in store for me.

Bahhston, part 2: Taiwan Cafe

Catch up here! Bahhston, part 1: Pho Hoa, No Name, Finale

There's no better way to start off a day, I think, than with a Taiwanese-style breakfast. TL and I, after waking up the next morning, headed once again over to Boston's Chinatown area, this time for a savory meal of Formosa's classics at Taiwan Cafe.

Above, a bowl of sweet soy milk, a bowl of salty soy milk (with chunks of fried cruller floating on top), two flaky, pork-filled buns, and a large mantou filled with lettuce and cold slices of five-spice marinated beef. Thumbs up on the pork buns, but the beef-filled mantou was a mistake: too much bread and much too dry; nearly flavorless until I added hot sauce. The salty soy milk was good, flavorful and just a little bit spicy. Typically people ask for a whole cruller alongside and tear off large pieces to dunk in it, but I didn't order one as we also had a few other items.

Above is an egg pancake, which I try to order whenever I see it. In most cases it's something like a scallion pancake that has a layer of beaten egg adhered to one side; you eat it rolled up and cut into pieces. I love the chewiness of the pancake paired with the fried egg, and I always douse the thing with some Sriracha if I can get my hands on it. This version was just okay.

I am aware that it looks like a bun threw up here. But if you can get past that idea, you can see the dish for what it is: pieces of meltingly tender braised pork belly scattered with chopped pickled mustard leaves, sugar, and crushed peanuts, all tucked into a soft and fluffy steamed bun. It sounds weird, I know. But the combination is actually quite delicious.


Stuffed (to the gills—geddit?) with Taiwanese food, we hung out at the New England Aquarium for a few hours before heading to the bus terminal to catch our ride back to NYC.

The bus station was chaotic, packed with all the people heading out at the end of the weekend. It was a minor miracle that TL and I still managed to get seats together, which I'm sure he must have regretted once I ate one of the leftover pork buns from Taiwan Cafe, not realizing until too late that its fragrance was basically wafting over the entire back area of the bus.

Whoops…well, at least I hadn't tried to eat any stinky tofu, right?

Bahhston, part 1: Pho Hoa, No Name, Finale

The next morning after our ill-fated adventures at the Long Island City piers, TL and I woke up early to hop on a Fung Wah bus to Boston. Just several days earlier we had made the spontaneous decision to head there for the long weekend, and both of us were looking forward to getting away from the hubbub of NYC for a few days.

On the way up, we had a few roast pork buns from Tai Pan Bakery. But by the time the four-hour bus ride ended and we got to our hotel we were starving, so we quickly dropped off our bags and headed right out again in search of food. Wandering around, we moseyed right into Boston's Chinatown.

At Pho Hoa TL and I split an order of spring rolls, and he ordered a bowl of phở while I opted for the bún chả, cold rice vermicelli paired with grilled pork meatballs, sprouts and veg, and fish sauce. Bún and phở are my two fallback dishes in Vietnamese restaurants; they're generally the ones by which I judge a place. Here, the noodles in the bún chả were broken and unsatisfyingly short, making me feel like I was eating some kind of thin and slippery rice. But when I bit into one of the hefty meatballs and its sweet, smoky, porky flavor filled my mouth, that almost made up for it. There were quite a lot in my bowl, too, eight instead of the more common four or five.

After lunch TL and I spent the afternoon wandering around—he had never been to Boston, and while I had visited several times before, I hadn't seen all of it, either.

Bostonians are much more whimsically patriotic; we came upon this group while walking around near Boston Common, and were tickled when we entered a graveyard and found an entire ensemble of musicians in full 18th century gear playing marching tunes.

And later, just outside Quincy Market, a whole friggin' orchestra was playing.

The last few times I had come to Boston I had eaten at No Name, a solid, unpretentious place on the waterfront—mainly for the opportunity to eat platters of fried whole-belly clams for cheap. Tucked away in the Seaport District, its dining room is a cavernous, wood-paneled affair with paper placemats and paper cups of water that can be refilled from the pitchers on each table. The food is basic and without frills, and I had never thought of it as a popular spot. But when we arrived for dinner, I was shocked to find a long line of people snaking out the door. We had to wait for about half an hour before we were seated.

I come for the fried clams, but their fish chowder is a must. The thin, milky surface of the chowder is deceptive: beneath it hides an iceberg of fresh, flaky chunks of firm white fish, whatever is their catch of the day. The briny, un-thickened broth is swirled with dots of butter, and the fish is tender. A cup is almost a meal and a bowl will do you in entirely.

The last several times I had eaten here, the fried clam bellies had been sweet, plump, and perfectly fried. Unfortunately, not so on this night. The clams in both my clam roll and TL's fried clam platter bordered on soggy and seemed to be filled with more black gunk than usual. They were still plentiful and cheap at about ten bucks for the clam roll and seventeen for the platter, but quantity just didn't quite make up for quality this time. It may be that I'll have to retire this place.

Since we still had the Zip Car we had rented for a few more hours, we decided to drive over to Cambridge for dessert at Finale, a random choice. The place could have been a Cosi that specialized in dessert; not in a bad way, just in a pseudo-warm yet chain kind of way. Our tiramisu was served with some fancy touches, like pistachio tuiles and coffee-flavored gelee dolloped inside a curl of chocolate. Not too sweet and well prepared.

It was a nice, peaceful end to a busy day. And all too soon—tommorow—we would be heading home.

Next: Bahhston, part 2: Taiwan Cafe

Kimbap and calamari on the Fourth of July

On the Fourth of July (yes I am behind) a bunch of us decided that after three years of talking about it, we would try to catch the fireworks from the Long Island City piers, reportedly one of the best spots available. RT had gone the first year he had moved to New York, and described the view as being amazing. "They look like they're falling on your head," were his words. Year after year we had foregone the piers in favor of something else, but this year, it was time.

We arrived early to stake out a spot, which was unusually good planning on our end as later on the piers were closed to keep from overcrowding. Only with bracelets could we come back in and out.

For food, we picnicked Asian style: with a huge load of kimbap that GQ and JL went to pick up in Flushing beforehand (the above is only some of the spread). We also brought hummus, grapes, crackers, and a giant tub of cut-up watermelon. I don't know where they got it from, but the kimbap was pretty damn good, with the spicy tuna version (bottom) being the best.

Unfortunately the weather wasn't very cooperative that day, and soon after we ate the first clouds started rolling in. As the sky darkened around us and the drops started falling, the eleven of us packed up our food and cuddled up against one another under umbrellas. The rain came and went, never pouring, but never quite stopping, either. If it hadn't been so warm out still, we might never have stuck it out.

Four hours and two games of Mafia later, the fireworks began. And this was our magnificent view:

I shit you not. Unannounced to practically everyone, the fireworks this year had shifted forty blocks south in order to better showcase the New York City skyline. The hundreds of people standing on the piers clearly had no idea; we certainly didn't. And after everyone had waited for so many hours in the rain, let's just say that after our inital shock there was some slight bitterness around.

All was not lost, however. After shuffling through the hoards of people leaving the piers after the show ended, we ducked into Jackson Avenue Steak House for some drinks and a break, where plates of calamari—salty, hot, and crisp; tender and greaseless; and paired with a perfect, chunky, clearly house-made marinara—made practically everyone happy. It wasn't fireworks, but for hungry people on a rainy, frustrating day, it was pretty spectacular.