I don’t consider myself a baker, at all.  Hence the lack of urgency to get an oven.  And, minding my figure, the last thing that I need to know is how to make cakes.  But, All Cakes Considered shows that one doesn not need to bake one’s cake and eat it too.

The beauty, and charm, of Melissa Gray’s All Cakes Considered is that it derives from baking a cake for her co-workers at NPR’s All Things Considered for a year.  Culling recipes from relatives and cookbooks old and new, there is a range of cakes for 50 weeks.  A learning process for the author, her instructions are clear and easy.  Makes me want to be the most popular person in my office.

After going to Buenos Aires, a fantastic Thanksgiving, and the incredible Ko, I’ve come back to earth to start cooking from my hoarder file again.  I realized that I have cooked from Gourmet, only the recipes come from Epicurious, not the magazine.  I almost feel like I have blood on my hands, aiding in the print edition’s demise by drawing from the web.  But, it’s just so convenient.  Search for a recipe via an ingredient, such as celery, and voila!  You can hang on to it for three years and not even know that you have it, or remember printing it out.

I’m always looking for ways to use up a bundle of celery, this Celery, Sesame and Tofu Salad from the June 2006 issue of Gourmet, looked like a fresh alternative.  Finely sliced celery and thin strips of tofu in a sesame vinaigrette, what’s not to like?  I just wish that I liked it more.  It had no tooth, no traction, kind of bland.  Maybe it was the lack of flavoring, or the rawness of the tofu and celery which didn’t quite integrate.  A quick saute with a little black bean sauce, and I had it where I liked it.  Not so much a salad, but an improvement.

By luck, happenstance and good fortune, a friend scored a reservation a Momofuku Ko, and I got to go.  The whole process of the reservation – having an account, logging on at 10am on the dot, refresh, refresh, refresh – is so much more annoying than a simple phone call.  It’s enough to turn me off completely.  But I didn’t have to do the heavy lifting this time, and after the divine meal, I would refresh until my fingers go numb.

The limited capacity of Ko, steps up the game tremendously.  Effortless courteous service and a calm, grown up nature is a departure from the chaotic Noodle Bar and Ssam.  Sitting at the bar and having the food explained in front of your face, made you feel included and pampered.  Our menu to the best of our collective memory:

-2 chiccharons, black pepper biscuit, a spoonful of soft tofu with burnt applesauce

-cube of fried cheese served on top of pickled cauliflower

-fluke with spicy buttermilk and poppy seeds

-spanish mackerel with yuzu and rice cracker beads

-oxtail consomme with carmelized onion and oxtail dumplings made of daikon skin

-smoked poached egg with caviar and fingerling potato chips

-hand torn pasta with snail sausage and shattered chicken skin

-fried monkfish in a spicy fennel soup with uni

-shaved foie gras over lychee gelee and peanut brittle

-duck breast w/braised daikon, chinese mustard greens and pumpernickel dust with duck leg pate

-spiced white wine sorbet with asian pear

-goat milk cheesecake with butternut squash sorbet, dried cranberries and crushed pumpkin seeds

There’s no denying the innovative combinations and textures – the interplay of east and west, spicy and sweet, smooth and crunchy, high and low brow.  Never a dull moment for three hours, the chefs fielded questions, down to “what are you squirting on the plates and wiping off?”.  Answer:  vodka.  It degreases the plates and is fit for human consumption.  As a testament to its foodie cred, there were singleton diners, happy to dine alone for the experience.  It’s worth the hype. 

Momofuku Ko

163 First Avenue, between 10th and 11th Streets

www.momofuku.com

Shopping for others, presents the problem of shopping for oneself.   In my Christmas recon, I stopped at Crate and Barrel to replace a foil cutter that I broke at a friend’s.  Not only did I get the replacement foil cutter for her, but I got an oven thermometer, a dish sponge, and a reversible measuring spoon for myself.  All needed in one respect or another.  With Christmas soon arriving, I will need an oven thermometer in Santa’s workshop given that the oven temperature seems off.  The dish sponge at Crate and Barrel is superior to any other sponge that I’ve tried recently.  I can always use extra measuring spoons, so what’s better than one that serves as four?  

The neato factor exceeds my true need for the item which has silicone cups on each end that pop in and out to halve its volume for multiple measurements.  Given the yield of three presents for me to one present for another, Santa should be under house arrest.

Saving forward has allowed me to go on vacation without guilt.  I’ve been wanting to go to Buenos Aires for some time, and now I could afford to.  It didn’t hurt that it’s one of the few places whose currency is weaker than the dollar.  Without getting to long and flower-y, here is my hit parade:

-empanadas – as the de facto grab and go snack, they are outstanding everywhere – freshly burnished from the wood oven at Cumana, hocked by wandering vendors like cigarette girls at the San Telmo Feria, beautifully displayed to be quickly consumed at Confiteria Quebec.  I would know, I had one almost every day.

Cumana, 1149 Rodriguez Pena, Recoleta

San Telmo Feria, at Plaza Dorrega, San Telmo, Sundays only

Confiteria Quebec, 1202 Avenida Callao, Recoleta

-alfajores – essentially a sandwich cookie with dulce de leche in the middle, it beats Oreos by a mile.  Varying from soft and cake-like to crisp and buttery to thin and wafer-y, I liked them all.  I, also, had one a day.

-caffe con leche – didn’t have a bad one.  Ever.

-lomo!  lomo!  lomo! – I couldn’t help myself.  The sirloin cut proved irresistible and oh so cheap, crunchy char on the outside, juicy (and bloody) on the inside.  Greed has a name called lomo.

Juana M., 1535 Carlos Pellegrini, Retiro

Parrilla Pena, 682 Rodriguez Pena, Tribunales 

-pizza – I have room in my heart for both New York and Argentinian pizza.  My stink pie – half roquefort, half anchovies – was divine on a crisp pillow-y crust.  Especially in a place as untouched as El Cuartito.

El Cuartito, 937 Talcahuano, Recoleta

-choripan – how can I not love a sandwich that has sausage, lettuce, tomato, a fried egg, and chimichurri?  Better yet, when it’s had a stand by the river.

Mama Baker, Calabria and Padre Migone, Costunera Sur

-finger sandwiches – when I wasn’t eating empanadas on the run, I would have these ultra thin sandwiches on tissue-thin crustless bread.  The man-sized tea sandwich practically melt in your mouth.

-malbec – so good, so cheap, I’m a fan.

-chimichurri – the chunky parsley pesto makes the good (lomo), even better.   I could drink it.

-dulce de leche – okay, it got a brief nod in the alfajores, but it deserves its own shout out.   What peanut butter is to America, dulce de leche is to Argentina.  Grocery store aisles are filled with jars, row after row.  I brought back El Salamandra for a mere pittance.  Along with so much more to weigh down my luggage.

I can have a taste of Argentina any time, but I’d be happy to go back.

With my stringent budget, I’ve killed off the balance of another credit, leaving one big card to go.  It’s taken five months since the first card died, and it’ll take many more to rid myself of the last card, at least another year.  I’m relieved, and quite proud of myself, but I’m starting to feel antsy.  I want to spend, spend, spend!  But isn’t that how I got here in the first place?

I’ve recalculated my budget to see if there was any wiggle room, barely.  Given the guidelines of the 60% plan, which has been working for me this year, I should only spend $150 a week (in cash!), save $75 for unexpected expenses, and use everything else for expenses and debt.  I should set aside 10% in a Roth for the long term expenses – a point further emphasized by Suze Orman (yes, I read her book in a weekend) – but it’s more important to pay off the last card as quickly as possible.  At most, I could probably spare $25/week, which I’d put in the unexpected expenses pot for vacations and the upcoming holidays.   Here’s to a little more fun in my life, and a lot less debt!  I’m going on vacation!

Pulling out a Mark Bittman article from the January 19, 2005 New York Times, there were three healthy eating recipes in the piece, one of which was crossed out.  I guess that I had tried the Lentils with Bulgur and Herb Salad and didn’t like it.  No need to try it again, leaving me to wonder if I would like the Whole-Grain Crostini with Beans and Greens and the Vietnamese Stir-Fried Vegetables with Chicken or Shrimp.  There’s only one way to find out.

The Beans and Greens has all the things that I like, how could I go wrong?  White beans sauteed with greens, onion, garlic, and sage would appear to be a no brainer.  As much as I wanted to follow the recipe faithfully, I substituted kale for spinach since I already had it.  I boiled the kale to get it to the point where it could have a quick sautee with the alliums and beans, like the spinach would have been.   I resisted the temptation to add crushed red pepper or lemon, thinking that it would overwhelm the sage.  The result was pasty and bland, did the spinach make that much of a difference?  My guess is not, so at this point, I needed to make it into what I like, not what it was a meant to be.  In goes a 15-oz. can of tomatoes for tanginess, 1/4t crushed red pepper for spice, and 1/4 cup parmesan cheese for richness.  It’s a completely different dish, but now we’re talking, and liking.

With two strikes, I dreaded the third recipe in the bunch, wondering if it too would be a dud.  The stir-fry was sparse – garlic, no ginger, fish sauce, and black pepper.  I followed it religiously, including stir-frying the broccoli, carrots, and snow peas separately, which enveloped my apartment in a fog of smoke.  Staring at the humble yet colorful heap, I wondered how good it could possibly be.  Very good.  The black pepper shined through, even though it wasn’t drenched in sauce.  The attention paid to each vegetable grouping paid off, being crisp yet tender.  A home run.

I think that when I originally saved this recipe in 2001, I had only read the ingredients and not the directions.  Jeremiah Tower’s Fish Paillard with Ginger, Garlic and Tomatoes from the April 18, 2001 (!) New York Times, has all the components that I like, and way too much of what I love – butter.  Reading the recipe now, what is intriguing is that the fish is barely cooked.  Thinly pounded, sushi-quality fish is placed on an oven hot plate, and then covered in a hot butter sauce.  The fish stays tender and juicy, never to dry out in its butter bath.  It’s crazy good, but hardly healthy, especially when I want to sop up every bit of sauce with a chunk of bread.  

Since sushi-quality fish is required, because it never fully cooks, I imagine that it’s a good way to use up leftover sushi.  A light pounding to make the filets thinner, and it’s practically done.  Subsequently, as a leftover itself, the dish is great a day later, zapped in the microwave for a minute.  In other words, it’s good cooked too.

When I step into Henry Public, I picture myself as a working girl in the 40s, celebrating the end of an arduous work week with a cocktail and a good meal.  The old time bar/restaurant on the border of Cobble Hill and Brooklyn Heights is transportive in looks – wood and glass cabinets filled with books, marble top tables, and enameled metal panel walls – and immersive in experience.  Happy days are here again.

I start with a well-tended drink, something to make me feel rewarded and special for working at the factory as I do, like the Two Cent Fancy, a champagne cocktail with a little tarragon.  My favorite meal is the salad –  a crispy, creamy treat with slivers of apple and radish, dusted with crushed smoked apples – and the bone marrow on toast.  The Depression may be over, but I still haven’t lost the taste.  There are a few well-executed hamburgers and sandwiches on the brief menu, all served with perfect french fries.  The only dessert – meant to be shared with my fellow workers – is the enigmatic Wilkinsons, a donut like golf ball of dough that isn’t deep fried, but fashioned in a special Norwegian pan, and then dipped in a boozy, bourbon caramel sauce.  My weekly pittance goes far here, so much so that in the reality of the recession, I can afford to come here any time.

Henry Public

329 Henry Street, between Atlantic Avenue and Pacific Streets

Cobble Hill, Brooklyn

After the overkill of work bake sales, I decided to go savory with the work cocktail party.  I tapped into my 50 cent stoop sale purchase, Party Nuts, for each of its three genres – sweet, salty, and spicy.  Much was based on what I already had in house – the four chiles that I had for killer peanuts; brown sugar instead of white sugared pecans; and then there were the pistachios.  I wanted to use up the pistachios that I had, and ended up buying more exotica – zaatar and almonds.  The combination of pistachios, almonds, zaatar, oregano and sesame was a hit, and the first of the nuts to go.  Such little effort, such big appreciation.

In toasting the nuts, I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s the oven that’s f-cocted.  The nuts were under baked and not browned at all, unlike a small extra batch that I cooked up in my toaster oven.  I’ll have to take a thermometer to it to see if it’s a matter of temperature compensation, or if it’s a real house call problem.  Nuts!