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I don't know what they do to 'em, but a morning bagel from So's Your Mom Deli in Adams Morgan is to.die.for. Back when I was a student, nothing could get me out of bed faster on a Sunday morning than the promise of picking up an "Everything Toasted Cream" [read: everything bagel, toasted with cream cheese] on my way to the library. The only thing which could possibly top that experience would have been to arrive, sleepy-eyed, in my pajamas and Crocs (gasp!), boo in tow (schwing!), sipping a perfectly mild and cheap cup of coffee (zing!) while waiting for my order to arrive (cha-ching!). Sweet, sweet So's Your Mom!
If you've not been, put it on your list! If you have, but have never scored a bagel, hop to it! If you have and love yourself their bagels, I simply hug you.
Welcome to a yet another Hot Pans feature, Tales from the Other Side, a column by our secret chef in Charm City. You'll never experience restaurants in the same way again...
You know that popular new restaurant that opened down the street with the fusion menu, the staff dressed in all black, the one with the swank looking décor? You know the one with the display kitchen where the cooks are dressed in crisp white uniforms smiling and laughing as they prepare your meal? You know that feeling you get when you see this, the sense that they are taking pride in their cooking, that they're enjoying their work? Think again. Chances are that they're laughing at you!
Yep, cooks are a strange breed. We look out over the dining room and into a sea of obnoxious customers: the one with the shrill laugh of a hyena, the one who's had one too many and is still stumbling towards the bar. We leer at those who come in five minutes before closing. As for the scantily clad woman with the older gentleman, yeah, we know what's going on there.
Be assured though that we would never do ANYTHING to your food. That's just not our way. Still, we WILL make fun of you and glean hours of enjoyment from your behavior. I've witnessed customers chase waiters through the restaurant, wander into the kitchen to place an order, and yell across the dining room to get attention. It seems that once through the doors of you favorite café, the employees are reduced to
some sort of lower class and that is just baffling. So next time you walk through the doors of your favorite café or into that upscale joint around the corner and are wowed by the open kitchen, be on your best behavior lest you become the butt of the joke that day and above all, an unsavory customer.
Salmonella is back and badder than ever! You've probably already heard that over 400 people have tested positive for the exact same strain of Salmonella typhimurium, which public health folk also found in a 5 lb. jar of peanut butter in the fine state of Minnesota! Coinkydink? Nope, don't think so. Forget the news media. To find out how peanut butter can be used as weapon get scientific widdit right HERE...
Welcome to a new Hot Pans feature, Tuff Luv Cookin' Skool. Here our fine editorial staff will discuss common cooking standards and techniques to get your kitchen operating in a safer and more efficient fashion. Today's topic: the spatula (which is probably more lovingly and scientifically discussed by Cooks Illustrated).
This past latke season provided me with untold opportunities to observe various spatula-griping techniques. While most seemed adequate enough to get the job done (i.e. flipping those deliciously oil-laden potato patties), I did observe a grip that was unable to tackle the flip and it is shown above in an exclusive Hot Pans dramatization. You may ask yourself, "What's so wrong with that???" and add a, "I think they're just being really picky for no good reason." While that may at times be the case, let me give you one simple nugget of truth - no leverage, no flippy.
It's a simple question of physics, my friends. Without a sufficient hold on the spatula handle (as shown above), there is no way to easily get underneath the latke, much less turn over a quarter pounder of a latke.
And lest you think this only applies to we who are cooks of the potato pancake, I assure you that it also applies to you egg, pancake, and steak flippers too!
To get this party started I'm going to crank up this open thread. Please post about anything of interest to you or (potentially) us! Hot Pans is nothing without you!
From our special HP correspondent, Jesslyn Raddack:
When Jacob first started school, the domestic doyenne and über-mom in me took over. I eagerly told Mrs. Sharkey that I wanted to bring in cupcakes for his birthday. She seemed overjoyed—perhaps a little too much so—and thanked me profusely.
As I walked out the door, she said, “Don’t forget, Amanda can’t have sugar and Lars is allergic to peanuts.” No problem, I thought, I have a great recipe I used for a relative with juvenile diabetes, which substitutes unsweetened applesauce for sugar. It calls for chopped walnuts, but I could ditch those.
“And Lila is allergic to gluten,” the Sharkster added innocently.
I didn’t know much about gluten-free cooking, but I was still confident that I could accommodate this twist. I scoured the Internet and found some great gluten-free recipes. But many included sugar and nut-based oils. Still, I would not be deterred!
Then Terrence’s father called me. “I heard you’re making cupcakes for the class tomorrow. Terry is so excited! I just wanted to make sure you knew that we don’t eat animal products in our family.”
That was the ingredient prohibition that broke my inner-chef’s back. Cupcakes without eggs, butter and milk? Now I was stumped. After hours of trying to reconcile sugarless, wheat-free, no-nuts recipes that didn’t require eggs, butter, or milk-based products like cream cheese or yogurt, I had a total motherhood meltdown.
How could I pass AP Chem and not be able to re-jigger a recipe? I was a cupcake flunky. I couldn’t do the simplest and most time-honored of Mommying 101 tasks: making cupcakes.
My husband presented me with the Yellow Pages. “How is that supposed to help?” I asked.
We called a vegan bakery and ordered 24 cupcakes at $5 each. I brought in hard-as-rock, flavorless cupcakes, which looked more like muffins and tasted dry and stale. Most kids took one bite. The polite ones engaged in the old routine of breaking them up and smearing them around their plates to give the illusion of good-faith eating. The honest ones practiced their best shots at the trash can.
As discreet as a four-year-old can be, my son spit his optimistically oversized, half-chewed bite into his hand and gently put the glob on his plate. “They’re kind of yucky, Mom,” he whispered apologetically.
The next time I was called on to bake cupcakes, I had wizened up. I just made my usual recipe and told the parents of kids with various dietary restrictions to please send in a treat that their child could enjoy during a birthday party.
I still feel guilty that I couldn’t come up with a utilitarian recipe for a hypo-allergenic, gastronomically-correct cupcake. And I’m sure there are fantastic vegan cupcakes out there. But the name “Fake Cake Jake” stuck with my son for far too long and I learned that sometimes, in trying to please everyone, you end up pleasing no one.
For years I thought there was only one kind of couscous in this world, the light yellowish "normal sized" kind made from hard durum wheat. Then came the browning movement and whole wheat couscous made its debut onto our grocer's shelves. Well, turns out there's more to couscous than even that. Now this may come as a surprise to most, but barley couscous is also on the scene and available at Whole Foods. It is made in certain parts of Morocco where it is apparently called malthuth.
Now being a big fan of both couscous and barley, you can bet I was really excited to try this. It cooked up just like the other similarly sized varieties and had a calming tan color. I paired it with a simple chickpea stew and had myself a modest, yet satisfying, meal.
To be honest, though a little nutty, barley couscous doesn't taste that much different from the Plain Jane varieties, but heck, it's unique (read: fun) and that's good enough for me!
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