When a treat turns a trick

Shit days require treats.

On my way into work this morning, after my chest x-ray, I regressed back to my senior year of college and got a vanilla latte from Starbucks. These little cups of joy were with me through exams and papers, getting up at 3 pm on Sundays, and some of the best conversations with my closest friends.

This latte was a treat for me for a couple reasons:

1. As a general rule I bring my coffee to work in a travel mug because I’m fairly certain that this drink cost me $42 if I convert it from its GBP price.

2. If I do get a latte – it’s never the vanilla ones I used to love because I’m fairly certain they have the same caloric intake as a milkshake.

But, as work has been pretty blech recently, and it’s never fun being put on antibiotics and told you have a “wheezy chest”, I figured I deserved a treat.

I should have left well enough alone. I jumped on the tube to make it into the office and as I sat down, well…the only way to describe it is that my latte “jumped” out of that tiny mouth hole in the cover and landed smack dab on the khaki trousers of the guy sitting next to me.

I turned approximately 2 shades darker than fuchsia, and even though he didn’t notice at first, the people sitting opposite me certainly had. It was only when he put his hand down a moment later and then lifted it up, wet and confused, that I muttered my “I’m so sorry, apologies.” The death look he gave me was pretty much the worst I think I’ve ever received. Note: Even worse than the one I received at 17 – showing up to my senior prom wearing the same exact dress as a fellow classmate.

Two more stops to go and they were the longest, painful, and most embarrassing I’ve ever taken.

I’m blaming it on those stupid lids. Being from Boston there’s always a debate over whether one is a Dunkin Donuts or Starbucks coffee drinker. Regardless, with a flap that can cover that open bit on the cover, hands down DD gets my vote and my heart.

Sour Cherry and White Chocolate Muffins

When it’s time for a good old-fashioned girly catch-up session over brunch at my flat, it also means it’s time to dust off my muffin tins…or to be more precise…vigorously dust them with butter and flour.

The following recipe was perfect for a lazy Saturday with KS, which included 2.5 hours of eating, a good dose of banter, a dash of career/life coaching, and a booked flight to Iceland for the first bank holiday in May (can we say Harðfiskur, anyone?).

I had plenty of time to sleep in, mosey on to the grocery store, and make the muffins – all with time to cram in an Economist article or two - before her 11:30 am arrival.

These sour cherry and white chocolate muffins are ridiculously easy – they don’t even require a hand mixer. It's a pretty basic muffin recipe - not complex at all. It's the perfect canvas to the tartness of the cherries and the sweetness of the chocolate.

Additional recommendations (please know that it goes without saying that the following are not additions to the cherries and white chocolate but in lieu of them)!

-Dill and cheddar folded in at the end

-Smashed banana and toffee bits folded in at the end

-Apricot and/or rhubarb preserve dollop in the middle of the batter (pour half of batter into prepared tin, place a big scoop of preserves and top with the rest of the batter. Sprinkle with cinnamon and sugar

1. Pre-heat oven to 375 F° or 190 C°
2. Butter and flour a 12 cup muffin tin
3. Mix 2 cups flower, ½ tsp salt, 1 ½ tsps baking powder, ¼ cup packed brown sugar – set aside 4. In a separate bowl, beat 2 eggs
5. Add ½ cup (113 g) melted butter and 1 cup whole milk to eggs
6. Slowly add the dry ingredients to the butter/egg mixture
7. Fold in ¾ cup dried sour cherries and ½ white chocolate chips
8. Pour into prepared muffin tin and bake for 24-26 minutes

NYE in NYC

4 of my 14 days in the States were spent in Queens / NYC. Under fear of penalty of death by 1 or 2 Manhattan friends I’ve clearly noted that there is a distinction between the two. It’s true that NYC is famous for its food and restaurants; unbeatable by any other major city it’s even been suggested. My 4 days and nights did bring me some outstanding nosh, both in the city and in Queens – however, for the most part, spare one or two exceptions noted below – the highlights were of the more random variety (e.g. homemade pickles and beer at the Blind Tiger Ale House, Vietnamese beef roll-ups in Jackson Heights, and homemade nachos in LB’s apartment).

Hands down and thumbs up to The Spotted Pig. On my first night in NY, LB and I hopped the E train from Jackson Heights into the city. We were armed with a list of fall-back joints because the popular too cool for school gastropub is reservation-free, and the wait for a table might have exceeded our hunger limits.

Not surprisingly, we were told (at the ridiculously early hour of 6:45 pm on a Saturday night) that it was already a 2 hour wait. Instead of turning our heads around in despair we decided to get a drink and see if perhaps we could finagle our way to a couple seats at the bar. Considering that even “standing room only” was scarce and the bar was at least 2 people deep trying to order, we were both shocked and decidedly thrilled when the bar stool fairies came down and sprinkled some magic on us. Two folks stood up to leave and the pair in front of us, who’d seemed to be hovering closely turned to us and said – "these are all yours if you want them". “Hip hip hooray! I love you!” is what I wanted to say in response, but fearing I’d be spotted as a non-New Yorker I simply dropped my Marc Jacobs bag on the stool and gave a quick, “thanks so much.” LB and I were in – and only after 15 minutes of people watching.

The highlights of our tasty and shared bar fare were without a doubt the side dish of brussel sprouts and a chargrilled burger with Roquefort and shoestring fries.

No, that was not a typo. The Spotted Pig served up the tastiest dang brussel sprouts LB or I had ever tasted. It’s no secret that brussel sprouts are not typically the prince of all veggies. Often delegated to the Christmas dinner they are often boiled, overcooked, and the tasteless wallflowers of the party. What we were served were the exotic celebrity cousins of these wallflowers, in for a brief visit of dancing and drinking champagne until 4 am. These were the brussel sprouts of my dreams. Now, I can often figure out (more or less) how dishes have been prepared. LB asked me and I couldn’t get beyond commenting on the butter to brussel sprout ratio and that it was pretty much a 1 to 1 measure. Most likely blanched and then roasted with butter, balsamic vinegar and some sugar, the brussel sprouts were perfectly cooked - crispy on the outside and soft little pillows of heaven on the inside.

The chargrilled burger with Roquefort and shoestring fries was one of the best burgers I’ve ever had. As someone who eats a burger about once every 3-5 months I like to make sure it’s going to be a good one. The meat was bouncy and moist in the mouth and combining it with the Roquefort cheese and nothing else, was brilliant. The shoestring fries had been made with fresh potatoes that day and mixed amongst them were little slices of fried garlic pieces. If any complaint could be made it was that the shoestring fries had been so thinly sliced that it was hard to eat them with either your fingers or a fork. Brilliantly, I realized that by creating an adhesive of ketchup one could pack a lot of those puppies onto a fork or my fingers at once. Fine if I looked like a little piggie eating them, let's call a spade a spade here. I don't mind.

LB asked a couple of times if I’d spotted any celebs yet. LB’s first visit to The Spotted Pig had resulted in her food not being the only hot item in the restaurant that night, Tom Brady was there with a friend. And apparently the Olsen twins had been there the week before that.

Anyway, no celebs that night – unless you count the brussel sprouts. I’ll take a plate of those sprouts over the Olsen twins any day of the year.

Side note: Can someone please tell me why those two are famous? I mean seriously, Full House?