Whiskey Mama

The Nickname.  A source of tears, laughs, endearment and love, depending on the age, context and delivery.  I've certainly had my fair share of good and bad.  Some of best (and least) favourites?

• Spaz - as a small child by ever adoring (not) older siblings
• TTD (Too Tall Dana) - being 5'7'' when you're 11 and being your full height of 5'9'' by age 13 doesn't help
• Bunny Rabbit - Mom's term of endearment. She still uses it (which I love)
• Dane (no, there was no GREAT before it) / Daners - What all of my closest friends from Rochester / Accenture call me
• Candi / Cupcakes / Candi Cupcakes - My moniker since starting with the Discob*tches back in 2009.  I'm pretty sure some of these friends don't actually know my real first name
• Princess - I've not yet decided if this is a term of endearment or a reflection on my affection for sparkly things.  Either way, it works

There are many more of course.  The traumatic bullying one from 6th grade (that's not getting posted here) and many more loving ones that shall remain tucked away in that special place that makes me smile.

But let's get to the point here shall we?  

There was one that while short lived, is one of my all-time favourites. A combination of "bad ass" and silly. 

I'd like to introduce you to..."WHISKEY MAMA"

Picture it, 1995-1996, I'm a wee innocent one attending her freshman year at the University of Rochester.  Not having drunk in high-school, I jumped into the pastime with wanton abandon (note, I still made Dean's List both semesters...being a multitasking pro and all).

My vague recollections of the nickname revolve around a group of us girls hanging out in Goldfinger's dorm room and sitting in a circle taking shots of whiskey (listening to Dave Matthews, naturally). I have no recollection of what kind of whiskey it was, only that it was in a supersized plastic bottle and probably purchased at the likes of COSTCO with someone's fake ID (classy, right)?

Somehow in that instant, on that night, I was the ultimate (bad) whiskey drinker.  While the rest of the group started mixing it with coke and/or making horrible "this shit is going to make me totally sick" comments, I kept going...shot after shot...and apparently proclaimed that I loved it.  For whatever reason, that night, Whiskey Mama was born.

I started out this tale with the fact that the nickname was short lived because well - I'm pretty sure I didn't drink whiskey again for the rest of my time at Rochester (yes, the hangover was that bad).  Thing is, even as a "proper grown up" I've never really liked it - even the fancy shmancy ones and/or whiskey cocktails never had much appeal.  I mean, really - when I've attempted these in the past 10 years more or less I always thought I was drinking medicine and burning myself from the inside out.  

No thank you very much, thank you no. 

So it was with a bit of trepidation that I went to a 90 minute whiskey tasting class this week.  I'm always a big fan of "events" for presents, so it wasn't too difficult when thinking of Christmas presents for M.  He likes whiskey, I'd like to LIKE whiskey so why not?  Off I booked two spots to a tasting event put on by Dramatic Whiskey.  They do events all over the country but I booked us into one at the Liberty Lounge in the East End.

The original meaning of "on the rocks"

So how was it? Informative? Somewhat.  Fun? Most definitely.  All in all we tasted 6 different whiskeys, single and double malt, with peat (tasted like smoke and bandaids) and without (still burned but much more enjoyable).

At the beginning of the night I gave M the task of "remembering everything I actually like because I'm never going to remember."  We haven't powwowed and discussed since then so I can't report back which I liked, but I can say that there were at least two that were quite tasty (even if they also burned going down - but sort of in a "being warmed by the fire cozykins" sort of way).  

Do I think I'll be reviving the Whiskey Mama name anytime soon?  Probably not.  However, with a bit more practice at the whiskey drinking perhaps I could work towards "Whiskey Princess?"  

I think it has a nice little ring to it, don't you?

In memory

Sorry for the delay folks.

January 2013 was the first month since starting my blog back in 2007 where I didn't have any entries.  (Ahem, of course you noticed).

I get so much joy from eating, cooking, reading about food - and clearly writing about it too.  The reality is that even if I only have on average 1-2 entries per month, there's always a backlog of little snippets, stories and recipes that I think of sharing but never find time to.  I know, I know - more is usually better right?  Well certainly when it involves spilling 2/3 a bottle of maple syrup on my Egyptian cotton sheets (not an inappropriate X-rated story, more one of me being greedy in bed with pancakes thank you very much) or perhaps more recipes from my recent adventures in the kitchen (crispy chilli asian inspired pork belly or pastry cream filled donuts anyone)?

The reality is that I don't write more simply because well...I'm living life. Now of course, there's a part of this basic "living" that's a bit tedious.  Last week's examples might be numerous stupidly early mornings in the office or perhaps a plumber finding what appears to be 6 years worth of lint tucked away in the washing machine filter.  Pretty it was not.  However, the reality is that there's a lot of good and a fair share of great happening as well.  Blessed with some of the most wonderful friends a girl could ever ask for and a great family - that even spread across the globe tries to connect as money, time, and space best allows.  Most recently there was a planned trip in December with time spent chatting (and of course eating) with the 5 Shinnicks, Mama Cupcakes and Papa (cupcakes) Bear.

Which brings me to the point of my non-food related ramblings...

The reason it's so important to live, play, enjoy your work? You never know when something is going to happen that will to knock you flat on your ass.

For me it was Papa Bear (aka Daddy) passing away on January 18th.  I'm not going to get started on the "what it feels like" crap. It's emotional and physical and hits you at both expected and unexpected moments. Breathing is hard and there's a numbness that sticks with you.  But that said and done, let me try, at least in this forum for a few minutes to move on to sweeter notes.

I thought that in small tribute  I might cook up some of his favourite foods. But in doing a little bit of research (double checking with mom) she reminded me that while he did have some distinct likes, he could also be a bit fickle (e.g. I do remember many an occasion growing up with mom making something for dinner and Dad all but licking his plate, only to have it served to him a few weeks later to an "eh, that's just ok" response.  Not clocking he'd loved it a few weeks before).

He loved traditional Jewish foods, chopped liver and brisket, knishes and kugel. Never said no to a thick soup ala split pea, and couldn't get enough chinese food - be it Marlborough's Royal Mandarin in the '80s or Framingham's Uncle Cheungs in the '90s.  The last time visiting with him I picked up some General Tsao's chicken.  A small debate over brown or white rice, and then agreement with me that the brown was as good when doused in duck sauce.

All of that said, you couldn't even mention "beet" near him, he hated them in every way shape and form. I can only equate it to my relationship with bell peppers and yellow mustard.  Essentially I'd rather poke my eyes out with raw onions than eat these items.  Dad felt the same way about beets. He never could get his head around some oatmeal chocolate beet cookies I made last year - "disgusting" he kept saying when I told him about it...which of course made both of us laugh.

Which reminds me of another little side story...

Growing up, mom did 99.23% of the cooking.  I have vague recollections of him sometimes whipping up breakfasts at the weekend and mom says he made a french onion soup, including the stock, by scratch.  But there's one food related memory that I'll never forget and that was a particularly special lunch he made for me.

It must have been the weekend and with Mom off somewhere Dad decided he could manage lunch for us kids. Placed in front of me moments later a good ol' early '80s bologna sandwich (who didn't love that Oscar Meyer song)? One bite and the next thing I knew I was barfing* my morning's breakfast up.

Dad had slathered yellow mustard onto the Wonder Bread.  Rookie mistake with 6 year-old Dana.  He learned the hard way...but next time there was mayo there instead.

Daddy wasn't ready to leave us.  Even with his personal struggles he was a fighter and none of us expected him to leave so soon.  One of the greatest gifts he gave me was the belief in living life and enjoying it as best you can.  Squeezing out as many good memories and experiences as possible.  So for him that's exactly what I'm going to do.

Just without a side of yellow mustard.

loved and never forgotten 

* I remember being in second grade and being asked by the teacher if anyone knew a "grown up word for throwing up" (aka vomiting)  Always the super nerd, I raised my hand only to shout out with full confidence "barfing".  Not exactly what she was after.  I blame the influence of older siblings.

India Calling

I have 3 critical points to make here.

1. November is definitely the time to take your summer holidays.  While I spent most of July and August in the sweltering (ahem) rain of London my colleauges were off in the South of France, or at their lake cabins on the coast of Norway, or a few for good measure, in the grand ol' USA. As they say someone needed to "hold down the fort" so I opted to stay tucked in at my desk (and the Olympic Park) over the summer and instead make a cheeky getaway from the 9th -21st November.  Coming back to two days in the London office and then a week in Oslo, followed by 1 day in the office and then another week in Oslo, I am not surprised at how quickly Santa and all of that palaver has snuck up on me.  Just one more week in the office and I get to have another few weeks off. November is definitely the new black.

2. Delhi Belly / Non shmelly belly.  The stats all say, "50-70% of all people travelling in India will have stomach problems within the first two weeks".  In addition to this frightening statistic, I had half a dozen people warn me of what was to come.  So much so that my pulmonary doctor I see for my asthma was so traumatised by a trip he'd taken last year he insisted that along with a refill prescription of my inhaler he give me two mega doses of ciproflaxin. I wasn't allowed to leave his office without it.  It would have been a bit comical if he wasn't so convinced I'd need it.  Little did everyone know how OCD I'd be about everything I ate on this trip.  (Note: I was going to write how anal I was about cleanliness but that just doesn't seem right here).

Clearly I avoided all of the shadier food options put forth to me but I also lived with an antibacterial gel in my pocket. Add to the mix about 50 individually wrapped Wet Ones perpetually floating around the bottom of my bag - any time there was an even quasi chance that something unsantised was coming near my mouth - I whipped out the antibacterial gel /wipes.  I did get a couple of funny looks wiping down the outside of the coke can and straw, but hey ho - I had 12 days of spicy, rich, glorious food and all along had a stomach of steel to match.

3.  I love Indian food.  Just how much was an epiphany to me. In particular the heavy, fried, creamy and buttery food of Northern India. No salady stuff washed in water allowed, see my Number 2 (no pun intended) point above. It's definitely not something I could have 3 meals a day for weeks on end but for most of our trip it was to-die-for and consumed with my (sanitised) hands scooping up gorgeous curries with even more delectable Indian rotis and parathas.

Tandoori Aloo
(Potato barrels, stuffed with nuts & house spices) 

One of many buttery delicious breads (some spicy and stuffed, this one just with mint)

The "best chai in Jaipur"
NOTE: TWO Wet Ones used on the glass (I saw the milk boiling)

No clue what everything was called, but gorgeous aubergine curry at our boutique Jaipur hotel, The Farm

Foodie Pen Pal - Take 3

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This month's Foodie Pen Pal came from the lovely Jade over at http://wildpickings.co.uk.  A "forager" which was a somewhat new concept for me in today's day and age - Jade sent a lovely package over from West Wales with an assortment of fun treats.  This experience with FPP has been fabulous so far, putting me in touch with all sorts of talented food lovers  - Jade certainly not being an exception to this. In my package? Blackberry and crab apple fruit leather, wild dukkah, dried chanterelles, rose petal vinegar, hawthorne ketchup, and rosehip syrup.  Certainly any number of items not accounted for in my bi-weekly Waitrose run! I've not had a chance to try some of these fun treats, but hopefully in the next few weeks I'll be able to give them a go.

All Wrapped Up in One

It's not just the people who are beautiful in Paris. 

Jacques Genin's ultimate lemon tart.  See how we spit it? We are nearly virtuous!  (PARIS)

Worth their weight in gold (literally). Passion fruit puree and gingerbread caramels from Jaques Genin. (PARIS)

Gorgeous birthday lunch at Bistrot Bruno Loubet: Beetroot ravioli with shredded rocket and crispy parmesan. (LONDON- CLERKENWELL)

Birthday cocktails at the Zetter Townhouse (LONDON- CLERKENWELL) 

Birthdays, Paris, Lots of cake, VIP guest lists.  Each in their own right could warrant their own blog post. But seeing as I appear to have been out for 15 of the past 17 evenings (I now realise where my new accessory called "the belly" has come from) I thought I'd try and wrap up some of the most exciting news for food happenings in Dana's world  - and maybe, if lucky, come up with one mamajama of a story for you.

Let's start in Paris.  The last weekend in September I was invited to visit the gorgeous YL for a pre-birthday celebration.  Her pitch?  "Come visit and let's do a patisserie crawl around the city!"  SOLD.  So while in the end we didn't venture too far out of the Bastille / Marais area we were well onto our sugar high by noon having consumed more chocolate croissants slathered in homemade apricot jam than is healthy (I say "we" but the honest truth is that it was just me - but thanks YL for taking one for the team).

After browsing some lovely shops and buying and assortment of treatakins at le petite atelier de paris (seriously how cute is their stuff?) we headed over to Jacques Genin.  Immediately upon entering the holy shrine to all things both gorgeous and delectable the heart palpitations began, the seratonin started flowing, and the general state of patisserie perfection began clouding my vision and making everything go a bit soft and fuzzy.

Side bar: This is why I never got into recreational drugs.  Exquisite baked goods/confection appear (for me) to have what I imagine would be a similar effect of such narcotics.  

Even though we were already filled to the gills from brunch we decided to share a tarte au citron.  At a delicate size and the perfect ratio of pastry and tart and creamy filling, YL and I had many a moan worthy moment.  Even though we shared, we were also served two (each) of Jacques handmade chocolates (basil ganache and cinnamon ganache).  All were slowly savoured with tiny mouthfuls.

Jacques Genin is also famous for his hand made caramels.  Having read about his passion fruit puree caramels and knowing that Mama Cupcakes loves passion fruit (arguably more than some of her offspring now and again) I thought I'd try and work on my standing in the favourite child category. Certainly if I could send some over to her in New Hampshire I could move myself up a notch or two?  She reported back that she savoured every single one.  However, in response to my "am I your favourite child now?" question, what was returned back was a laugh and nothing more.   I think she's playing me for more caramels. Smart woman.

I'd like to say that the desserts ended there...but alas...there was more to come, manifesting itself in a pair of hot from the oven custard tarts from Comme a Lisbonne.  Funny thing though, after going back to YL's apartment for a bit of a power nap (sugar coma) we (again, just me) woke up starving! All I could think about was sinking my teeth into a bloody piece of meat after all that sugar. Successfully accomplished later that evening at a nearby Bistro.

Now fast-forward one week and I was able to celebrate my birthday in London with a few friends.  I had a bit of an internal debate (party? dinner? lunch? cocktails?) on what to do.  Unlike the past few years when I've thrown a shindig, invited the masses, cooked and baked for weeks before to prepare, and quasi bankrupted myself in the process, I decided on the simplest of activities for me, a late lunch followed by cocktails for those who couldn't make one or the other.

In the end I went for lunch at Bruno Bistro Loubet which was absolutely wonderful.  My favourite eat of the day was my starter of beetroot ravioli, rocket salad, fried breadcrumbs and parmesan.  I could have stopped there and been happy (of course I didn't).  My main wasn't nearly as exciting although it was certainly tasty - having another craving of red meat I went for the grilled steak with little gem caesar dressing, and a red wine sauce. We opted against dessert and went on straight to the Zetter Townhouse, without a doubt one of the coolest cocktail bars in London - complete with experimental cocktails to match.  Having been out the night before until 4 am drinking pink champagne with an assortment of characters (eccentric artist, professor of art history, former military/expert in middle east relations) my birthday festivities on the Saturday ended at a very civilised (read: getting old) hour of 8 pm.  But to be honest, I wouldn't have wanted it any other way. For those of you wonderful friends who did make it out to join me - muchos gracias from the bottom of my 29 year old heart.

Foodie Pen Pal - Take 2

Foodie Pen Pal Treats - Take 2

This month's foodie penpal was the lovely Suzzane over at avocado and basil. It's arrival coincided on my birthday, which was an absolute treat! I know that wasn't part of her master plan, but thank you Suzanne and the Postal Service for a job well done.

As soon as I opened the package I was overtaken by the wonderful smell of fresh basil which Suzanne had lovingly picked from her windowsill and wrapped in some tissue.  She'd also spent the weekend before in Italy so I benefited from some chocolates and cavatelli pasta.  Added to the mix were some of her favourite food stuffs like pukka tea (also in my tea caddy - but some new flavours for me to try),  a nakd bar (looks healthy AND delicious - who knew?) some ginger candies (not yet consumed but waiting patiently for me on my kitchen counter) and some chocolate and hazelnut meringues (must stop eating but can't stop eating)!

Thank you Suzanne! Job well done! :-)

Bagel Nosh

Boiled and ready to be baked 

The Finished Product

The recent Jewish holidays left me craving lots of good nosh, and in particular, bagels. Convinced that the only way to get them in London is either en masse in horrible roll format in supermarkets, or to take a half day and schlepp to the outskirts of North London I figured the best option would be to take the challenge to bake some myself.  As a virgin bagel maker I scampered the internet for quite a while until I found a recipe I liked.  Considering the great number of positive reviews (minus some of the donkeys that didn't follow it correctly) I figured I had as good a chance of success as any.  And come on now - look at these babies! I know every good Jewish mother thinks her kids are the best looking and well, I kinda feel that same way about these little guys.

As I opted for a slightly longer boil time they were nice, firm and crispy on the outside and chewy on the inside.  I ate three within 12 hours - which is probably more than I've consumed collectively in the past 6 months.  Luckily they have frozen really well.  I'm planning to have some friends round for brunch so I can make another batch and serve them fresh and warm from the oven. You know those one-off food items that are just so absolutely delicious that you scarf them up so fast you almost don't taste them (I realise this is not a good habit but NEEDS MUST)  - well straight out of the oven and with just a bit of butter, they were just that.

So without further ado... http://www.sophisticatedgourmet.com/2009/10/new-york-style-bagel-recipe/  (although is it a bit cheeky to say I prefer the more bronzed bake of mine over hers)?