The Dinner Files

My recent adventures in New Mexico and West Texas left me with a great many happy memories, including those of some fabulous meals. Yes, most of them involved chiles and plenty of cheese and meat, and I’ll be working on re-creating those soon. For now, however, I need some salads. And fattoush salad is on my mind. Why? Well, we had two excellent, if completely different, versions of it in Marfa, Texas.

Yes, two excellent if different versions of fattoush in Marfa, Texas. It’s a crazy place, Marfa.

The first one was at Cochineal, an amazing little place with a charming dining room and an even more compelling courtyard serving food I would happily pay to eat in San Francisco. The fattoush there was spare and, unlike any other version of the salad I’ve ever had, contained cauliflower.

The second was at Food Shark. Food Shark is a food truck that operates out of the old train station in Marfa, where there is also a farmers market on Saturdays.

Their fattoush was a bit more, um, Texan. Big, bold, filling. It had a crunchy, fresh falafel on top, a ton of well-oiled pita chips, and was drizzled within an inch of its life with tahini and yogurt sacues. It was the perfect lunch to re-vivify during the mid-day break of the Chinati Foundation tour.

My own version was inspired by both. I tossed romaine, peeled and seeded cucumber slices, chopped tomato, sliced red onion, plenty of chopped mint, and toasted pita pieces with a lemon garlic vinaigrette. I then topped it with feta, olives, and crushed toasted cumin seeds. I drizzled tahini on my dashing husband’s portion and garlicky yogurt on mine (Ernest perferred just lettuce and pita). We were out of pepperoncini, or I would have put a few on the side for good measure. Need more of a recipe? I’ve posted one at Local Foods.

Yep, you read correctly. The last day of our New Mexico – Texas full-tilt chile, art, and UFO spring break road trip (about which I promise to write more in the very near future) fell on Ernest’s birthday. He is now 6. And we all know that the very least one can offer someone on their birthday is to decide what to have for dinner. Despite hints about succulent chicken tacos (“Mama, I eat tacos all of the time” was his response, which, as regular readers know, is true both in his daily home life and was most definitely a fact of meals on this road trip), the Birthday Boy wanted dim sum.

Of course he did. Dim sum is his favorite food. By a large margin, from what I can tell. And then he was such a good sport when we told him that it might not work out that I did what I could to track down dim sum in Albuquerque. There are, based on the limited research I could do as we drove in the rain and hail between art galleries (hey, do we know how to show a 6 year-old a good birthday time or what?) while I also tried to book a room at a hotel near the airport (6:51 am flight!) that had an indoor pool (birthday + rain = the least I could do), two places in Albuquerque to get dim sum: Amerasian Sumosushi and Ming Dynasty. Ming Dynasty had a definite edge in the online reviews, a more focused Chinese menu, and, let’s be honest, a much more appealing name.

You know what? Ming Dynasty is putting out some very serviceable dumplings. Some were a bit heavy, but the barbeque pork buns were light as a feather with an excellent filling-to-bun ratio and the sesame balls were crispy and fresh. The vegetable mu shu my dashing husband and I ordered to supplement our dinner (all the better to leave the lion’s share of dumplings for the Birthday Boy to inhale), was deftly assembled table-side with supremely tender house-made pancakes.

They were as good as any mu shu I’ve ever had. In fact, I can’t recall any better.

And I’d like to add that the service was delightful. Charming and kind and efficient. And very quick with that second order of har gow that they never saw coming… no one, not even dim sum resturant workers, can ever believe how much dim sum my boy can eat.

The city of Denver completely freaked out. Everything shut down. I guess, from what I heard and have seen in pictures, some areas really were slammed with snow, but in the city itself things didn’t seem so very bad. After my talk was postponed (I head back on Tuesday – that powerpoint presentation will be shown!), a friend and I decided to enjoy our Snow Day and go to the movies. That plan came to naught since the theaters – even the multiplex at the giant fancy mall – were closed. Luckily Domo, where I sipped hot brown rice tea

and chowed down on a tofu and vegetable soupy casserole dish called nabemono

was open for lunch. And Marco’s Coal-Fired Pizza was open for dinner. Marco is a madman, turning out the kind of delicious Napoletana pizza that makes me angry with its deliciousness and then having the gall to take that same mind-numbingly good dough and stuff it with nutella for a dessert pizza.

Yes, it sounds horribly horribly wrong. And yet it tastes so very very right. Insider tip: the man also concocts his own not-sweet limoncello. Ask for a glass if you get a chance.

Sadly, I did not make it out to the Grizzly Rose.

Are you in Denver? Guess what? You can come to The Lab at Belmar tonight and hear me talk about pizza. Mark Dym of Marco’s Pizza will be there with commentary and pizza. I just hope the audience doesn’t turn against me because I didn’t make them any pizza.  Of course, once I show them some of the pizzas I have made, they may just be relieved:

I’ve returned from the Oaxacan Coast. My, is it lovely there. Hot and lovely. After this cold cold winter and so far freezing spring, the hot sun and warm ocean felt mighty good.

You know what was just as good? I ate chilaquiles every morning. Every morning. I ate tortilla chips cooked in chile sauce for breakfast every morning. Saying it now, it sounds sort of wrong. It did not, however, seem at all wrong at the time. I have a theory: Even bad chilaquiles are good. I’ve proved it true in the past. I was happily unable to prove it true again; all the chilaquiles I had were delicious. Some had the green chile and tomatillo sauce:

Some had two sauces and came with a black bean filled pastry bull with dried chile horns:

Some were ordered, some were glopped out of a hotel breakfast buffet, some were purchased at an airport lunch counter. What they all had in common was a generous drizzle of crema (slightly thin and ever-so-drizzle-able Mexican sour cream), some grated salty Oaxacan cheese, and plenty of thinly sliced raw onions on top. Duly noted.

Yesterday I embarked on a week-long ski trip with my extended family. Good times will surely be had by all (knock on wood). I couldn’t help but snap a shot of my suitcase before I closed it. Along with the ski boots and ski helmet and long underwear and wimpy knee brace (it’s a psychological thing, I know) and toiletries and flip-flops for wearing to the hot tub and power cords for my laptop and camera were a pork shoulder roast, a top sirloin (thanks Clark Summit Farm!), chocolate samples from the fancy food show last week, a sample-size collection of flavored salts, a panne forte (essentially an Italian fruitcake) someone sent me in November, and a copy of King Corn I’ve been meaning to view and review (for Local Foods) for almost a year now. And what you’re not seeing are the pounds upon pounds of California citrus I had packed in my carry-on (I didn’t want it to get bruised!).

I know. I’m nuts.

And yet much less nuts than is years past, as my beloved sister-in-law reminded me once we arrived at our destination. A few years ago I packed my 7-quart Le Creuset pot, several pounds of duck confit, some garlic sausage from Fatted Calf, and containers of frozen broth, beans, and lamb stew in order to cook up some cassoulet for everyone. Sure, I’ve been teased mercilessly about it by my family ever since, but their eyes glaze over ever so slightly every time they talk about it.