It is with great excitement that I present our first ever guest post!! Lainey Rabinow is a bon vivant, mother of three, second generation New England-er, and my friend. While our tastes differ (she tends toward established, refined cuisine while I love anything served on a tray or out of a food truck), we’ve bonded over a shared love of food and the experiences that love can bring. Lainey’s recent food adventures include a Russian cruise, numerous trips to New Orleans (her daughter just graduated from Tulane, congrats Lily!), and an overnight trip to a Maine cheese farm. This post is part of what I hope will become a thriving series on Boston’s food memories. -Crystal

My earliest memory of “falling in love” with a restaurant was at age four. It was with Hot Dog Annie’s in Holden, Massachusetts. In 1959, my siblings and I and all the kids on our street, nine or ten of us, would pile into one of the monstrous station wagons that were popular at the time and go for hot dogs, then eight for a dollar. What I remember is that I become infatuated with the chutney, or barbecue sauce, that Hot Dog Annie herself had created. As we ate our hot dogs we wondered aloud to each other just what was IN that sauce that kept us so captivated. Hot Dog Annie’s is one of those love affairs that became a lasting lifelong friendship. I have visited Hot Dog Annies in the years since and although now, $2.50 each, that sauce remains elusive and primal.

I think I have since fallen in love, or at the very least, become infatuated with hundreds of restaurants from Worcester to Boston and then to New York when my older brother enrolled at Columbia. In 1972 the Upper West Side of New York City, had a burgeoning restaurant scene. Although we rarely ate at those fancy restaurants, since I was twelve and he was on a college budget, we would walk by, read, the menu, and imagine what we’d order. I visited him often in  (how my mother and father let a twelve year old get on a bus by herself to go to New York seems impossible from where the world is today.) I remember the first time I had eggplant pizza at Rays- I thought Ray was a genius. I “dated” Ray seriously for about two years while my brother was in the city, that is until eggplant pizza was no longer my heart’s desire. I remember the sensation of standing in Zabars, looking at those long rows of prepared foods and gourmet items and being endlessly fascinated. To this day, I still find those kind of places incredibly fun and interesting.

When my best friend moved to San Fransisco after college, I widened my love affairs…Chez Panisse in Berkeley, California, became famous for using local, organic foods and credited as the inspiration for California cuisine. There were so many others: Jeremy Towers at Stars, Greens Restaurant , a pioneer in establishing vegetarian cuisine in 60’s and 70’s, Fog City Diner, Michael Mina and first restaurant Aqua. Another one of our favorite things to do was to drive north up the coastline along Route 1 and stop for barbecued oysters and beer, in little shacks that were sprinkled along the Pacific ocean. The beaches were always desolate, unlike what I knew on the East coast, and felt romantic. I ate oysters, drank beer, listened to local conversations and looked out at that beautiful, expansive ocean. I still visit San Fransisco and the tastes I want to experience always outnumber the days I am there.

That was 25 years ago and I still seek out restaurants after reading something that intrigues me, either about the food, or the chef, or the location, or some unusual ingredient or style of cooking. I think discovering a new restaurants is a lot like a first date: exciting, unknown, mysterious. Sometimes you know that you have fallen deeply and madly in love with the chef and his/her food and that the initial experience will be the first of a “long and beautiful friendship.” Other times, you know that you had fun together, but you don’t feel that commitment. The restaurants that I still visit are the ones I fell in love with long ago and still feel a spark of excitement when I’m about to visit.

You can catch more of Lainey in The Worcester Telegram circa early 1960s, where she had a regular column detailing the adventures of her cat, Fluffernutter. 

D’Angelo’s sexy-time video is actually about collard greens

Remember this one, ladies? I know I do. This video, combined with Brad Pitt’s loins in Troy, um, ushered me in to womanhood. We all collectively pouted when D’Angelo disappeared in to obscurity but fear not- he’s back (albeit fully clothed and focused, rightly, on his music). In an excellent comeback profile for GQ, Amy Wallace gets the scope on the video’s real inspiration: “Paul Hunter, the director hired to make the video, says his work was misunderstood: ‘Most people think the Untitled video was about sex, but my direction was completely opposite of that. It was about his grandmother’s cooking.’ “ 

Wallace suggests that given the actual lyrics Hunter’s creative vision might be a stretch, but sex and food share the umbrella of sensuality. What else inspires such strong emotions and feelings? Sounds like Hunter and D’Angelo got it:  

“When I used to sing in the choir,” Hunter says, “after the rehearsal, you go in to eat. I remembered seeing the preacher looking at a lady’s skirt one week and then, the next Sunday, talking about how fornication is wrong.” Such mixed messages about the pleasures of the flesh were intertwined with the pleasures of the palate—part of the same sensual stew. ” So I was like, ‘Think of your grandmother’s greens, how it smelled in the kitchen. What did the yams and fried chicken taste like? That’s what I want you to express.’ “

Read More http://www.gq.com/entertainment/music/201206/dangelo-gq-june-2012-interview#ixzz1vcQ5N0jh

Judging by the sad state of this garbage can on Bolyston Street last weekend, Boston has officially entered iced coffee season. A few months ago Grub Street New York had a great article on why iced coffee costs more at high-end, or “speciality”, coffee shops. It’s a must read for those of us who care about the availability of great coffee and, by extension, the success of great coffee shops.

For a local perspective I reached out to one of my favorite cold brew crafters (and nice guy extraordinaire) Andy Rooney of Somerville’s 3 Little Figs. “The Figs” cold brew iced coffee is the result of a 2:1 coffee concentrate to water ratio. Cold brew, as Andy explains it, “takes coarsely ground coffee, like you’d used in a French press, and immerses them directly into water” which then stands at room temperature for “around twelve hours” before getting “strained through a cloth bag and then sometimes through another filter.” The result? “Rich, smooth and delicious, almost syrupy concentrate that gets mixed with water to order.”

So it takes longer. It also uses more product. “We use three times the amount of beans to prepare the iced coffee (versus) the usual hot brewed,” Andy explains. “That directly translates to three times the profit for hot versus iced.” The equipment used for the actual cold brew is relatively inexpensive (“You’re basically talking about a grinder, a bucket, and a cloth bag!”), once the cost of the coffee alone added to the cost of cups (3 Little Figs uses the compostable kind, plastic iced coffee cups generally costing more than the hot coffee paper kind) and lids, straws, and ice it’s easy to see how cold brew cuts in to the bottom line.

But coffee must be great business, right? The growing number of speciality shops might cause one to assume that profit margins are awesome, and for some businesses (cough cough Dunkin Dounts) that might be the case. Speciality coffee is another animal. There are those disposables (or compostables), the dairy (remember the cost last time you bought a galloon of milk, especially if it was from High Lawn Farm’s as is the case in many of our local shops?), equipment (and equipment repair), labor…it all adds up.

“Don’t forget the ‘secret ingredient’….” Andy adds. “The beans! Good ones cost $10+ per pound at a wholesale rate, and they travel with a shelf life, both to be used and again to be sold once they are brewed! If you’re not careful you’ll be dumping money down the drain every day, literally.”

So how might coffee be brewed at those places charging less than the $3 (or up) you’ll generally pay for cold brew? The $1/$1.50 cups? “Some places brew coffee hot and then chill it and ice it,” Andy explains. “Sometimes they increase the regular dosage (amount of grounds) and get something closer to a concentrate. This method can be more acidic, a bit flat, overall pretty lack-luster in the taste department- kind of like reheating your left over pizza in the microwave a couple days later. But hey, some people can’t tell the difference, and some people don’t mind, and that’s totally fine ya know?”

Despite the time and expense a high quality product like cold brew requires, Andy isn’t grumbling when someone orders iced coffee at The Figs: “It’s getting hot outside and iced coffee is popular, and when it’s done well it’s delicious! But unlike a martini or a rare wine, you just can’t charge $10 or $14 dollars for it. You can’t.”

Beyond understanding the economics of why iced coffee costs costs me upwards of $1.50 more speciality coffee shops, it’s important to think about the intangible elements of what we eat and drink. The kind of food and drink that enriches my life (beyond basic nutrition, or in the case of coffee, motivational caffeine) is the kind made with passion and a belief in quality. These, it seems, are essential ingredients whose effects are multiplied, in the case of coffee, along the journey from seed to plant to harvest to roaster to grinder to cup to stomach. Maybe you can put a price on love:

Cold brew- $3.50 

“The Big Easy” makes me uneasy. This is hard to admit for a number of reasons, not least of which because so many people I admire and respect not only love New Orleans but call it home. It’s also home of Cajun cuisine, my anything-is-last-meal-worthy favorite. The history, the food, the intersection of cultures, the music, the resilience…I’m fascinated. We almost honeymooned there, my husband and I, before ultimately deciding to save it until we could really appreciate the city without the need to rush back to work. Still, I devoured Sara Roahen’s Gumbo Tales: Finding My Place at the New Orleans Table and was charmed when, after posting a compliment on the author’s Facebook page, Ms. Roahen herself urged me to visit. It remains one of my favorite books not only because its a personal account of a life lived through the love of food, but also because it’s also a modern love letter to a city and a testament to the power of place.

So it was with great anticipation that my husband and I took our first real vacation last November to stay with our friends in New Orleans for a week. We ate the best meal of our lives at Cochon, where I not only tasted strawberry moonshine (my tongue still tingles at the thought) but enjoyed a cornucopia of cast iron comfort food while seated across from Zach Galifianakis and Will Ferrell. I was so enamored with the food and taken by Cochon’s generous service that I remember the experience of eating more than sitting a mere four feet away from two of my favorite actors.

A little part of me came alive as I danced for God knows how long to the music of the Rebirth Brass Band at the Maple Leaf, and I don’t know if I’ll ever feel as elated as when we went, beer in hand, from bar to bar along Frenchman to soak up as much music as possible.

We also had a number of bad eating experiences ranging to awful or rude service at quite a few restaurants. There was also the time I walked into a bathroom to hear the only other female patrons and a few staff members commenting on the color of my husband’s skin in a way that remains painful to this day. 

That said, I think everyone should visit New Orleans at least once. If you’re a skeptic, as I was on my recent second visit, I have just the places to ease you in. They aren’t the most traditional spots, but they are some of the most delicious and unique. Perhaps if I stumbled on these places to begin with my first time might have been as charmed as my second.

First things first…eat a beignet. If you’re up to it or just close by Cafe Du Monde somehow elevates itself above tourist trap. I prefer Morning Call, not just because the pace is a little more leisurely (no fanny-packed hoards queuing for your seat) but there’s something magical about walking through a door at the end of a strip mall and being transported to the French Quarter circa 1870. They also make their café au laits by lifting two gigantic kettles (one of coffee and the other of milk) in a Herculean effort that results in smooth, frothy, out of this world creamy coffee.

Re-calibrate…chicory coffee is good but great espresso is better. New Orleans doesn’t have a whole lot of options for coffee snobs like me but that’s okay, Velvet Espresso Bar is all that and then some, girl. 

Okay, give in to your guidebook or mom or whoever, but then make your way to Freret Street. You’ll probably want to hang out around the French Quarter for awhile and maybe even Frenchman or Magazine Street, and by all means do but please make your way, somehow some way, to Freret Street. Visiting any new city can be overwhelming, but this place has a lot of awesome packed into just a few blocks. Given the city’s cheap beer and glorious open container laws believe me, you’ll want a reliable street to stroll.

Eat anything or everything at The Company Burger and do what Adam says. “Burgers. Beer. Sides.” it’s as simple and wonderful as that. Well, I should also probably mention that they serve everything on trays in the form of baking sheets- the best food delivery mechanism there ever was or ever will be. I’m pretty classy sometimes so I got some wine in a cane and a side of pimento cheese and melba toast. As for the burger, you’ll realize old Ronald McDonald has been blue balling you for decades because The Company Burger is carnal simplicity: a freshly ground pattie with pickle, American cheese, and red onions between a locally made, buttered and toasted bun. Adam Biderman, chef-owner, honed his craft at Atlanta’s Holeman & Finch before returning to his hometown. I would call him nostalgic but since his food more than delivers on idealized standards “authentic” is a better fit. The photo covering one of the large walls says it all: The Company Burger is a respectful reminder of the hardships of the past while highlighting the hope inherent in good food enjoyed through the company of good people.

If that’s not enough of a reason to visit Adam and his staff are awesome. He doles out advice on where to eat with a sympathetic ear to us outsiders: “That place is bullshit, never go there…” or “Yeah, the service is curmudgeonly but just get a muffaletta and a Pimm’s Cup.” The Company Burger should be your NOLA first stop for these pearls of wisdom alone. 

Is alligator seafood? Slap some crawfish etouffee on that alligator sausage at Dat Dog and you’ll be too busy having a foodgasm to care. Their new space and huge patio features a wiener shaped table and plenty of beer and wine to float your chili fries. As their slogan goes, “The world is a better place with Dat Dog.” I wholeheartedly agree.

Now that you’ve conquered both burger and hot dog keep the ball rolling with a deep dish pizza at Midway. Perhaps The Kingpin calls your name (house made meatballs, caramelized onion, shaved Parmesan, green onion) or maybe you’re more the Natty “E” type (roasted chicken, bacon, tomatoes, and onions topped with green goddess sauce). A beer works too.

Snoballs! At Hansen’s Sno-Bliz ice becomes fluffy and syrups become creamy and the result is pure joy. The air buzzes with anticipation and no one minds the line because a) there is a system and b) photos of happy faces across the decades line the wall (a baby in a snoball cone, adorable!) reinforce what you already know: “This is going to be sooo worth it…”  Order one cream of nectar and another satsuma by the dollar amount (i.e. “A $3 cream of nectar please…”), not the size. 

Get high on the hog at Butcher. Call it “swine bar” or “butcher shop” or “sandwich counter”…whatever, they cure everything in house and make a mean muffaletta. 

Don’t let a day (or more) of overindulgence hold your saunter down. Maurepas Foods in Bywater will satisfy most cravings most times (they’re open 11 AM-12 AM). Their all-day menu is inventive and original- get the goat tacos (a customer favorite), any veggie side, and at least two cocktails. Rest, digest, and make your way to Vaughns or Frenchman or where ever good music is playing- in New Orleans you won’t have to go far.

In closing…New Orleans is a complicated, unique place. Without darkness you can’t have light, and there’s more grey than black and white in this city of contrasts. There’s also something to be said for a place that stretches your sense of self just a little, just to the point of discomfort. In the end you might find flexibility, or at least appreciation.

Tales from the Pastry Case:

“I do think the cranberry is a more resilient berry, you know… good at being alone…so it will be ok if you go for the blueberry muffin.” - Me

“I think sometimes I might be a cranberry.” - Adorable old man with good tattoos

“Me too.” - Me

(Kait)

Food Pilgrimage is a series where we explore new places with the goal of finding something wonderful to eat or drink 

I am not a spontaneous person. I research, plan, set goals, and then execute (somewhat stubbornly). It’s not that I don’t trust fate to bring me great experiences, it’s just that I kinda believe we make our own fates. However, a recent fourteen hour stopover in Chattanooga, Tennessee  has me rethinking this whole spontaneity thing. My husband and I decided to spend a night in “The Scenic City” to break up a very long (25 hour!) drive to New Orleans for our friends’ wedding. We were immediately wowed by the dramatic Appalachians, the winding Tennessee River, and the clean mountain air. The artsy, energetic vibe and genuinely nice people sealed the deal; before we knew it what started as a brief aside turned in to the highlight of the whole trip.

If you find yourself there for longer than the mere fourteen hours we had I’m sure you’ll uncover much more, but if you’re just passing through I think these spots will both give you a sense of this evolving, progressive Southern city and keep you delighted, stuffed and buzzed (see what I did there?).

Check in to the hotel and head to…The Pickle Barrel. The beers (many craft and a few local) are cheap, the food good, and the service friendly. We felt right at home with the part pub and part dive bar vibe. Climbing the narrow spiral staircase had me holding down my dress lest the guys at the bar below get a free show, but the upstairs patio was worth it. They of course sell one of my favorite bar foods, fried pickles, in sphere form. That’s a big deal because fried pickle chips are bullshit- if the burning acidic juice (retained by the mighty sphere) doesn’t burn the roof of your mouth what the hell are you even doing? 

Drink your coffee loving heart out… West Main Street is where it’s at. For a city of Chattanooga’s size they have a surprising number of coffee shops, but the real innovators are located in the Southside neighborhood- a shining example of the possibilities of urban revitalization. Across the street from the old Farmer’s Market site is newly opened Mean Mug Coffeehouse. Despite it’s hipster appearance it’s a true neighborhood spot with a diverse clientele. They’ve got something for everyone: ironic magazines and board games for hanging out and a bar (if you’re into watching Kyoto slow drip or pour overs in action), comfy vintage couches, or an ultra modern patio for lounging. Rachel, a transplant from Maine, is not only a great barista but a wealth of information on all things Chattanooga.

Mean Mug is also unique in that they feature local mico-roaster Velo Coffee. Located just down Main Street, founder Andrew Gage delivers most of his beans via bike (“velo” in French…get it?). While he can only accommodate limited retail hours due to the demands of roasting, Andrew graciously invited my husband and I over for a tour of Velo headquarters. “We’re primarily focused on education,” he says. Not only does Velo hold frequent public cuppings, but they offer beginning and advanced brewing classes and beautifully designed grinding guides and tasting books aimed at the average coffee consumer. “Passion” and “accessibility” are the two words I’d use to most describe Andrew’s venture. “Hopefully all this will show people we’re taking a difference angle,” he explains. On the eve of Velo’s two year anniversary Andrew is working on “an aroma lab” as well as expanding Chattanooga’s knowledge of the seasonality of coffee (they do a custom blend for Mean Mug but are primarily focused on single origin) and retrofitting brewing equipment for ease of travel, especially when on a bike…

Another local innovator is The Camp House- a combination coffee shop, vintage store, music venue, and meeting space. They host everything from singer-songwriter competitions to Sunday church services (during which they serve Velo espresso). The only place around serving Counter Culture, The Camp House also has my new favorite DRY Lavender Soda. To sit in their cavernous yet cozy space (which used to be a sculptor’s studio…a theme, apparently) is to be inspired with a sense of “Why not?” 

Grab some baked goods with a side of pun…at Niedlov’s Breadworks. Not only do they supply most area restaurants with organic, naturally leavened breads but like Velo they are heavily invested in the community. If that’s not reason even to go they make a mean cinnamon roll that moved my ordinarily generous husband to greed. 

Go hog wild…at Link Forty-One. Back bacon, jowl bacon, regular bacon, brats, breakfast sausage, smoked sausage, “baconage” (a mixture of smoked bacon and sausage), “potstickers” (“a link sausage version of the inside of an asian dumpling”)…they’ve got everything pork lovers dream of and then some.

All the meat is locally raised, not because farm to table is trendy (although I’m sure it doesn’t hurt) but because it’s authentic to the Southern pork tradition. There’s even a window where, if you were obsessed enough, you could watch them stuff the casings. Doesn’t get my rocks off but if that’s your thing…

If anyone ever asks me (probably somewhat suspiciously) “What’s in Chattanooga?” my answer will be, “A shit ton of awesome.”