"Foodies!" shouts a large, be-khakied Mohegan Sun employee
to her friend as they meander by us. The methodical clanging beeps of the slot
machines almost drown out her voice. "They're all foodies. That's why they're
I stand on tiptoe and peer down the hefty line that is
snaking around the casino floor. Shit, I think. There sure are a lot of us.
In the aftermath of this
whole Paula Deen diabetes "shocker," the one solid message we can come away
with is this: crunchy, delicious, fried stuff isn't exactly the best thing for
you. Neither is lard. Or doughnut-burgers.
Bummer. But we all knew
that was coming. Who's the guy in the tux?
Midnight snack attack? We've got you covered.
There are many great things about Boston. And then there are some things that are plain shitty. The winter. The fact that the T stops running before the bars even close. The fact that said bars close before 2 am. And that fact when said bars close before 2 am and you're stuck on a street corner freezing your ass off in the winter cold, desperately trying to flag a cab because said T stopped running you can't even find a slice of pizza to ease the pain.
was in high school, my gung-ho AP English Literature teacher giddily decided to
host a "Beowulf Feast," in an effort to nail down the importance of the
Anglo-Saxon mead hall in our wandering
teenage brains. We were each responsible for bringing a dish worthy of a
Grendel-slaying warrior, along with a poem of our own composing to perform in
front of the class.
I apologize in advance for plying you with yet ANOTHER "Shit [insert
niche here] Say" video, but the interwebs have kicked out a variation
that anyone who has ever worked in or around a bar will appreciate.
Attention industry folks! Is it your dream to get verbally
and emotionally abused (but in a nice, well-intentioned and constructive way, of course) on national television? It's your lucky day: Gordon
Ramsay is back in town.
The day I arrive at Trade, Jody Adams' new place on the
fringe of the financial district, the tents of Occupy Boston across the street
are in the process of being dismantled. The irony that I would be gabbing about
wall panels and the culinary creative process while my colleagues fought tooth
and nail to cover every moment of the movement, did not escape me.
But, here's the thing: the menu, the décor, even the air in
this restaurant is electrified with a pure love for food-blazing green arugula,
ruby pearls of pomegranate seeds, smoky wedges of burnt orange-that grabs you
right by the wrist and begs you to come inside.
I'll bet any one of you ten bucks that when you
were 19, you were nowhere near as productive as Eléonor Picciotto.
We know some holiday parties are mildly painful, and usually
require some sort of maximum-strength libation to keep you going, but here's
one we'll gladly show up to, no arm-twisting required.
Well, that didn't last long.
I don't think it's ever been a big secret that Europe (in
this case, Greece and Germany),
sometimes blows us out of the culinary water. But here's further proof: whole
grains, people, whole grains! Yes, quinoa is trendy (and mostly mispronounced),
but I'm talking about the kind of whole grains that steal meals on their own.
They are capable of subtly elevating a dish to stellar levels, and they have
recently gotten the full star treatment from food-writer-turned-cookbook-author
Maria Speck, in her new Mediterranean-inspired Ancient Grains for Modern Meals.
Don't forget, foam fans: Ferran Àdria's in town for Harvard's Food & Science Public Lecture Series, and
his closing lecture (which is ticketed, mind you) is upon us.
foodies. For those of you paying attention, you know the release-date for the
hotly anticipated Lucky Peach Issue 2:
The Sweet Spot is upon us. For those of you who have no idea what I just
said, your world is about to be rocked. Regardless of who you are, get pumped: we
got our hands on an advance copy.
Constructing a menu to herald the end of our corporeal
existence is not a task that most of us are often faced with. For chefs who spend
their day-to-day in a dreamy culinary realm filled with dishes heaped with
shaved truffle--and those same dishes piled in a dish pit--the last supper is
many things: humble, elaborate, somber, joyous, rustic and for most, simple.