Taste the Currants

Red Currant Harvest

Growing up, I heard people talk about going berry picking, and I read stories about berry picking, but I never actually did it. I considered it in the realm of our rural past, maybe something done somewhere out in the country, but as far as I was concerned, those little sweet treasures that topped our cereal and filled our pies came from the grocery store.

Well, where I live, summertime is a berry-picker’s paradise. In my in-law’s garden, among other beautiful growing things, there’s a row of raspberry bushes, a couple of cherry trees and a big bush bursting with red currants. The relatively warm summer over here has yielded a huge crop in all regards, and we’re reaping the benefits. Everyone in the neighborhood seems to be doing the same thing, so it’s not just eccentrics or a grow-your-own trend. And even though my in-law’s cherry tree produced plentiful fruit (they left a ladder there for us to simply help ourselves whenever we had a break), neighbor’s  have been coming by to share their yield of various cherries.

The best surprise, though,  has been the currants. I’ve known about currants, but they’re more widely available here in Europe – currant jam and juice is about as common as strawberry jam and apple juice. The are little and round, and one of the delights is their convenience and durability. I’ve permanently soiled several of my shirts spitting out cherry seeds, but the currant seeds are small and easy to eat with the fruits. The fruits themselves taste like tart raspberries, but their consistency resembles grapes. In fact, in local slang, currants are called “traeuble,” meaning, little grapes. Thus, with their hard skin, they are fairly resistant and last a little longer than raspberries and their easy to freeze for the winter. Like grapes, they burst in the mouth when chewing, which makes for a refreshing, not to mention tasty, summer snack.

Of course, currant season doesn’t last for ever, and this past weekend, my mother-in-law and I picked the bush clean of currants to gather as many as we could before they fall off. We harvested over three huge bowlfuls of these little berries, frequently munching as we went along (that’s when they taste best, she advised). We froze most of the currants; as durable as they are, there’s no way we’d be able to eat all of them before they went bad. The frozen currants will be used for future cakes and jams. We’ve been enjoying the rest all week, piling them on our morning muesli or mixing them with yogurt or quark for dessert.

It’s also a tasty argument for eating things that are grown close to your own house. Simply speaking, they taste better than things that have been preserved and transported. Are there any fruits that grow well where you live? Add them to your backyard, and prepare for berry picking season.

Don’t Tread on Pie

Attention all minutemen! I’m sounding the alarm! Does your heart beat red, white and blue? Then it’s time to act! The most insidious grocery-based revolution since the Whisky Rebellion is afoot.

If you mess with this, you mess with America

Who is this culinary Benedict Arnold and what is his purpose? Why, it’s none other than Slate‘s Nathan Heller, who just last week wrote a polemic against that tasty, scrumptious and, yes, American food: Pie. Already, brave patriots who know more about the subject than I do have risen to the defense of our national pastry. But even as I sit in a foreign land surrounded by foreign food and foreign customs, I cannot help but, with a tear in my eye and a song in my heart, to rise to the defense of my mother country’s dessert.

No, friends, no. Put away the tar and the feathers. Heller attempts to make his case in taste and reason, and it is with taste and reason that we shall defeat him.

As I read it, Heller’s case stands on four points: pie is un-American, pie is messy, pie is difficult to make and pie is not that tasty. Yes, yes, I understand your reaction, but calm down. We’ll address each argument in turn.

First, Heller argues that pie is un-American. Evidently, we gullible Americans, misinformed by the insidious pie lobby, should be shocked that pie migrated here from Europe like the rest of us instead of somehow springing from the ground, fertilized by Benjamin Franklin himself and brought from sea to shining sea by Johnny Appleseed. Wow, I’m flabbergasted! Clearly we must refuse to call anything American that migrated here a couple centuries ago to evolve into a new identity. If pie’s un-American sin is that it has foreign ancestors, then this is a stain the majority of us bear. Like it or not, we are a land of immigrants. There’s a reason why our national beef patty is named after a city in northern Germany, and those hot dogs we consume at baseball games were once called Frankfurters. Unless you are a pure-blood Native American, you have foreign relatives who touched down around the same time pie did, perhaps much sooner. My paternal grandmother was an Estonian who came to America via Germany. I find it very American that our own President had a Kenyan father. Heck, the Statue of Liberty herself was a gift from the French. The fact that the puritans didn’t have fruit pie at the first Thanksgiving is irrelevant. If heller demands such national purity for his American food menu, then he is carrying a short list.

Heller spends a lot of words complaining that pie is messy. Oh dear, someone give this delicate person a napkin for his wittle mouth and wipe his wittle nose. By all means, don’t give him salsa for his chips or sauce for his ribs, lest he gets stains on his frock. Burritos are messy. A hot dog, properly decked in condiments, is messy. Lasagna is messy. What do they have in common? They’re delicious! Again, if Heller prefers food that doesn’t risk staining his fingers or spreading across his plate like the ocean tide, then there’s a lot more he’s missing out on than pie.

Heller also whines that pie is a lot of effort. Such blood, sweat and tears to make a messy foreign substance! Ok, my sarcasm tank is almost empty, so I’ll let the more mature Pie It Forward blog I linked to earlier speak to this point:

“The best pie, the pie that, in my book counts as pie, was made in a home, with love, with the best, freshest, regionally and seasonally-appropriate ingredients. The best pie takes a lot of time and not a little effort. It is made by those who have made hundreds of pies, some good, some bad. It goes from ingredients to oven to plate in the shortest possible amount of time. In the best pie, you can taste the sun that ripened the fruit, the spices and flavorings pop and the crust reminds you of the grandmother you wish you’d had; the one that knew how to make a really excellent pie.”

If he wants to, Heller can find all he wants to complain about in pie in the frozen food section of his local grocery store. With a little effort, excellent pie is possible.

This leads us to Heller’s argument that pie just doesn’t taste good. Well, ultimately, taste is in the tongue of the eater, and if he just plain doesn’t like pie, then that leaves more for the rest of us. And again, if we’re talking about mass-produced pie from the grocery store or some sort of short-cut halfway pie made with canned goods, then I’m with him. But the presence of McDonald’s doesn’t mean hamburgers are bad. The presence of Coors doesn’t mean beer is bad. The same goes with pie.

Here’s Heller’s closing point:

“Your own grandmother, grandfather, or other kitchen-able elder no doubt makes the best, most unequivocally delicious pie that I will ever taste. These people should be proud. The lengths we’ve gone to in order to make a pre-medieval baking technique as toothsome as possible today are proof of American ingenuity and care. But is this a cause worth the effort?”

I wonder if Heller needs to expand his circle to include such a pie-making elder, or younger, as it is in my case. You see, I am the beneficiary of my pie-loving sisters. When the family gets together, say Christmas or a summer holiday, the three of them, along with my mother, take the time, the efforts and the fresh ingredients to make some spectacular pies, among them apple, peach and (my favorite) chocolate pecan. None are too sweet, nor do they carry a fake sort of syrupy. I’d take a piece of any of them before even the most creative cupcake. And here’s the thing: they keep doing it. For them, part of the joy of baking, and baking well, is the baking part. There’s pleasure in working hard with loved ones to create something delicious for loved ones.

Worth the effort? An emphatic, freedom-ringing, home run-hitting, flag-waiving, red coat-fighting, eagle-screaming, anthem-singing, firework-cracking, Thanksgiving-celebrating, 50 State-memorizing yes.

(Photo by norwichnuts)

Creative Spreadables

In Germany, if it’s spreadable, it’s edible!

Have you tried these German spreadables?

Ok, that’s not entirely true, and I’m sure you’re not thankful for the images of unappetizing oozes that just passed through your brain. But an American visitor who moves on from the biergartens (but why would we want to?) into other forms of German cuisine will note that there is much more to spread, and the spreadables (I will continue to use this word as a noun) are surprisingly good.

Yes, America does have its spreadables, but outside of creative dips in the Mediterranean section of your local Wholefood or Trader Joe’s, many of us don’t move beyond ketchup & mustard, mayo & butter, peanut butter& jelly. For simplicities sake, I am not counting sauces, such as BBQ sauce or gravy, or dips, as spreadables – only those food items that you actually take a knife and spread over something else. And come to think of it, there’s not a lot of dip over here in Deutschland, and most of it is pretty sub-standard compared to the salsas and bean-based offerings in the States. My hypothesis is that Germany has some of the best bread in the world, but no one really taught them how to make the chip. America, in contrast, has great chips – corn, potato, pita – and an excellent assortment of dipping sauces.

When we lived in the States, my German wife was surprised how few spreadables occupy the shelves of these massive American grocery stores. Even if she could find a cheese spread, it was usually cheap, fake plastic stuff smothered in artificial flavors. And forget about finding spreadable meat. (Note: I know that there’s pate, but I don’t think I’ve actually seen anyone in America eating that. Do you?) Yes, that’s right, spreadable meat. But before you gag and go back to your Facebook page, try to keep an open mind. I’m going to introduce you to a few spreadable essentials to the German diet, starting with something that’s so good it transcends any culture.

You’ve probably had Nutella. It’s showing up in more and more American stores, delicious if not pricey. It’s one of those European concoctions that those pompous snots who spend their first years after college in Europe (editors note: the contributor spent two years in Europe after college.) try to impose on the land of the free, sort of like soccer, espadrilles or environmentalism. But Nutella involves chocolate, and anything with chocolate can’t be that nutty – unless you mean delicious hazelnuts! Nutella, rivaled only by peanut butter, is the king of all spreadables. It goes good with any fruit, can mix wonderfully with Ricotta cheese, and is the best Crepe spread available. If you haven’t had it, stop whatever you are doing and go buy some (and bring your credit card. It’s pricey, but worth it).

Nutella is not a German product; it’s Italian. However, it seems to be a more important part of the German kitchen than it is in any other culture. I know someone over here who actually scoops it out with a spatula every morning. If all the world’s Nutella were raptured to heaven along with Harold Camping’s followers last weekend, there would be worldwide weeping and gnashing of teeth, but many Germans would act as if every tree in their republic were reduced to ash. There’s even a culture of Nutella snobs. I once was sternly rebuked after buying a cheap no-name brand Nutella substitute at a discount grocery store. I could hardly tell the difference, but most say accept no substitutes.

For our next look at spreadables, we’re going to visit the German company of Alnatura. As the name suggest, they make all organic biological products that are “sensible for the person and the earth.” Among those are some amazing spreadable products. Another sweet one is called, translated into English, Buckthorn with Honey. I had never heard of buckthorn before – evidently it is an orange berry that looks like roman tomatoes (at least on the Alnatura packaging). It’s very yummy, and quite healthy. The spread itself tastes a bit like blueberry yogurt.

Alnatura is known for their savory, vegetable based spreadables, and let me tell you, they are a delight. Today, my wife and I bought two from their impressive assortment. I had not tried the Arugula-Mustard Paste yet, and I worried that the mustard would dominate and make this spreadable not particularly creative. Nope – the flavor, while matching it’s name, had a delightful dill aftertaste. If you come to Germany, buy this product, along with a knife and a piece of bread. Although if I had to choose one, I would go for the Pepper & Chili, which is my running favorite. I learned about it when I discovered, in a hidden shelf in the fridge: my wife’s secret spreadable stash. It’s true. She was hiding spreadables from me. And maybe she was wise to do so. Because on tasting this wonderful, tangy, slightly spicy (though some more bite wouldn’t hurt) substance, I proceeded to eat the rest. With a spatula. Ok, a spatula would not have fit, and my wife did catch me and we proceeded to wrestle, which was fun for other reasons.

Meat: Spread on bread!

Ok, my friends. It’s time to talk about spreadable meat. When I first moved to Germany, I went to a large conference center with a bunch of other Americans. Every morning and evening, in cans, dishes or simply wrapped up in sausage form was spreadable meat, mostly liver-wurst, but it could just as easily been pork sausage, beef or turkey, except as spreadable as butter. We wrinkled our noses. We gagged. We cried. It was almost as disgusting looking as the sausage salad they had tried to serve us earlier (that’s for another post). It looked like a Halloween gimic – the brains in a bowl thing that those neighbors who over-do it every year put on their front porch. Then, much later, I summoned the courage to try it, to stick my knife into the pink goop, spread on what I knew would be an otherwise delicious piece of bread, and bite it.

Brothers and sisters, it was delicious. Believe me. I was converted on one taste. It’s hard to describe – a bit salty, a bit meaty, and quite healthy, actually. It’s one of those Andrew Zimmern moments where you let go of your cultural biases against a form of food and eat it. And I’m glad I did.

I’m tempted to say we need a creative spreadable revolution in America. More and more people are liking Greek spreadables, though we tend to take them in dip form (with pita chips!). But upon reflection, America still has the ultimate spreadable, and something I dearly miss now that I moved across the pond. That is, peanut butter. Most Germans can’t stand peanut butter, but that’s because the peanut butter they sell, including Alnatura’s version, is just not that good. They never had Trader Joe’s wonderful salty crunchy (my current favorite), or even Jiff (which I grew up with). Heck, maybe they would even settle for the sub-standard American brands like Skippy or Peter Pan – even those are spectacular spreadables. Yes, America (this is where you can start humming “America the Beautiful”), I know I talk about German cuisine all the time, but when it comes to spreadables, though we don’t have the wonderful meats or Alnatura products, we have George Washington Carver’s magnificent contribution to society. We can stand proud, plate in hand, spreading knife held high.

Ok, that was a lot of words, and if you are still reading, thank you. Please share your experiences with creative spreadables in the comment section. Oh, and a discussion question: If you had to choose one, would it be peanut butter or Nutella? Not an easy decision, but I’d go with peanut butter.

Easter is a Feast Day in Germany

Note: Germany is a prominent feature of your contributor’s posts (for example), but now he lives in the country, not far from Stuttgart. He believes German food is not a contradiction in terms, and he looks forward to sharing the tastes of his newfound home.

The church refers to Easter as a feast day, and my German family truly lived it out here in Baden-Wuerttemberg. One of the nice things about Germany is that Easter is an official holiday. On Good Friday, Easter Sunday and Easter Monday, everything is closed, with Saturday set aside for holiday hustle and bustle. In fact, having a little time off gives the most important day of the Christian year almost the same respect as Christmas – you could go through the holiday rituals without thinking of pressing work deadlines. My German family feasted like they believe in Resurrection, like they believe Easter means death truly is overcome. The food was heavenly. Here are the highlights.

I grew up eating sweet ham on Easter, but in the Germany, lamb (appropriately) is the traditional Easter meat. Uncle Gerhard grilled some choice cut from a lamb raised in near-by Goeppingen. My mother-in-law used lamb to make a delicious Hungarian Goulash. In addition, we had a surprisingly-juicy turkey breast served in an exquisite wine sauce.

Grilled lamb

Lamb Gulasch

 

 

 

 

 

 

That same wine sauce was served over one of my favorite German foods, spaetzle (pronounced shpet-zleh, not spate-zull), home-made egg noodles. For Easter, my wife’s aunt prepared two varieties, one plane, and one mixed with Chives.

Spaetzle: German comfort food

Spring in Germany is asparagus season – they even have asparagus festivals. Our Easter asparagus was served baked with Gouda cheese, though it is normally served in a hollandaise sauce. Of course, my preferred vegetable is anything that goes in a good salad, and our salad was a spring garden mix of arucola, lettuce, tomatoes and herbs grown in the garden. Any German grocery store provides great salad seasoning, which, mixed with the right amount of olive oil and white balsamic vinegar makes a delightfully tangy dressing.

Swabian Potato Salad

Speaking of vinegar, spring is also that time of year when the Germans start to make potato salad, and our Easter feast was no exception. Potato salad in southern Germany has less mayo and more vinegar than in the north, which makes it a light, cool side on a warm day. Yes, it may look like a big bowl of scrambled eggs, but let me assure you, the flavor makes it one of the tastiest things on the menu.

Of course, a Resurrection feast needs the appropriate drink:

An afternoon thirst quencher

Perfect. You probably know that Paulaner Hefeweizen is available in major grocery and liquor stores in the U.S., and it’s one of the best German beers on the market. It’ll be on the pricey side, but if you want some authenticity at your next biergarten party, grab some Paulaner instead of some American Oktoberfest seasonal (which, I do admit, have their place). Hefeweizen is served in beautiful vase-like half-liter glasses. I could go into more detail (that’s for another blogpost), but mistrust anyone who serves Hefeweizen in your average pint glass.

Let’s not forget dessert. I struggled to include it after maybe overeating just the teensiest little bit, but I coudn’t resist the four varieties of cakes. Generally speaking, German cakes are a little less “cakey” than the American variety. In terms of consistency, if there is a scale with “cake” on one side, and “pie” on the other, most German cakes fall somewhere in the middle. They are not cake or filling heavy; they have  a lot of both. German cakes usually have less sugar, but make up for it in the fruit or chocolate area and some are made with enough liquor to knock out a water buffalo.

For example, egg nog is an Easter drink here in Central Europe, and my wife’s aunt bak ed a delectable egg nog cake. Yellow. Creamy. Egg Noggy. Goodness. The only thing that could match it would be some sort of chocolate bottomed caked soaked in cherry liquor, topped with fresh cherries, cream and cocoa: A Black Forest Cherry Torte. I apologize in advance for any hunger caused by the following pictures.

It's not Christmas, it's egg nog!

Black Forest Cherry Torte

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wait, did someone order a fresh strawberry cake?

Or what about Rhubarb? Yes, we had both. I had space on my plate for a piece of each.

Strawberry goodness

So, on Easter, we feasted. It was all delicious. It was a team effort; everyone contributed. Everyone, except… well… hey, at least I wrote about it afterwards!

 

In Praise of Antonio’s

It would take something special to post again on this oft-neglected piece of cyberspace. Justin and I have been busy, after all. In my case, working and new fathering have kept me from sampling DC’s finest or reflecting more on the absolute perfection of Hefeweizen (at least in written form).

But I am on vacation at my parents’ house in Orlando. Last night, my folks took care of our little one, while my wife and I found a new corner of restaurant heaven.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. Orlando? The land of Disney and plastic culture? Isn’t Orlando the headquarters of all those big restaurant chains that push a bland uniformity into U.S. food culture? Isn’t Orlando cuisine nothing but overpriced tourist trap food?

Well, in part. But step away from International Drive. Go from the corporates to the foodies. Put down that expensive Disney Turkey leg. Next time you take the kids to Disney World and Universal Studios, be sure to drive over to Antonio’s Cafe & Deli in Maitland on 17-92. We did so, on my parents’ recommendation, and we tasted the best Italian food I’ve had in a long time.

Our romantic table in the liquor section.

Now, here is the charm. The Cafe & Deli, as you can see, is nestled within a mini Italian grocery and wine shop. We had a romantic little table in the liquor section. It may sound strange, but experience it, and you’ll find it creates a natural ambiance that most restaurants attempt to produce with funky decorations and weird lighting. We sat at our table and had two servers: A nice waitress who took our order, and their resident wine expert. The wine expert helped us select a bottle of wine from around the store (“we have an excellent wine list, and it’s all around us,” he joked), and was kind enough to open it and give us the “sniffy sniff sniff.” To go with our food, he selected a Dogajolo – 80% Chianti and 20% Cabernet Sauvignon (“which gives it more complexity,” he said). Yum.

For an appetizer, we had the Topped Ciabatta – fresh Ciabatta bread, blanketed with Mozzarella and tomato sauce – fresh, delicious, opposite of canned. It was a generous appetizer to say the least – on another more budgeted night we may have gone with just appetizers and wine. But this was a rare date night for new parents. We were going the distance. (I should also mention that this was alongside some fantastic bread, fresh butter and olive oil that could have stood alone)

My wife ordered the pizza. Delightful, authentic crust, generous portions of prosciutto, red onions, sauce and spices that blend and flavor delightfully without dominating. As a real European, she has authority to say what she said afterwards. “Here in America, all the Italian food is Chicago-Italian or New York-Italian. It’s fine and everything, but it is hard to find Italian-Italian.” Antonio’s fit the bill. Yes, she’s from Germany. But as Texas has top-notch Mexican food, southern Germany is peppered with fantastic Italian restaurants. She knows what she’s talking about.

I had a hankering for some pasta and went with the Linguini Calabrese. Wonderful sausage, onion and that perfect tomato sauce, tossed lovingly into linguini noodles. The garlic was present but not overwhelming, and as far as I could tell, the ingredients were fresh. Excellence.

The portions were generous, and though good taste spurred us on, we couldn’t quite clear our plates. But our server corked our wine bottle and gave us boxes, and our movable feast would continue the next day.

We walked away from the restaurant with a sense of satisfaction I don’t often feel. We did not feel like we had a lake of grease cratered in our stomachs. We did not feel as if we couldn’t look at another garlic clove again. We strolled through the the shop, admiring the wine selection, fresh meats, cheeses and gelato. All the while, the full feeling in our bellies didn’t make us groan. It made us smile.

Bene.

Leinenkugel’s 1888 Bock is a Great Winter Beer

The Washington area is sitting under what remains of two record-breaking snowstorms. School, not to mention the Federal Government, is closed. Children are making snowmen. D.C.’s young professionals are engaging in snowball fights. Family’s are huddled inside around the fire. Justin is making a daily trek to Peregrine to keep his winter sanity.

You know what that means? Yes, exactly. The spring beers are here!

Some marketing study must have convinced U.S. brewers that Americans prefer to anticipate seasons rather than live in the present. That’s why we can drink winter beers while passing out Halloween candy, drink Oktoberfest bier before the NFL preseason even starts and, of course, buy a six-pack of spring seasonals while stocking up on frozen pizza and toilet paper to wait out the winter storms.

Indeed, while I was elbowing my way through the crowds at Harris Teeter the other day, I noticed the spring beers had arrived and were on sale. Justin already mentioned Sam Adam’s Noble Pilsner is here, but I needed a beer that says, in effect, “come in from the cold, sit down by the fire, drink a pint in the warm glow of the embers.” Leinenkugel’s 1888 Bock fits the bill.

Yes, I am well aware that the Wisconsin brewery’s winter beer, Fireside Nut Brown, is supposed to fill that niche. Maybe it does. Maybe they also stopped selling it before Thanksgiving. But forget the 1888 Bock packaging, which features green grass, a pleasant river and a rowboat – this beer tastes like winter to me.

Spring beer should be well-lit and refreshing, something to enjoy on the front porch the moment it’s warm enough to wear flip flops outside. But, and beer brewers please take note, we ain’t there yet. Fortunately, 1888 Bock is dark, flavorful and goes great with rich, heavy comfort food. It left me with the sort of warm, happy feeling in my chest that good bocks leave behind, kind of like the feeling you get when a good friend gives you a bear hug.

Spring seasonal? Ok, if they say so. But if you ask me, this is a great beer for a snowy day.

Food Love

If you’re going to have a baby and do not have a church community, I suggest finding one. Why? Among other reasons is the fact that they tend give wonderful meals to new families. The good people at Church of the Resurrection sure came through for us.

Church volunteers coordinate a ministry called “meals for moms,” which provides new mothers with, well, you guessed it, meals. That means that three days a week, since the birth of our daughter on January 1, different parishioners came to our house toting some mouth-water, homemade concoctions. I would have been thankful for the meal no matter what I’ve gotten, and I expected it all to be satisfying in a homemade sort of way. But I’ll tell you what – we have some good cooks in our ranks. Beef ragout, pulled pork barbecue, squash soup and breadsticks – and let me tell you about the chicken. There has been a lot of chicken, as you can imagine, but it was never repetitive. A casserole one week, sesame the next, chicken breast in a tangy, tomato-based sauce cooked with squash, we even got a whole roasted chicken – it was all delicious. The meals were complete too. There were salads, side veggies, and desserts. There was even D.S., who did not cook, but brought us pizza from our favorite pizza restaurant. We have been well fed and well loved.

Having a baby has been one of the best things we’ve ever done. I recommend them. But make no mistake, these first few weeks have been tough. It is tough for us, and we are privileged in so many ways. We are together, our parents flew in to take care of us, we have a great community, a warm apartment, employment – had any of this been missing, it would have been all the more difficult. And it is still tough. It’s tough to throw together a nutritious and good-tasting meal when you’ve been up all night, trying to comfort a 10-pound crying person. Our church loved us in a way we did not expect or ask for, and it has made a huge difference.

One of the best ways to show love, to be a friend, to be a family member, is to share a meal. New parents could always use some, and if you have a child, I hope there is someone to provide one for you. This should also remind us to share meals with the new parents in our community (as my landlord did, who is not part of our church, but came by with an amazing lasagna). This is especially true for those in more challenging situations – new parents estranged from their own families, single parents, new parents where the money is tight – no questions these are people whose days would be lit up by a warm supper from a friend. Those of us who write here at Justin Loves Food love food indeed. We can also use food to love others.

A big thanks to our brothers and sisters at Church of the Resurrection, especially those who have loved us with food.

What Would You Name Your Restaurant?

As I mentioned in my last post, one of the initial reasons I darkened the door of the Sacrificial Lamb Kebob and Pizza was the clever name. I like clever names for restaurants, cafes and shops, and I’ve often thought about what I would call my coffee shop, if I owned one. (admit it – you have too)

I especially like names with local flair – here in D.C., Hawk & Dove and the 18th Amendment come to mind. Literary references are cool too. Familiarity has bred contempt – I’m not a huge Starbucks fan, but the Moby Dick references helps you remember the coffee giant’s independent beginnings. Sometimes a name simply sounds cool. A bar/music club in Orlando, Florida (my hometown) was called, for reasons unknown to me, the Sapphire Supper Club. Before I moved away, they changed it to the Social, killing that delightfully alliterative example of pizzaz.

So, commenters, let’s hear it! What’s a great restaurant name? Has the name of a bar ever convinced you to drop in for a drink? If you owned a burger dive, a coffee house or a tapas bar, what would you name it?

New Kabob Shop in Dupont Circle

Like most Americans, the right sort of marketing will get me in the door. Last week, I forgot my usual packed lunch and was wandering the Dupont Circle neighborhood when I came across the Sacrificial Lamb, a new kabob and pizza joint on 17th and R, NW. It’s a basement deal with only counter seating inside (though it has a handsome patio, which I’m sure will be useful in the spring), but my love for Kabobs, the affectionate dinginess of the place (any restaurant that doesn’t look like it has a team of marketing experts determine the design is a plus in my book – unless of course the marketing guys figured that out and are using my useless quest for authenticity against me) and the name (that’s where I’m a sucker) drew me like a magnet. I like the thought that the sheep used to make my Kabob was ritually sacrificed (though this caused no small amount of controversy in the New Testament). In any case, a sheep was sacrificed so that I would pay someone a small amount of money to enjoy a tasty sandwich.

If you’ve read any of my previous posts, it would not surprise you that I my taste for Kebabs began in Germany. Germany has a significant Turkish minority, who wrapped Turkish meats and vegetables into flat-bread to serve as fast food to hungry Germans and other pale-skinned visitors. Doener Kebabs are available in any German town and train station, and, should you backpack Europe on a budget, they only cost 3 to 4 Euros (and as little as 1 Euro in the poor-but-sexy East).

According to the owner, the Sacrificial Lamb Kabobs are more South Asian – he described it as a hybrid of food you can find in Afghanistan, Pakistan and India. (I believe he was from Pakistan) On my first visit, I ordered a Lamb Kabob and fries. The Kebab was delicious – more saucy and less spicy than its Turkish-German cousin. The meat was good, and the vegetables were not immaculate, but the whole combo was stupendous. I regret that I ordered a side of fries – these were no better than the fries in the back of your freezer and their more South Asian sides looked more appealing – particularly the spinach. Before I left, my host let me try the butter chicken, which was their opening special. Delicious – the chicken is wrapped in this tasty, tangy, slightly-spicy red sauce with none of the fried, high-fructose sweetness that you’ll find on the end of a toothpick in a shopping mall.

The butter chicken is exactly what I bought when I went back yesterday, this time with a side of spinach, rise and chickpeas. A tasty treat in a Styrofoam tray. It was still on special, which meant the whole thing was around about $6.75 – just under $10 when you throw in a diet Snapple plus tax. Non-special meals run about $10 on their own. As the name implies, they do have pizza there, which you can get cheaply by the slice, but frankly, like the fries, it did not look special or appetizing. I say, drop by, and see for yourself – but stick with the South Asian specialties. I may “forget” my lunch more often.

(PS: The owner is looking to rent a parking space in Dupont Circle – if anyone reading could help him out, give him a call at 202/797-2736. Order yourself some butter chicken, while you are at it)

Cereal Can Be Exciting

For me, cereal has always been an efficient, quick way to stuff my body with whole grains before hitting the grind. This is, of course, early in the morning where I would prefer not to put much thought into anything. Other than Sundays between the ages of 5 and 13, where my parents allowed us to eat outrageously sweet serials (I’ve grown out of that), I’ve never taken much pleasure in eating it, and I’ve never understood those who like to snack on cereal the same way I like to snack on chips and salsa.

My wife is different. No, she doesn’t sit around in her PJs snacking cereal all day long. But this morning, like many morning, she put a little tender love and care to produce a delightful muesli. It included:

  1. Cornflakes
  2. Raw oatmeal
  3. “Nordic Muesli” from IKEA (which consists of almonds, dried bananas and dried oranges)
  4. Raisins
  5. Apple slices
  6. Canned pineapple
  7. The juice from the same can
  8. Flax seed
  9. Plain “Greek Style” yogurt (instead of milk)

My cereal consisted of:

  1. Cheerios, mixed with…
  2. Chex
  3. Soy milk

Guess which one of us enjoyed her breakfast.