Miracle Michael

We pretty much had him to ourselves.

In between his serving other patrons at the Swizzle Stick Bar, we bantered about booze. We were treated to the last bit in the silver shaker from other people’s cocktails, drizzled into a pair of shot glasses. Chocolate Martinis. Whiskey Smash.

A thought popped into my head. I’ve been on a quest to sample a particular vintage cocktail--The Aviation—but one of its uncommon ingredients had eluded me thus far.

Its original recipe called for: Gin. Check.
Maraschino liqueur. Check. (Thanks, Mel.)
Lemon juice. Easy enough.
But Crème de Violette or Crème Yvette—not that easy. My guess: modern palates were turned off by the fact they’re both made from crushed violet petals—making its existence quite scarce.

So I said to Michael: “What do you know about Crème de Violette?”

He gave me one of those rare smiles, a golden “eureka” moment wrapped up with a big Christmas bow. He reached under the bar and pulled out a bottle.

He whiffed it under our noses. I recognized the scent--not what I expected-- but couldn’t quite place it. My sister, on the other hand, must have really loved her childhood supplements because she immediately said: “Flintstones vitamins.” He nodded.

He knew just what I wanted. I’m happy to report the finished product—all silvery lavender in its martini glass—was light years away from kids’ stuff.

It was glamorous. It was ethereal. I could have been Carole Lombard draped in white chinchilla and glittering rhinestones, waiting for my man Gable to join me in the lobby bar.

The taste? Icy, clean, a hint of violet blue yonder.

And I have Michael to thank for leading me to my Liquid Grail.

Postscript: Check this out--
http://www.cafeadelaide.com/adelaide.html

Up next: Lucky Clover

NOLA when She Sizzles

The best way to navigate the French Quarter in the smothering heat of summer is to stay hydrated, for goodness’ sake—and keep your blood sugar up with multiple small meals!

The first place Melificent and I headed was Port of Call, a dive joint on Esplanade favored by the locals. In addition to Neptune’s Monsoon—a large and unremarkable rum/fruit juice concoction, we launched into smackdown mode and tried one of their burgers—this trip, it was Port of Call versus Clover Grill.

“Better be a good burger,” Mel said, noting the $9.50 price tag.

The patty, capped off with a handful of shredded cheese, was so thick, it basically deconstructed into wads of meat as we attempted to eat the thing.

Next stop: Fiorella’s—home of the best fried chicken in the Quarter. We were still buzzing on our bucket of rum/juice, so we kept it light and ordered two big spicy, crunchy breasts of heavenly goodness. Fan-effing-tastic. Enough said.

The next day, we needed a snack before entering the shrine to all that is tasty: the Southern Food & Beverage Museum at Riverwalk. I was beyond delighted to find Messina’s in the food court—purveyors of Cajun Spicy Potatoes, which I had missed, all these long years without. (I have cooked up several batches of these sinful spuds since returning home: little red potatoes simmered in Zatarain’s cayenne-laced seafood boil, smothered with Tony Chachere’s seasoning-flecked sour cream and shredded cheddar, sprinkled with chopped green onions. Simple and oh-so-good.)

SoFAB and its Museum of the American Cocktail made us thirsty and hungry, duh, so we wandered through cool, dark Harrah’s casino, emerging into blazing sunlight on the other side at Loew’s hotel, with Café Adelaide and the Swizzle Stick Bar nestled in its lobby.

The airy lounge is adorned with some of Adelaide’s massive cocktail shaker collection. She was a Brennan, of the famed NOLA restaurant clan, and liked the hooch so much she wore a gold swizzle stick charm around her neck. Would have loved to meet her!
Drink special: The Adelaide Swizzle. Perfect for a hot afternoon. A tall glass filled with New Orleans Dark Rum, Peychaud’s Bitters, soda, lime juice and a “secret ingredient” which Michael, our first rate absolutely amazing bartender (for reasons I will reveal in my next post), refused to tell us outright but let us discover on our own. (Mel’s getting a bottle of the secret ingredient for Christmas! That’s all I have to say.)

What do you get when you spear a big fat shrimp, dip it in a cornmeal-shredded tasso batter, fry it up, swirl it in a Crystal hot sauce reduction, and showcase it on a plate atop a clear pool of pepper-flecked jelly, garnished with slivers of pickled okra? Paradise on a bamboo skewer, my friend.

The Swizzle Stick Bar did not disappoint and it only got better from there…

UP NEXT: Why I love Michael...

The One-Cookbook Dinner Party: Nigella Bites

Who wouldn’t want to cook with Nigella, whose technique and sexy penchant for licking her fingers prompted one food critic to describe as a “prelude to an orgy”?

British cookbook writer/TV hostess Nigella Lawson’s breezy and talkative style is meant to break down kitchen-phobia and teach people the sensual joys of cooking and eating. To say that Nigella’s recipes are written in a “conversational” manner would be an understatement. They were a bit kooky and rambling (like herself) but in the end, quite tasty!

I rounded up another group of test monkeys and gave “Nigella Bites” a whirl:

Watermelon Daiquiris: Luscious, beautiful and so easy!

Union Square Café’s Bar Nuts: Bursting with fresh rosemary, cayenne, brown sugar and sea salt.

Elvis Presley’s Fried Peanut Butter & Banana Sandwiches: Hands-down, the most decadent thing any of us had eaten in a long time: sweet, creamy and buttery. I cut the sandwiches in triangles and served as appetizer bites.

Liptauer Spread (with bagel chips): It looked like something an old Jewish lady (i.e. my grandma) would eat…But I was intrigued by the combination of flavors, which included caraway seeds, cornichons and “French” mustard (I’m assuming she meant Dijon, which is what I used) processed with cream and cottage cheeses. Delicious. (And utterly fantastic on toasted bagels the next morning.)

Soft and Sharp Involtini: First, she explains how she makes this southern Italian recipe with one set of ingredients which sounds great….but the recipe she actually provides, she goes on to say, is more “Greek in nature.” So I made her Greek version of fried eggplant slices rolled around a hearty filling of bulgur, pistachios, and feta, topped with a lush homemade tomato sauce and baked (I made a batch of lasagna noodle bundles for the anti-eggplant contingent.). It takes a bit of time to prepare as you have to precook the eggplant which makes it pretty oily but otherwise, it’s a great recipe, especially for feeding a crowd. And it would be just as good—and easier—if you wanted to skip the eggplant altogether and use lasagna noodles instead.

Raspberry and Lemongrass Trifle: I used strawberries since they were in abundance and less expensive. I nearly had a custard emergency—she isn’t clear on how long it takes to thicken and I don’t make custard from scratch very often (well, never, really!) so I overcooked it and it started to curdle. I snapped into Plan B and dug out a box of vanilla pudding, mixed it and shoved it in the fridge to chill. Meanwhile, the cute redhead passes through the kitchen and drops a suggestion: put it in the food processor to smooth it out. It worked! The trifle was amazing despite the custard SNAFU—which I’m glad could be salvaged because it had been steeped with lemongrass stalks and had a delicate flavor that old Mr. Jell-O Pudding would have sorely lacked.

Chocolate Cloud Cake: Dense, rich flourless dessert, but her crazy-ass sugar measurements threw me off mid-recipe and I had to call in my mathematician. The orange zest and Cointreau provided a nice hint of the exotic, but overall, it didn’t make me do cartwheels or anything.

Nigella’s recipes burst with rich flavors and promise a sensation for the taste buds—nothing bland about THIS British cooking. The sumptuous photos in her cookbooks, whether gooey fried mozzarella sandwiches bubbling in olive oil or the voluptuous hostess herself gazing seductively over the bowl as she sips hot & sour soup, make it easy to see why she’s been called “the queen of food porn.”

Flashback, Last Summer: It all started with the Drunken Pony

St. Augustine, rainy Monday afternoon, end of June.

My sister and I had just managed to duck into the Lightner Museum before the deluge struck. After feasting our eyes on so many beautiful things and imagining the glittering parties that were held in the former Hotel Alcazar’s heyday, we were famished.

As I flipped through a visitors guide, a coupon caught my eye. Free Drunken Pony? Hell yeah. Whatever it was, we were intrigued. We zigzagged across the wide boulevard, dodging raindrops until we found the cozy pub, McKnight’s, purveyor of the inebriated equine beverage, and also allegedly famous for fried green tomatoes. Oh yeah. We christened our visit to the Oldest City with a kick: a half Woodchuck cider-half champagne sparkler and a few decadently cheesy snacks.

Thus fortified, we set off in search of our next spirited adventure. Having a cocktail on the verandah of the white-columned confection known as the Casablanca Inn is a glamorous way to spend some time. This elegant 1914 Mediterranean Revival mansion overlooks Matanzas Bay with a front porch perfect for watching the cavalcade of humanity amble past.

We chose a couple of knock-your-socks-off-potent concoctions. I had a Kiss on the Lips—I don’t remember what was in it but it sure was good, ‘cause it made my lips tingle! (It’s hard for me to refuse a kiss like that!) Mel had a Tahiti Tini, fruity and delicious.

After that, we found more substantial fare at the Columbia, an offshoot of Ybor City’s original, occupying an old building in the heart of the historic district. Crusty hot and buttered Cuban bread and 1905 salads. We opted for mojitos—or in this case, little more than minty Sprites. The dining room was cool and dimly lit, with brick walls and arches, wood floors and handsome waiters. In short, a perfect little repast.

We window shopped our way to the piece de resistance: Casa Monica’s Cobalt Lounge. A majestic120-year-old edifice with Moorish-Spanish flair, the Casa Monica took us into another world with its sumptuous interior glittering with mirrors, fountains, exotic lanterns and metalwork, richly upholstered furnishings and dark mystery.

At the bar, we ordered our drinks—mine a classic French 75, and Mel’s a Blueberry Martini. As we sipped, we soaked in the luxurious ambience and imagined other lifetimes while the pianist at the baby grand provided the soundtrack.

If you’re going to visit St. Augustine, don’t just look at the history. Drink it.

The One-Cookbook Dinner Party

I feel bad.

I have a bookshelf full of carefully curated—OK, not so carefully curated, if you notice “Gone with the Grits” sticking out there…Whatever…I have a bookshelf full of eclectic and highly interesting cookbooks gathering dust, sniffling quietly every time I walk through the hallway where they’ve been in limbo since, I don’t know, since I started “googling” ingredients and ripping pages out of magazines. What can I say? I’m succumbing to the instant gratification trigger that is the hallmark of our modern society. I’m not proud about that either.

I also feel bad because I don’t see my friends as often as I’d like.

(Pause.)

Bingo.

Amy Sedaris helped me out with my first go at constructing an entire dinner party around ONE source, in this case, her hilarious and utterly helpful “I Like You: Hospitality Under the Influence.”

My challenge: Find a beverage, appetizer, main course, and dessert from ONE cookbook—and they must somehow try to complement each other. Invite ten friends and away we go!

Beverages: Arnold Palmers (nonalcoholic) and Rum Punch Dazzler; plus we couldn’t resist inventing a twist on the Arnold so we could throw in some of that sweet tea vodka that’s been making the party circuit. We named it in honor of the late, great 80s rocker Robert Palmer, who sang about another sweet addiction back in the day.

Appetizers: Colbert’s Shrimp Paste (yes--THAT Colbert--anything w/ that funny guy involved is definitely on MY menu!) and Lil’ Smokey Cheese Ball—which was a tremendous hit. I understand why Amy sells these—they’re super tasty!

Dinner: Greek Salad, Pastitsio and Greek Beans—great combo for feeding a crowd, F.Y.I.!

Dessert: I’d rather not mention these because it shakes my confidence in my baking ability, but I tried, anyway—Tattletail’s Vanilla Cupcakes (I either overbeat the batter or overbaked so they were pretty dense) and Strawberry Shortcakes on Sweet Cream Biscuit Hockey Pucks (rolled out too thin so they didn’t puff up). It’s OK. Lessons were learned and no one went hungry. (I distracted them with more sweet tea vodka.)

Bonus: Amy’s wackily-illustrated book provided lots of décor inspiration. I had fun making the popcorn cherry blossom centerpieces and putting googly eyes on peanuts.

Well…it worked. And I’m going to do it again. This time, “Nigella Bites” will bring me one step closer to making up with my neglected little cookbook shelf.