Pastrami, focaccia and babka -- oh my!

Like all things Italian? Then you'll want to visit Eataly!

The lovely Miss Wendy and I decided recently we needed a brisk winter break from the Land of Cotton. So earlier this month we took a trip up north for a tiny taste of the Big Apple.

Truth to tell, we enjoy a bit of snow and a wintry chill -- at least for a few days. That's why we're willing to venture into Manhattan in January. There's something special about the area when the temperature plunges into the teens and snow falls gently across Manhattan.

Unfortunately, during this most recent trip it wasn't white stuff falling from the sky but a wintry mix of rain and sleet. No matter. We still managed to nosh our way through several delis in Midtown, enjoy two Broadway musicals -- Motown: The Musical and Kinky Boots -- stroll about the East Village on a food tour and make our annual pilgrimage to Zabar's to stock up on babkas. Can you say yummy!

Oh, we also visited The Jewish Museum to take in a special exhibit featuring the iconic work of Marc Chagall and, just as memorable, dropped by Max Brenner in Union Square for a cup of splendid hot chocolate.

I could easily pause and whisper Dayenu at this point, agreeing with the Passover ditty that, yes, this is all enough. But what lingers in my mind at the moment is the hour Wendy and I spent at Eataly, a specialty market on Fifth Avenue featuring a cornucopia of goodies to whet the appetite and soothe the soul.

The expansive space -- it's sort of an IKEA for the stomach -- is filled with a rich assortment of goodies, all with an Italian accent. It covers just this side of 50,000 square feet and includes pastas and grain products, chocolates and sweets, bread, pastries and other such delights, meats, poultry and fish, a wide assortment of wines and, of course, an entire corner devoted to olive oil!

Food and beverage stations are strategically placed around the perimeter, offering up delightful aromas that both tingle and tease the senses. If there's a problem, it comes with simply trying to get from here to there, pushing through the crowds of locals and tourists that fill the market throughout the day in search of a tasty treat.

It's a battle worth fighting! After all, to the victor goes the spoils. For Wendy and me that meant we walked away with a veggie sandwich: a tasty garden delight nestled between two hearty slices of focaccia, and a cup of bourbon chocolate gelato!

A day later we were back home, feasting at least for one evening on all the left-over goodies -- pastrami from the Carnegie Deli and babka from Zabar's; a bit of focaccia and a huge case of indigestion. 

Turns out the really good news is we were warm and snug back in the Land of Cotton. Two days after leaving New York, yet another blast of arctic air spilled across New England and the wintry mix we had slogged through turned to snow -- lots of snow!

I'm thinking if our little winter adventure had been a day or two later I'd now be writing about our miserable delay at LaGuardia, and the delights and surprises of Eataly and Broadway would only be fading footnotes.

Hot and tasty way to begin a memorable meal

Let’s forget about all the wondrous high-tech stuff I came across on my recent visit to Indianapolis and focus on the really important stuff – food! Specifically, I’m thinking about the shrimp dish that burned its way into my life at a well-known and happening eatery, St. Elmo Steak House.

Josh, my son-in-law and high-tech guru extraordinaire, suggested we begin our adventure in Indy by scarfing down as much protein as possible, an energy boost to help us work our way through the high-tech expo that spilled across the city’s convention center last week. He had visited St. Elmo’s a year earlier and had only good things to say about the restaurant. It’s in the heart of the city, conveniently located on the same spot it’s called home for the last century or so.

Timing was the only problem. Turns out lots of folks had the same idea we did and the only available reservations were either in the late afternoon or after 9 p.m., an hour when I’m thinking more about slipping off to bed then digging into a juicy hunk of steak!  But, hey, I’m nothing if not flexible when it comes to food.

And so it was that we pushed our way into the restaurant as the moon hung heavily on the horizon. The place was filled with patrons, good cheer and the savory smell of cooking beef. We had to wait only a few moments before being summoned, seated and watered! The menu was presented and featured, well, beef – New York Strip, Filet Mignon, Porterhouse, Ribeye, Prime Rib; you know, all the usual stuff!

The usual stuff also means a shrimp cocktail, the ubiquitous item at steak houses that, occasionally, sets the tone for the meal and defines the experience. That’s certainly the case at St. Elmo’s! I did mention this was a fiery happening, right? I’ll explain.

The cocktail is a euphonic blend of huge shrimp deeply buried in a creamy sauce that has the texture of rich mustard and the color of a fine rosé. It packs a wallop! Only the uninitiated – that would be me – spear the shrimpy meat, slather it with sauce and bite away. I found out it bites back!

The experience will be lingering in my mind for years, a fiery rush that spilled through my nose and spread across my sinuses. It had me leaning back in my chair; eyes shut tight, beads of sweat popping out over my brow and noggin. Oh, it was also tasty!

It turns out the cocktail’s creamy sauce is a mixture of fresh horseradish, a splash of tomato sauce for flavor and color, more horseradish and, just to provide an added punch, a bit more horseradish. Apparently, the chefs at St. Elmo adhere to the ancient Talmudic belief that you can never be too rich, too thin or use too much hot stuff when preparing sauce for its signature item. Go figure!

Fruit and waffles: One good way to start the day!

On this oh-so rainy morning, I needed a little coaxing to get me out of bed. What finally brought me to my feet was my stomach – and the promise of waffles swirling about my noggin.

As some of you may recall, my doctor has suggested I give up eating anything white – bread, potatoes, rice, cakes, cookies and ice cream; you know, anything tasty! Waffles, at least waffles made with processed flour, falls on this list of foods to be avoided.

In search of alternative ways to feed my stomach and soul, I happened upon the freezer aisle at the local market and after a little searching walked away with a box filled with bits of whole wheat Styrofoam creatively labeled waffles. I’m thinking what I found inside the packaging could easily serve as coasters for cold drinks or a trivet to hold hot plates!

The lovely Miss Wendy reminded me that this culinary challenge could actually be an opportunity. All I need do is gussy the waffles up a bit and I might be surprised what pops out of the toaster once I find the right ingredients to turn this, ah, sows ear into a silk purse.

I’m always up for a good challenge, so I set about pulling together a few items that I thought might be strong enough to hide the cardboardy taste and texture of Eggo waffles. I set the stage with a nice slathering of honey butter, topped with a handful of strawberries and blueberries, all nicely blended together with a spritz of Smucker’s sugar free breakfast syrup.

Voila! I offer you Grebnief’s Fruity Waffle Surprise! Truth to tell, it’s warm, tasty and, the really good news, contains only 250 calories, 20 grams of carbohydrates and, drum roll please, only about 5 grams of sugar.

Mickey D’s gets fresh, modern McMakeover

Zipping about recently, doing a few errands and in search of a hot cup of Joe, I spotted what I thought was a new fast food restaurant taking shape in my little corner of the world. After a second glance at the construction site, I realized it was a very old burger joint simply getting a massive face lift!

Once upon a time the place with the golden arches in my neighborhood had sold a billion burgers – give or take a few million. McDonald’s was located on a happening spot, the perfect intersection to draw in families, teens and business types jonesing for two all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions on a sesame seed bun! In recent years the joint has started showing its age and its customers have started finding other fast food alternatives.

I’m thinking the burger bosses decided the best fix was simply to go back to square one and start over – again! So in late spring they leveled the existing arches and the building it soared above on Sandy Plains Road and started from scratch. And now, they’re back!

The new site has an oh-so modern vibe about it. It’s a lovely blend of brick, glass and stone; an open and clean design that has the feel of something pulled from the archives of Frank Lloyd Wright. Even the iconic arches have been updated and pulled into the 21^st Century, soaring mightily above the new structure.

Now all the corporate toads need to figure out is how best to update and modernize both its menu and its service. In a report released last week by the American Consumer Satisfaction Index (ACSI), McDonald’s found itself at the butt end of the pack, easily bested by Papa John’s, Subway and Taco Bell.

Unfortunately, the ranking isn’t new territory for McDonald’s.  Except for 2009, when the burger giant edged ahead of KFC and Burger King by a percentage point, McDonald’s has consistently placed last in the ranking since 1995.

Despite such dismal ratings, there’s still a bit of magic in the Golden Arches. I’m thinking with its spiffy new look and efforts to cut out much of the fat, oil and sugar from its products that Mickey D’s will yet again have patrons lovin’ its stuff!  

Finding a tasty bit of icy inspiration in Israel

Israel is a tiny country packed with history and adventure, all euphonically blended with spiritual connections. It’s that one place in the world for Jews, Christians and Muslims that offers up a ready link to an ancient narrative that continues to inform and direct our lives.

So it’s not surprising that I’m most happy when visiting this tiny nation simply walking around, taking in the sights and sounds that often are foreign and discordant, but always alive and exciting. If forced to make a list of the touristy spots not to be missed, I’d have to include such iconic locations as the Old City of Jerusalem; Herod’s fortress at Masada and the spiritually rich village of Sfat; the always lovely city of Haifa and picturesque community of Zichron Yaakov.

Most recently I’ve discovered another spiritual connection, a spot of cosmic import hidden away on one of Tel Aviv’s majestic boulevards. Tel Aviv, of course, is filled with special delights, a happening city that is regularly listed as one of the most tourist-friendly destinations in the world. So it’s really no surprise that along with its beautiful promenade that nestles up cozily to the Mediterranean; its world-class shuk and nearby artist market; its theaters, museums, first-class restaurant, bars and nightclubs that it also offers some of the best gelato on the planet – and, yes, I’m talking ice cream!

If you’re in need of a real spiritual experience, and a sugary high, I strongly suggest the next time you’re in the area that you search out Siciliana, one of the ubiquitous cafes lining Ben Yehudah Street, just a few blocks south of Ben Gurion Boulevard. You really can’t miss it. On a hot summer afternoon, it will be the place with a long line of locals and tourist hanging about. Inside, heaven waits!

In fact, I’m thinking I heard a heavenly choir shout out the first time I stumbled across Siciliana just a few weeks ago. I was in search of something spiritual – gin with a splash of tonic. But once I saw the assortment of goodies on display at the café, I knew I had stumbled across my own little bit of paradise!

For only 19 shekels you can get a whopping large cup of manna that will tantalize your taste buds. When playing around with gelato, I like to keep things simple. So I went with a heavenly helping of whiskey chocolate, nicely paired with a scoop of creamy vanilla. It was divine, an inspired creamy treat that was smooth and tasty.

Of course, I could have opted for the fudge chocolate or crème brulee; strawberry, espresso, or mango delight; bourbon special, cherries jubilee or cookies and cream. I’m thinking you’ll want to give yourself a little time to make the right decision. After all, in this little corner of heaven, the devils in the details.

Jewish treasure: Rugelach from Marzipan

It’s loud and colorful and full of smells that are overwhelming. Machane Yehuda – that would be the Jewish Market in Jerusalem – is an absolutely happening place and one of the iconic shops pulling in the crowds is Marzipan.

It’s mostly a wide blip in a long walkway, filled with an oven, trays of baking racks, some work tables and mounds of manna – soft and luscious challah, berry-filled pastries, cinnamon rolls and cookies. But it’s the rugelach that takes center stage here, a Jewish delicacy that’s a euphonic blend of cookie and pastry.

Most mornings, especially on Friday with the approach of Shabbat, lines of Marzipan fans start maneuvering for position, waiting for the first batches of rugelach to be pulled from the oven. It’s a special bit of sweetness that is offered up, a gooey bit of goodness filled with chocolate. Forgive my mixing of food groups, but the cookies sell like hot cakes!

I mention all this now because I’ll be returning to Jerusalem this spring and will be paying a pilgrimage to Marzipan. This time I know the rules and won’t be grabbing whatever’s around being offered. Let me explain.

Back in 2009, after reading about the bakery and all that it has to offer, I managed to stumble on the shop. Machane Yehuda was coming to life, hundreds of locals and tourists milling about, shopping for fresh fruit and veggies; spices and sweets; fish, poultry and beef. Oh, and rugelach.

In fact, it seemed that half the city was camped outside the doors of Marzipan, crazed from the sweet smells wafting from its innards. When I finally managed to make it inside, I saw that there were a half-dozen women standing about. I wasn’t certain how to go about placing an order, but it seemed that everyone was deferring to me. Go figure! So I raised two fingers and did a little pointing, handed over a few shekels and walked out with a bag of goodies.

It was only a few moments later when I spotted the baker pulling out yet another fresh tray of rugelach that I realized I had just managed to scarf up the dregs of the last batch. I’m thinking the appropriate cliché is “live and learn”!

Truth to tell, Marzipan’s rugelach is an acquired taste. For some folks, it can be a little too gooey and a little too sweet. There are at least a half-dozen other bakeries in the same area selling versions of the Jewish cookie that’s light and flaky and just this side of the uber sweetness of Marzipan.

A footnote: Despite the foolish belief of some foodie novices, there’s absolutely no marzipan in Marzipan’s cookies; and, for those who care, the iconic cookie is called rugelach, not marzipan. That said, no matter what you call it, don’t forget to call me if you’re in my little corner of the world and happen to have a bag of the stuff.

Who knew chickpeas could be so tasty!

Half the fun of going on vacation is planning it out. That’s how I spent the last few days, checking on things to do in Israel, mostly around Tel Aviv and Jerusalem. I’ll be jetting off to the Jewish homeland just about the time the weather here in the Land of Cotton hits the scorch setting.

At least Israel is all about a dry heat, lovingly caressed by gentle and cool breezes off the Mediterranean! But I digress. My recent research was mostly focused on good eats of the Middle Eastern persuasion – falafel, shawarma and, the crème de la crème, hummus!

There are shops, large and small, across Israel offering up tasty delicacies with a Middle Eastern accent and most of these take pride in their hummus. Each region, city and, well, neighborhood provide a little twist on this ubiquitous Jewish soul food.

So, say hello to Hummus Mashawa, one of my recent discoveries. It’s a little shop in a special neighborhood in the heart of Tel Aviv on Pinsker Street. Unless I’m mistaken, it’s within walking distance of Dizengoff Center – sort of the Lenox Square of the area – and just a hop, skip and jump away from my hotel.

Chickpeas – that would be the main ingredient of hummus – are lovingly mashed up and mixed with a few special spices and oil next to your table at Mashawa. I’m thinking that nifty operation takes the concept of freshness to a whole new level. The mixture is gently stirred, warmed and served up with fresh pita and salad. This Israeli feast will cost you less than a Big Mac and probably won’t clog up your veins with gunk.

Up next? Fun with falafel!

Good friends, food at really good restaurant

The lovely Miss Wendy and I finally got around to checking out Seed Kitchen & Bar over the weekend. It’s a happening new eatery in my little corner of the world that bills itself as a chef-driven, modern American neighborhood restaurant. The buzz has been good – very good!

We met up with weekend pals Susan and John, Peter and Margaret and were seated in a little, yet roomy and comfortable corner of the light and airy dining room – an expansive space filled with an oh-so modern vibe.

Our server, a young woman filled with foodie passion, stumbled just a bit as she worked her way around the menu, detailing a few specials and offering up all the little details that her boss – Chef Doug Turbush – brings to the, ah, table each evening. Have I mentioned there was booze!

To buy a little time before focusing on the evening’s main event, we ordered a couple of appetizers – Pimento Crostinis, featuring country ham, apples and micro celery; and Garlic and Thyme Roasted Mushrooms, cradled lovingly in a pool of soft polenta, truffled pecorino cheese and local greens. Visually exciting and cosmically yummy!

All of this played out over 30 minutes or so, our server and her helpers bustling from here to there; deferential, quietly helpful. Despite being surrounded by dozens of diners – can you say hubbub?—enjoying their special night out, waiters and bus boys dashing about, the evening seemed to be moving along at a casual and lovely pace. I did mention there was drinking, right?

The moment of truth finally came and I opted for comfort food over exotic; Veal & Wild Mushroom Meatloaf, which to my utter delight was served atop a mound of garlic potatoes, all lovingly surrounded by a shallow pool of San Marzano tomato sauce – perhaps the best sauce evah!

Between bits and bites, I noticed that Wendy had yet again boxed herself into a kosher corner – veggie sandwich, thank you very much; John was devouring a thatch – group, gaggle, herd – of grilled shrimp atop a crispy wedge of polenta; and Peter, Margaret and Susan were enjoying something, I think, altogether fishy!

For a few moments all was quiet, just the light tinkling of silverware hitting china, euphonically blended with the rich aroma and delicious taste of our dinners. Enhancing the experience was the artsy and fancified presentation of each dish. Chef Turbush obviously takes pride in paying attention to all the little details, creating on the plate what fine artists manage on canvas. Unlike art patrons at museums, however, we got to eat all the little masterpieces placed before us – and we did, with relish and gusto!

And then it was time for dessert. We went the sharing route because we’re sharing sort of people. We also were full, but couldn’t deny ourselves one or two of the sweet delights offered up by Chef Turbush and his colleagues.

And so it was that we finished our grand meal with Chocolate Mousse Cake and a tasting of High Road Craft Ice Cream & Sorbet. All was good, but the scoop of vanilla ice cream just might be the best ice cream I’ve ever – yes, ever – tasted.

Seeds is a little pricey, but in this case the old saying, “you get what you pay for” rings true. We’ll be back.

Big Apple, Part III: A cheesy afternoon delight

Way up on the list of things to do when visiting The Big Apple is eating. The lovely Miss Wendy and I keep our chowing down simple when visiting New York, mostly searching out kosher delis – well, at least kosher-style delis!

So it was that we spent some quality time at the Carnegie Deli over the weekend, a mere hop, skip and jump from our hotel in midtown Manhattan. I once again let my stomach call the shots and ordered a hot pastrami sandwich – it’s a whopping pound of meat and costs a whopping $17.

I spent a good minute or two savoring the feast that spread out before me – slabs of thinly sliced pastrami spilling out from under two tiny pieces of bread – before pushing aside half of the sandwich and pulling off at least half of the meat from what remained in front of me, all to be eaten later that evening.

I scarfed down the now-manageable treat, enjoying the rich and deep flavor of the pastrami, nicely blended with a mix of spicy mustard, tangy bit of pickle and crusty slice of rye bread. A perfect bite! There would be many more.

A day earlier, Wendy and I dined at Ben’s Kosher Deli, an expansive restaurant with an expansive menu of Jewish treats. Yet again I feasted on a hot pastrami sandwich, but also enjoyed a steaming hot bowl of mushroom-barley soup. Yummy! Since Ben’s is actually a real kosher restaurant, Wendy ordered a brisket sandwich – moist and tender with just enough fat to tickle the taste buds.

It’s worth noting that we had breakfast at a few specialty diners in midtown and the upper west side of the city each morning and noshed on some dee-licious sweets from bakeries around Times Square most afternoons. All of this was a nice and classic way to eat over our long weekend holiday; but I was also hankering for something a little different and, ah, cheesy!

Late last year, while clicking through the cable channels on the tube, I came across a program on the Food Network focusing on a little specialty restaurant in Manhattan. It’s called S’Mac and its cooks – it’s way too small to have chefs – focus all of their culinary talents on one dish – Mac-n-cheese!

The 30-minute program left me drooling and promising myself that the next time I was in The Big Apple I’d be making a pilgrimage to the East Village. So it was that on a frigid afternoon in early February, Wendy and I found ourselves just east of Union Square in a gritty little space filled mostly with teens and young adults.

A dozen or so tables were spread about the room and a dozen or so people were waiting in line to place their orders. A large menu was on display across one wall, detailing the many ways S’Mac pulls together cheese, pasta, veggies, meat and spices.

Wendy and I kept it simple. I ordered the 4 Cheese Delight, featuring Cheddar, Muenster, Gruyere and a touch of Pecorino. Wendy opted for the Garden Lite – Cheddar, Parmesan, roasted cauliflower and portobello mushrooms, roasted garlic, broccoli and scallions. We weren’t disappointed!

Meals are presented in skillets nestled in wooden serving dishes, the cheesy tops still bubbling away amidst a heavenly aroma of cheese and spices. There’s a fine crunchy topping of bread crumbs that easily gives way to a euphonic blend of robust flavors.

It’s all so simple and fresh, and a perfect way to spend a chilly afternoon in The Big Apple. S’Mac – the full name is Sarita’s Macaroni and Cheese and you can find its website right here – is a happening place; cheesy in just about every way possible. We’ll be back!

Mid-palates, lingering finishes and cupcakes

Cutesy name for a so-so wine.

Nibbling away at taters, beans and burger at lunch earlier this week, I spotted a bottle of vino in the middle of the table. It was a recent gift at a recent happening, a little offering to celebrate my successfully circling the sun yet again. I’ve managed the trip 64 times and still seem to stumble onto new and interesting situations with each passage.

But I digress. The daily paper got me through the taters and half the burger and there were a few bits of mail to check out before finishing up the beans. The silence of the early afternoon had grabbed my attention. It spilled about, broken only by the distant static of a nearby radio and the tinny noise of my fork scraping across my luncheon plate.

Peering just slightly above a euphonic blend of burger, tater and beans balancing nicely on my fork, I was devilishly drawn to the bottle of wine. It was produced by one of those wineries with a cutesy name – Cupcake Vineyards. I wasn’t thirsty, just looking for a little something to read as I polished off my lunch. Go figure.

Turns out I was checking out a Pinot Grigio. If I’m thinking wine, especially one of the white persuasion, it’s probably a Pinot. More than the taste, I just like saying Pinot Grigio. It rolls off my tongue with a cosmopolitan flair – Pee-noh Gree-gyee-o! Salute.

Checking out the label, I quickly learned that the folks at Cupcake traveled to Trentino, Italy in the foothills of the Italian Alps in search of the perfect grape to create their special wine. I then learned that Cupcake’s Pinot is “full, with the flavors of ripe pears, a creamy mid-palate and a long lingering finish.” Right! The, ahhh, copy writer adds that the wine is “reminiscent of a pear cupcake with white chocolate.” Really, that’s what’s on the label. You can’t make this stuff up.

Bizarrely, the label then suggests that the wine works well with bay scallops in a cream sauce. Does anyone really want to chow down on pear cupcakes, white chocolate and scallops? I’m thinking the marketing folks had just polished off a case of Pinot before writing this messy message. I’m also guessing that if I ever get around to popping the Pinot’s cork that it will be lovely – fresh, fruity and firmly acidic.

BTW, next week I’ll be focusing on Manischewitz Concord grape and its iconic sugary high that features a creamy, ahhh, mid-palate and a long lingering finish. L'Chaim!

Hot coffee, cold reality and crossing the street

I can file this away under the heading “Will he ever learn?” Despite my rant just yesterday about the poor service at the place with the golden arches, I still stopped by this morning for a cup of Joe. Big mistake!

After standing about at the front counter, waiting for someone to take my order, I was put on hold when the cashier opted to wait on one of her colleagues. While I cooled my heels and the line behind me grew – both in length and impatience – the McBurger putz first told her friend to input his order in a nearby register, then left us all dangling to handle the chore herself.

In fact, what should have taken only a moment, turned into clerking 101, the cashier explaining in detail to her friend how best to place an order on McBurger registers and, in the doing, how best to tick off paying customers.

After five minutes or so she returned to take my order, took my money, let the register figure out my change, then informed me that the coffee pot was empty and it would take only a few moments to brew a fresh batch! For an instant I thought all this was being taped and I was part of a new reality TV show.

I sort of smiled, then explained I didn’t have any more minutes to wait around and asked that she return my money. That of course involved her calling her manager, getting the boss to open the register and fiddle around with the gizmo so it would register that someone – that would be me – interrupted a transaction in process.

I took my buck and change, drove across the street and stopped at QuikTrip (see Tuesday’s blog posting), said hi to the cashier who greeted me with a smile, then poured my own cup of coffee. I was in and out in less than two minutes and can now report that, yes, I have finally learned my lesson!

Winning formula: Good service with a smile

I spotted a news brief recently that reported service station convenience stores are stealing customers from fast food chains. In fact, the story suggested that even some family restaurants offering moderately prices meals – Applebees, Chili’s, Houlihan’s – are losing business to folks chowing down on nachos and burgers at corner gas stations.

Of course such neighborhood gas stations include mini-marts featuring fruit, veggies, candy and snacks; hot dogs, hamburgers and sandwiches; coffee, lattes, espresso and all manner of sodas and frozen treats. And, at least the one I visit regularly, cheap prices and great service.

In my little corner of the world, right across from that place with the golden arches, is A QuikTrip. The clerk behind the register always smiles and says howdy when I visit, actually makes eye contact when I step up to pay or ask a question, then – and this, I know, is hard to believe – manages to handle cash and make change using his noggin instead of a computer.

The clerk does all this while handling a slew of other chores – printing out gas receipts and lottery tickets, monitoring the dozen or so gas pumps out front and making sure the shop is clean, neat and fully stocked.

If three or more customers back up at one register, another clerk automatically – I swear I’m not making this up – stops whatever he might be doing, opens up a second register and keeps things moving smoothly along. I’ve never waited more than a minute or two at a register. Obviously, the bosses at QT’s corporate headquarters know something about customer service.

It’s a lesson the toads running the golden arches have forgotten – and it’s costing them money. Everything that QuikTrip does right, the burger drones across the street get wrong – no smiles, no eye contact, no service.

I actually like the coffee at McBurgers. As often as not, however, when I stop by in the late morning they pour out the last dregs from the pot then sheepishly tell me they’re out and need to make more. Ah, that never happens across the street at QT.

Now, if filling stations can just figure out how to make decent fries, cheap apple pies and start offering plastic action figures with kid meals, I could fill up my tummy and my tank in one quick stop!

Chopsticks, napkins, water and ear plugs

It doesn’t take much to make me happy when dining out with friends. It’s always nice, of course, if the food is decent, the company good and the ambiance a euphonic blend of quiet background music, candlelight and the reverential clinking of silverware meeting fine china.

Saturday evening our weekend gang – Denise and Stan, Susan and John, the lovely Miss Wendy and me – just about struck out. The company was grand, but the food was only okay and the ambiance seemed plucked from a steel foundry. I’ll explain.

Looking for something a little different, we all agreed to try out one of those happening make-it-yourself stir-fry restaurants that are popping up across the Land of Cotton. The Big Chow Grill takes up a corner of a struggling mall complex in the northern ’burbs; an expansive space featuring high ceilings, lots of glass, pendant lights, exposed pipes and ducts.

The gimmick that you’re either gonna love or hate involves working your way around a counter filled with veggies, starches, protein – fish, meat, chicken, tofu – and sauces. The idea is that you fill your bowl with whatever captures your attention, pile it high and hand it off to a squadron of waiting cooks.

The problem begins when you start mixing and matching. Truth to tell, I have absolutely no idea what the sauces taste like and what blends well together. I’ve tried places like this before and no matter what I manage to create in my ten minutes of foraging, it always ends up tasting the same – a little spicy, a little sweet, mostly bland with a toxic aftertaste.

That pretty much describes the mound of stir-fried stuff that landed in front of me moments after we’d finished a batch of wilted and overcooked egg rolls. But, well, we still had the good company thing going on – a splendid melding of conversation and booze.

Unfortunately, the booze was a little watered down and the conversation was difficult since it seemed we were sitting smack in the middle of a foundry – at least that’s what it sounded like. Imagine a place where there are blast furnaces, huge pieces of machinery and workmen yelling above the roar of clanging, clattering gizmos. Now bottle that noise and release it inside the gym where Duke is facing off against North Carolina for the ACC championship. For good measure, add a sonic boom and the ka-thunk of a helicopter flying overhead.

After an hour of attempting to make small talk, yelling at John and Stan across the table and screaming at their wives, I had more or less lost my voice. I was reduced to using remedial sign language – shoulder shrugs, a few obscene gestures and the occasional smile – to communicate.

Okay, so I exaggerate; but not all that much. We had the misfortune of being seated next to a group of 30 or so kids, all simply out for a fun evening and all chatting very loudly. They did absolutely nothing wrong. The acoustics simply couldn’t handle the traffic. I couldn’t either.

You know that old saw about how good it feels when you quit banging your head against a wall. It works the same with noise. I’m here to tell you that the sound of silence is a treat once you’ve had a meal at the Big Chow Grill. It’s a mediocre dining experience I won’t be repeating.

Now, finally, I know where my beef was born!

My little corner of the world is all abuzz this week, excited about the opening of yet another grocery store. Whole Foods Market is bringing its all-natural vibe, eco-friendly philosophy and stunningly high prices to our neighborhood and we’re all darned excited.

In fact, the lovely Miss Wendy and I got an inside peek on Monday. We joined with a couple dozen other folks and took a tour of the market – all shiny and new – as workers were putting the finishing touches on the place. That’s right, you heard me correctly, we toured the new market; even paid a few bucks for the opportunity. Hey, I was bored with nothing else to do!

I don’t think Disney need worry. Once you’ve glanced at a row of veggies or aisle filled with canned beans, and listened to the marketing patter of corporate toads, there’s little reason to take the tour a second time.

If you buy the company line, Whole Foods is only marginally interested in making a profit. What corporate honchos really want is to create a business that provides healthy grub that is harvested in an eco-friendly fashion – local produce, organic and tasty; free-range fowl, and beef that is so fresh you can almost hear it moo!

Such was the piffle eagerly offered up by all the clerks who shared a bit about the market and how the company’s philosophy, philanthropic efforts and customer care are changing the world. Overstated? “We can trace back every bit of beef we sell to the farm where it was raised and slaughtered,” one meat manager told us. I imagine if asked, he could also provide the names and family trees for the critters recently diced and sliced into hamburger and steaks, now resting comfortably in the market’s meat locker.

Okay, I’ll clamp down on the snark for a moment and readily agree that Whole Foods sells some interesting and tasty goods – I particularly like its selection of fish, aged cheeses and artisan breads. They also feature some creative and innovative ideas that cater to individual tastes and quirks.

Want a six-pack of beer, but different brands; your own special mix of peanut butter; a full meal, cooked and ready to serve? Whole Foods can make all this happen and, well, lots of other stuff. Now I’m starting to sound like I’ve swallowed the Kool-Aid too. Enough!

The grand opening is today and I imagine hundreds of my neighbors will make their way to the store. Meanwhile, it will be interesting to see what the foodie business in this area will look like down the road. Right now, within a two-mile radius of the new Whole Foods, there's a Traders Joe’s, Fresh Market, two Publix super markets and two Krogers. I say, let the games begin and bon appétit!

Oatmeal: Now it tastes as good as it looks

For years I’ve had a love / hate relationship with oatmeal. That’s right, we’re talking gruel – lumpy and bland, the oh-so retro breakfast of champions.

Mostly I start yearning for the glop when the Land of Cotton turns chilly. On dark mornings when a drizzly mist hangs heavily over the world and the temperature calls out for a sweater, the thought of having something warm in my belly seems oddly appealing.

The problem is that I’ve never been able to master the art of making Oatmeal. I know, preparing the stuff isn’t exactly rocket science. It only involves two ingredients and a bit of heat. Alas, my efforts invariably end up having the consistency of mortar and the taste of something you might find on the bottom of your shoe.

One of the problems, I think, is I’ve been doing all my culinary experimentation with instant oatmeal. Just rip open the packet, add water and bring it all to a simmer for a moment. Voila, concrete! Once or twice I purchased the real stuff, 24 ounces of oaty goodness in one of those ubiquitous round containers. No matter. The packaging was splendid but the finished product remained thickish and bland.

I mention all this now because I think I’ve figured out how to creatively pull together oats, water and heat into a creamy and tasty concoction that manages to both fill the tummy and warm the spirit. I stumbled onto the secret while cruising along the Inside Passage of Alaska earlier this summer.

While working my way through the breakfast buffet – eggs, potatoes and corned beef hash; bacon, sausage and cold cuts; sautéed mushrooms, baked beans, blueberry compote and whipped cream; lox, bagels, capers and cream cheese; fried rice and stir fried veggies, grilled tomatoes and zucchini; pancakes, waffles and crepes; assorted cheeses, yogurt, breads, muffins and pastries – I stumbled onto something special.

Buried amongst all the cholesterol, grease and carbs was a serving table filled will hot cereals – grits, cream of wheat and oatmeal. There was also a container nearby filled with simmering milk and a row of toppings – raisins, brown sugar and cinnamon, dried figs, prunes, dates and apricots.

The oatmeal was just this side of soupy; creamy, smooth and tasty. I found adding just an ounce or two of milk, some raisins, brown sugar and cinnamon created a luscious and sweet mixture that was warm and yummy. But could I duplicate this magic back home?

I wasn’t taking any chances. I tracked down the chef who was responsible for preparing breakfast each morning on the ship and asked his advice. He spoke little English, I spoke even less Spanish. With a bit of help from a waiter who spoke a little of both, I figured out the chef cooked up about 50 pounds of oatmeal each morning in huge vats filled with gallons of water.

Realizing it was going to be tough to downsize the chef’s recipe for hundreds and shaking my head in confusion, a nearby busboy from Jersey came to my rescue. His sage advice? If the stuff is too thick, he said, add more water; if it’s too thin, add more oats! Ah, right!

And that’s pretty much what I’ve done. I also made the strategic decision to actually buy a decent product – McCann’s “Steel Cut” Irish Oatmeal. I also finally realized that oatmeal really is gruel – sort of plain and tasteless. Just like the busboy suggested, adding a little liquid at the right moment is the secret to creating a smooth and pleasant base. Then add toppings to taste. Sweet!

I’ve been making oatmeal several times a week for the last month or so. I’m delighted to report that I’ve mastered the art of preparing tasty gruel.

Now, if I could only figure out a way to skip over the rest of summer and leap directly into fall – a pleasant drizzly morning; cool, damp and dark. Guess I’ll just crank up the AC instead and go stand under a cold shower for a few minutes before preparing breakfast.

Up next: Boiling the perfect weiner!

Weekend of friends, family and lots of fried grub

The lovely Miss Wendy’s longtime gal pal, Michele – and her husband David – had lots to celebrate over the weekend. Their youngest son Jerad and his fiancée Megan will be marrying in the fall and they decided it was time everyone met and partied together.

The festivities were in Jacksonville, Michele and David’s home and the hot and humid place where Wendy and I met, once upon a time. But that’s a blog that’s already been written. Wendy and I also had the opportunity to spend some up close and personal time with family – Ann and Leon – and friends – Linda and Barry.

We also had a few hours to schlep out to the beach, stroll along the Atlantic and do a little quality window shopping at some of the area’s malls and tourist spots. Mostly we ate and drank our way through a couple of parties and rubbed shoulders with Michele and David’s friends and family.

The grub and drink was of the high brunch variety – Mimosas, Bellinis and Bloody Marys; tasty salads; lox and bagels, onions, capers and cream cheese; eggs, French toast, and an assortment of breakfast meats; pastries, croissants; cakes, cookies and pies. Yum!

What most lingers in my mind and gut, however, is Saturday night; a quiet dinner for 30 at one of the city’s iconic food emporiums, Beach Road Chicken Dinners. I imagine when it first opened in the 1930s, the rambling shack had a fresh and modern vibe about it. Today, it’s a gentle reminder of a time, ah, gone with the wind!

Several years ago, Wendy and I were feeling a bit nostalgic and oddly agreed we needed a little grease. Go figure. We were in Jacksonville, so decided to visit Beach Road. It was looking a little gritty around the edges. After spotting a family of roaches feasting on some crumbs at a nearby table, we made a hasty retreat.

I’m oh-so happy to report that the place has cleaned up its act; the shack has been fumigated, painted, enlarged and air conditioned. The sweet smell of fried chicken still permeates every crack and crevice. But that’s a good thing.

Those following me on the pages of this blog know that in recent months I have turned my back on all things fried; refined sugar, creams, potatoes and bread. Sigh! My choice then was to drink water, order a salad – I think they have salad – and nibble around the edges of a few side dishes. Or I could say the heck with it and rationalize that one meal a diet does not make!

I chose door number two. And behind that door was fried chicken, crispy, golden brown and juicy; cole slaw, French fries, mashed potatoes and rice; hot biscuits fresh from the oven, served up with a rich, creamy gravy and, if you’re an absolute glutton, honey.

Oh, right, and the specialty of the house – cream peas. Peas are, well, peas. They’re okay, especially if you gussy them up with salt, pepper, onions and garlic or bury them in a mound of creamy whipped potatoes.

But Beach Road Chicken Dinner’s cream peas – a euphonic blend of salt and butter, heavy cream, all-purpose flour and white sugar – are a decadent and tasty treat. I did mention that one meal a diet does not make, right?

So here’s a hearty thanks to Michele and David for including us in their special weekend; best wishes and mazel tov to Megan and Jerad; and three words for the owners of Beach Road Chicken Dinners – I’ll be back!

Mother's Day dinner long and tasty journey

The lovely Miss Wendy and I had a splendid Mother’s Day, walking away the morning with our daughter Lauren along the Chattahoochee, then meeting up for dinner with Lauren and our son-in-law Josh, our machatunim – trust me here, it’s a Jewish thing – Janice and Steve, and Janice’s mom and sister.

There were a few challenges. The surging crowd around Wildfire, an upscale steakhouse in our little corner of the world, looked like a scene pulled from a World War II movie – everyone a bit frantic and worried as they approached the border and possible freedom. Apparently the restaurant was overbooked and understaffed.

A few random numbers capture the problem. Wendy and I, wanting to run a few errands, left home around 5 p.m. We had a 6:30 reservation and had no problem making it to Wildfire on time. We finally got seated along with the rest of our party at 7:15, but it was another 45 minutes before the first bit of food – a platter of cornbread – was served. We limped out of the restaurant three hours after entering and made it back home just in time to watch the 10 o’clock news. For those keeping track, that would be five hours from start to finish; a reasonable amount of time for open heart surgery or running an ultra-marathon.

All the news, fortunately, wasn’t bad. After a short caucus, those with voting rights unanimously agreed to go with something called the “Club Supper Menu”, a family-style feast that was served in waves – appetizers, salads, entrees, sides and desserts. The food, once it landed on our table, was warm, plentiful and tasty.

Highlights included spinach and artichoke fondue and fresh mozzarella, tomato and basil pizza; salad bowls of the Greek and chopped persuasion; cedar planked salmon and prime rib; redskin mashed potatoes and balsamic roasted veggies; triple layer chocolate cake and, the piece de resistance, key lime pie! Can you say yummy?

It’s been months since I’ve allowed myself the tasty and sensual pleasure of carbs, but it was all for a good cause. Mother’s Day only comes around once a year and, heck, luxuriating in a three-hour meal with family and friends was worth fighting our way across the border. Next year, however, I’m looking for a little bistro in neutral territory; perhaps Rick's Café Américain!

PIECE DE RESISTANCE: Wildfire’s Key Lime Pie (photo above) was a bit of heavenly cream, with a nice citrusy kick, atop a thick graham cracker crust.

Burgers, beer and babes -- oh my!

The idea was to get together with some old chums, colleagues from that place with the printing press where we all once worked. My friend Bolly took care of the logistics and the plan was to meet at a Macaroni Grill – boring, bland, but certainly predictable – out here in the northern ’burbs.

The problems – and fun, I guess – started when I arrived at the designated spot and found that the ho-hum Italian restaurant had been replaced with something called The Tilted Kilt! A moment later I spotted my friends standing next to the Kilt’s greeter, everyone waiting for me. Bolly, Butch and Charlie were wearing a smile. The greeter was wearing, well, not much.

The Tilted Kilt, it turns out, is what happens if you take a neighborhood pub and smash it up with a soft-core gentleman’s club. It features and assortment of fried goodies, sandwiches and salads – the ubiquitous fare available at dozens of other chains. What sets The Tilted Kilt apart is the nearly nekkid wait staff.

Waitresses, btw, are called cast members! Go figure. They walk about in plaid halter tops and micro mini-skirts, girl-school stockings and Mary Jane shoes. Along with the tang of fries, chili and beer, sex hangs heavily in the air.

Check out the pub’s website and you learn that the restaurant is in the business of selling “fun” and an “effortless escape” for all its guests. It must be a generational thing, but I thought restaurants were in the business of selling food. And if I want an “effortless escape”, I’ll go to a movie or take a walk.

Randy or Brandy or Candy was our cast member / waitress. She had long blonde hair and blue eyes that sparkled when she smiled. She also had a dragon tattoo that wound itself around her belly, across her back, then dipped into regions I’ll never explore. I was embarrassed for her.

I ordered a house salad and a cup of chili. The food was okay, as was the service. The only real problem came when it was time to leave. I didn’t know if I was suppose to leave a tip on the table or fold up a few dollars and stuff it all into her stockings.

I’m thinking the next time I get together with my friends that we have lunch at Sweet Tomatoes, a soup and salad franchise in our little corner of the world. The only thing at all sexy about the restaurant is its name and the all-you-can-eat dessert bar. A brownie, topped with ice cream and chocolate syrup is the sort of “fun” I’m willing to pay for and about the only “effortless escape” I’m interested in when eating lunch.

My low-fat Greek answer to ho-hum yogurt

I’ve been ignoring sugar, carbs and fat for the last several months, an attempt to regain my boyish figure and boyish health. I never really paid that much attention to what I was eating, but obviously it was all loaded with sugar, carbs and fat! Now bits of that stuff are doing backstrokes in my blood and my doctor says it’s time I change my diet.

So eating has been a challenge recently, especially finding food that is both good for me and good tasting. My most recent discovery is a little gift from Greece, a perfect solution for my long-standing addiction to ice cream and other sweets.

Yogurt has been around forever. It’s one of those trendy things that’s been a staple in Europe for years. In its simplest form it’s bland and disgusting, a pasty concoction that tastes like puke. Many foodie purists continue downing such glop with only a few nuts and fresh fruit to provide a little punch. Go figure! On this side of the pond, it’s been gussied up with sugar and flavorings and has become almost as popular – especially in its frozen form – as ice cream.

The problem is that manufacturers don't know when to stop with the sugar. They're making the yogurt sweet and tasty – all the better to grab our money. My concern – yours, too – is that most popular brands are now filled with the stuff I'm trying to ignore. Here's the good news. There are some decent options, supremely tasty and velvety smooth without all the sugary baggage.

Fage (pronounced fa-yeh) would be at the top of my list, a product offered up by the Gods of Greece – oh, perhaps a little overstated and, btw, there’s a brand actually called Greek Gods. Fage is sort of like soft-serve ice cream – think Dairy Queen – and packed with nutritional value.

It’s one of several new brands of Greek yogurt – the others that come readily to mind are Chobani and Oikos – that have been taking over shelf space in recent months at local specialty shops and markets in my little corner of the world. Greek, it would seem, is now the oh-so trendy way to go when thinking yogurt.

There really is a difference. Mostly it has to do with how the product is manufactured. Unlike the fruity stuff that's filled with sugar and watery whey, Greek yogurt is strained. The finished product is solid, smooth, filled with protein and a sour taste.

The numbers – carbs, sugar and calories – shout this is the way to go. The taste, however, is tough for those of us with a sweet tooth. It’s a problem easily solved. Fage can be mixed with a wide assortment of goodies – jellies and jams, nuts and cereal for crunch, honey or splenda for additional sweetness. In just minutes the creamy lusciousness of the yogurt and the tasty sweetness of the mixes offer up a euphonic blend good enough for a god – a Greek God!

Next week I’ll be detailing how I’m prepared to replace French fries with baked zucchini strips. Yikes! Stay tuned.

Who knew garbanzo beans could be so tasty!

My stomach was gurgling this afternoon and I wanted something light and tasty to quiet it down. I’ve turned my back recently on all things sugary and loaded with fat – donuts, cakes, cookies and ice cream … deep sigh. So my options seemed limited.

I was sorting through the usual stuff in the fridge – veggies, fruit, cheese – when I spotted a container of garbanzo beans. Yech! The lovely Miss Wendy has taken a liking to the whitish legumes in recent years, tossing them atop salads and other simple dishes. I find them both nasty and bland; so initially I pushed them aside.

Then I recalled scarfing down a shawarma gyro last week that was lathered with hummus and realized that I’ve been eating garbanzo beans for years, albeit smashed and tarted up with an assortment of condiments.

Having absolutely nothing better to do and feeling oh-so creative, I decided to make a batch of the Middle Eastern spread from scratch. My first problem is that other than chickpeas – just another name for garbanzo beans – I had no idea what ingredients were needed. A quick google search – hey, I’m a high-tech sort of guy – solved that problem and then a quick search of the fridge and pantry and I was good to go. Here’s the recipe I found on about.com under Middle Eastern foods.

Nor’s Hummus extraordinaire1 can chickpeas (15 oz.)
2 tablespoons roasted garlic
½ tablespoon lemon juice
1 tablespoon olive oil
½ tablespoon lemon juice
½ teaspoon oregano

In a food processor, process beans, garlic, olive oil, lemon juice and oregano until desired consistency. If hummus is too thick, simply add olive oil in small increments (1/2 teaspoon) until desired consistency.

I smartly decided to use a blender instead of hauling down our food processor and the results were just fine. My hummus might not be ready for the Food Network quite yet, but it was smooth and delicate, tastily infused with a rich blend of garlic, oregano and the citrusy tang of lemon juice.

It only takes 10 minutes or so to whip everything together, and hummus is low in fat, sodium, carbs and sugar. You can spread it on just about anything and it's perfect as a side dish, appetizer or snack.

Up next? Baba ganoush.