FOUR OUNCE STOMACH

Korean BBQ REVISITED!!!

A quick 4-oz Stomach note -- back in October 2007 I wrote about how I much I missed Korean BBQ (here is a link to my own blog, so meta) -- and this weekend I returned for the first time. The verdict -- still awesome.  Everything I like about it was still there -- the raucousness, the authenticity and, of course, all the meat.  Now, of course, I get to nibble instead of gorge and the little side dishes are more interesting (the spicy broccoli is tasty -- who knew?).  They're all wrong - you can go home again.

Eating Like a 40-year-old

So, I just turned 40.  No big deal, right?.  Forty is the new thirty. The best years of my life.  Blah frickin blah.  I'm not into getting older at all -- I don't revel in the majesty and respect of middle-age like some people (who, frankly, have been 40 since they were 18 anyways).  But the biggest problem with turning forty is eating like a 40-year-old.

I flew to San Francisco last week and stopped in the airport gift shop and picked a magazine that I don't normally read (my air travel S.O.P.).  This time I picked up "Best Life" -- the magazine for forty-year-olds (not in its masthead but should be) and started sifting through the pages.  Soon I realized that, as a 40-year-old, I'm losing muscle mass, coordination, spacial recognition, cognitive skills, fine motor functions and my libido.  Fortunately, these are being replaced by pockets of sub-dermal adipose, mineral deposits in my brain and plastic polymers in my muscle fibers (from microwaving food in Tupperware all these years). 

The remedy?  Eat better.

"Best Life" explained that if I wanted to maintain my current level of (poor) fitness I have to eat egg whites and brussel sprouts and fish oil and goji berries and all sorts of undelicious, unappetizing and undesirable things.  Note, this just to maintain my current fitness - to actually reverse the aging process I, essentially, have to quit my job and buy an armada of juicers and blenders so I can saturate my system with essential amounts of whey protein, macrobiotics and life-affirming phytochemicals.

So I guess when you turn 40, eating is no longer for enjoyment it's just petrol into the engine. The patty melts and steak fries of my youth will soon be a distant memory as I stave off death with mountains of steamed kale and Omega 3 capsules.  At least "Best Life" let me keep coffee ("skip the cream for non-fat milk, in 5 days you won't even miss it!") -- but they REALLY wish I'd switch to Green Tea because of the all the polyphenols!

MY PLACE ON THE CORNER

A new restaurant has moved onto the corner of my street - an Italian Toronto-import called Terroni.  When I found out a new eatery was moving 138 steps from my front door I had mixed reactions - elation and fear.  Elation because I love food, especially Italian, and it would be sooooo close.  Fear because I love food, especially Italian, and it would be sooooo close.  And, I just lost 100 pounds which I feel, with the right dedication to prosciutto and gnocchi, I could pack right back on.

Our first flirtations with Terroni were just okay.  They were new, swamped all the time and the location was being felt-up by the hip Hollywood crowd which quickly took the shine off of it.  But now that it has settled down, we have found our groove, Terroni and I.  My wife and I go in for a late lunch with our baby on the weekend.  We sit at the bar and have Americanos (their coffee is amazo) and split a sandwich filled with deliciously cold Buffala Mozzarella and prosciutto.  We have a Nuttela biscotti or a Panna Cotta and we're happy.  I had dinner with my boss/friend the other day and it was great -- a pizza with pine nuts and Copa and we split the meat/cheese app.

Now that Terroni and I have gone on a couple of dates, I think we're gonna be good friends.  She's close enough to call on every now and then, but just a little too expensive and not quite good enough to get all hot and heavy.  Does it stop me from booty calling for thin crust pizza once a month, no.  But I'm still seeing other restaurants - and she's cool with that.

GOLD FOIL MEANS QUALITY

Sorry about the lack of posting - craziness abounds in the 4oz stomach world.  But enough kvetch - on to the food.

In our household growing up, there was one holiday treat that sent my mom over the moon - Almond Roca.  This little candy - swathed in gold foil - sported chocolate, almonds and a think crunchy butter toffee that would make our mom practically cry (this may have been a feigned response as she got older because it became our "go to" gift as kids and I'm sure she got sick of it).  Nonetheless, if mom got a pink tin of A.R. I began my childish machinations to get my hands on some sweetness.  I usually went the "I'm-the-perfect-child" passive aggressive routine - and I got my share of booty.

As i got older, I discovered another golden clad confection that popped its head up every Xmas - Ferrero Rocher.  This hazelnut cream filled, chocolate coated ball is almost as good as the Roca - much lighter and delicate but still packing a sugar jab that can floor you.  I happened across some F.R. this holiday season (I know, i haven't posted forever) and was made aware of similarities between the two Gold Foil Contenders. 

Both package to impress with a candy that is good, but not exactly Guitards.  Both make a point to roll out during the holidays when paying 30% more than something is worth seems reasonable (which is why Christmas and Vegas remind me of each other).  And finally, both candies are the perfect gift for a particular kind of person - like a middle-class mom with three kids climing all over her that just wants a G.D. second to herself!

4OZ STOMACH ALERT: As of December, I have leveled off at a solid 100 pound loss.  I know if I dedicated myself to a little more exercise and a little less holiday candy, I could drop another 20 or so.  We'll see how it goes.

The Most Dangerous Chip in the World

You are looking at a very dangerous chip (or crisp for all of my British readers).  The Kettle Chip Krinkle Cut Buffalo Bleu.  Do not purchase these chips...unless you want to fall in love!  Introduced to me by my friend Jay (who owes me a review of the new restaurant in our neighborhood, btw), the Buffalo Bleu has done for potato chips what the Windows operating system did for computers - pissed people off with something they can't live without.

Pissed people off because, like Jay has said, if you open a bag, you eat a bag.  The flavor is really unique - spicy on the first bite, followed by a piquant sweetness and ending in a creamy, sour bleu cheese finish.  The flavor profile is really robust and the texture of the krinkle cut really plays it's part; hearty, crunchy -- almost earthy.   

Now this may just be the zeitgeist, but I brought up the most dangerous chip in the world to another neighbor, and before I could even say what chip it was, she screamed "Buffalo Bleu" with the same kind of desperate anger I have.  What's worse, the market on the corner next to my house carries them and the deli in my office building has them now. 

As someone who can only eat 4 oz, a bag of these chips is like torture.  I will eat a couple of chips and be SO FULL but want to eat more.  So I stop and stare, waiting for room, then I pick the smallest chip in the bag out and try again.  It's like I'm torturing myself!  I urge you not to put yourself through this -- stay away from these chips.

Thanksgiving in Miniature

I kid you not, I had Thankgiving on October 28th.  The full thing -- turkey, stuffing, a cranberry salad thing -- the works.  Why, you ask, did I have Thanksgiving in October (I am not, as far as I know, Canadian)?  Because my lovely wife (seen on left) decided that it was the only time we could have Thanksgiving with all of our friends before the actual Thanksgiving Day.  I will say, it was a pain in the ass organizing but the dinner was very good -- although as my first Thankgiving with the 4oz stomach it was strange eating.

Let's face it, Thanksgiving is about eating craploads of food - craploads - And that is something I'm no longer an expert at.  So dinner ended up being a small spoonful of each dish -- eight in all -- and a couple of bites of pie.  It was very strange not gorging and feeling like I was going to die after the meal - not bad, just strange.  I was full after my sampling plate so I didn't feel like I missed everything, but psychologically it messed with my head.

One of the things I'm a stickler for on Thanksgiving is a good turkey -- because often Turkey is like a little mouth torture.  Very dry, very flavorless - turkey often becomes the thing you use to push potatoes on your fork or to wipe the last drops of gravy off of your plate.  In defense against bad turkey, I am posting a recipe for a turkey.  It's not mine, it's Alton Brown's, but it is based on the absolute essential step of brining the turkey before cooking.  This is the secret.  Brining is what all the big chicken-based franchises do to make their birds moist and flavorful and it's so easy.  Brining is essentially soaking your turkey in a salt-water bath for 24-48 hours before you cook it to infuse flavor and moisture into the bird.  Here is the recipe - follow it and you won't be sorry:

1 (14 to 16 pound) frozen young turkey

For the brine:
1 cup kosher salt
1/2 cup light brown sugar
1 gallon vegetable stock
1 tablespoon black peppercorns
1/2 tablespoon allspice berries
1/2 tablespoon candied ginger
1 gallon iced water

(THIS IS OPTIONAL)For the aromatics:
1 red apple, sliced
1/2 onion, sliced
1 cinnamon stick
1 cup water
4 sprigs rosemary
6 leaves sage

Canola oil

Combine all brine ingredients, except ice water, in a stockpot, and bring to a boil. Stir to dissolve solids, then remove from heat, cool to room temperature, and refrigerate until thoroughly chilled.

Combine the brine and ice water in a clean 5-gallon bucket. Place thawed turkey breast side down in brine, cover, and refrigerate or set in cool area (like a basement) for 24-48 hours. Turn turkey over once, half way through brining.

A few minutes before roasting, heat oven to 500 degrees. Combine the apple, onion, cinnamon stick, and cup of water in a microwave safe dish and microwave on high for 5 minutes.

Remove bird from brine and rinse inside and out with cold water. Discard brine.

Place bird on roasting rack inside wide, low pan and pat dry with paper towels. Add steeped aromatics to cavity along with rosemary and sage. Tuck back wings and coat whole bird liberally with canola (or other neutral) oil.

Roast on lowest level of the oven at 500 degrees F. for 30 minutes. Remove from oven and cover breast with double layer of aluminum foil, insert probe thermometer into thickest part of the breast and return to oven, reducing temperature to 350 degrees F. Set thermometer alarm (if available) to 161 degrees. A 14 to 16 pound bird should require a total of 2 to 2 1/2 hours of roasting. Let turkey rest, loosely covered for 15 minutes before carving.

Don't Come Late to the Nutbowl

I've got a couple of words of advice -- don't come late to the nutbowl.  I mean it.  The nutbowl doesn't have assigned seating and if you're late you might as well skip it altogether.  The interesting thing about the nutbowl is how like a little society it is.  At the bottom you have the hardworking but ultimately neglected Brazil nut.  It's a large, oafish and tasteless; like a European immigrant wearing a Member's Only jacket.

Then you have a Pecan.  When you dress it up with a little honey-glaze, the little bastard can hobnob with the big boys, but on its own it's a bumpy little misery that doesn't deserve its salt.  We then get into the middle class - the peanut. The peanut is essentially your grandfather who was in the navy.  Its got a crew cut, irons its own shirts and and knows how to tell a joke.  You don't exactly want a peanut at a black tie event, but he's not going to embarrass you.

Then you have your new money player, the almond.  He's smooth, reliable, charming.  An almond flirts with you and you flirt back.  But do you ever give your number?  Never.  So then it comes to King Flavor - the cashew.  The cashew is pure blue-blood. Slightly sweet to offset the salt, elegantly shaped and a fatty, ancient mouthfeel that lets you know this nut (it's actually a seed) is not screwing around. 

The cashew is why I say don't come late to the nutbowl.  Because everyone know it's the best-of-the-best and everyone is gunning for it.  How many nutbowls have you seen with guys doing the one finger dig - pushing around the dregs of nut society looking for a little cashew treasure?  I even have a theory that the other nuts are only there to slow down the cashew hunters -- like a governor on an engine or a muzzle on a dog.  The other nuts aren't there to stop you, just slow you down so you don't go balls out on the cashews.  I know you can buy cashews straight without those other nuts in the way but then its sort of like a country club where you don't have to worry about your off-color jokes.  It seems a little too plutocratic for me.  For me, the lesson stays the same - don't come late to the nutbowl. 

Tiny Bottles of Wonder!

Recently I've been fascinated by tiny yogurts (if you can even call them yogurt).  Right now, two yogurteries (that's gotta be right, right?) are making "yogurt shots" -- tiny bottles of 'gurt so packed with powerful nutritional goodness that just putting them in your grocery cart will cure you of emphysema and ringworm.

The more popular of the two is DanActive by Dannon.  This tough bastard is probiotic -- very probiotic.  It's filled with L. Casei Immunitas, which is Latin for "Three Times More Expensive Than Regular Yogurt".  I learned while reading my DanActive bottle that over 70% of my immune system is located in my colon and stomach - which made me wonder where I'm keeping the other 30%.

The other mini-yoyo is the Promise Activ.  This yogurt isn't pushing the probiotic angle, instead they have fortified their drink with plant sterols -- which they say can lower your cholesterol.  The thing that freaked me out is that in the "literature" on the side of the box, the Promise people say it takes 100 pounds of plants to create enough sterols for one bottle of Activ -- one 3.3 oz bottle.  So I can keep my cholesterol in check, as long I'm okay with defoliating the rainforests?  Yeah, that's a trade-off I'm willing to make.

So how do they taste?  The DanActive is very sweet and a little goopy, but not unlike decent yogurt.  The Promise Activ tastes like punishment -- thin, chalky with a resin-like finish.  It tastes like something you'd drink before getting a CAT scan. 

So why the fascination?  Bottle size - 3.3 ounces.  I can drink the whole thing - which is something I don't get to do much after the 4 oz. stomach.  And I didn't realize how much I missed polishing off something and tossing the container in the can -- psychologically these tiny bottle of yogurt are making me feel like a man -- as well as making my immunities and cholesterol my bitch.

4 Ounces of New York -- A review

So, I was in New York this weekend.  My friend Larry and I were going to Saturday Night Live at 11pm and wanted to have another quintessential New York experience before the show -- namely, The Carnegie Deli.  Not only is it walking distance from 30 Rock, but it is reportedly 1) good and 2) very New Yorky.

Now, Larry and I are no strangers to Deli.  We have had good meals at Canters, Factors and Brentz (Larry has had enough breakfasts at Canters that the waitresses know his order the second he sits down).  So our expectations of Carnegie were tempered with a "I've had good Deli before, New York, just try to impress me" kind of attitude. 

The Carnegie started us off with a fantastic waitress - fantastic in the fact that she was 1300-years old and forgot everything we ordered.  Every step she took pained everyone who watched her -- like we were forcing our grandmothers to clean the gutters.  And when she gruffly demanded your order or forgot to bring you the sour tomatoes you ordered (and reordered twice), you forgive her because of her crusty ancientness.

I knew what I wanted within 45 seconds of looking at the menu -- this is the benefit of living your life as a power-eater, you know what you want the second you sit down.  Larry on the other hand, couldn't get a bead on it.  So when our fossil of a waitress demanded an order, I asked for a bowl of Matzo Ball soup (this is the only true way to gage a Deli, in my opinion) and the Woody Allen sandwich with a couple of special requests. I urged Larry to just share my food and if he was still hungry, could order something else. After a couple of failed attempts to order, he finally gave in.

The soup was good.  The Matzo balls themselves were very soft and crumbled into little dumpling with just a touch of a spoon. The soup was not too salty (per Larry, who doesn't love salty soup) and had a nice chickeny color.  After a couple of bite of the Matzo balls, a distinct eggy taste became more pronounced that wasn't bad just unexpected.  I wanted to really get into the soup, but I knew if I did I would have zero ounces for the big show -- the Woody Allen.

The Woody Allen is a corned beef and pastrami mile-high sandwich, to which I added "on rye toast" and "add Muenster".  We also ordered a side of Russian dressing because it always seems good on Deli sandwiches.  After an excruciating long wait the sandwich finally came out and I was very happy that Larry and I were splitting.  The sandwich was a monster.  I don't think I could have got it all down pre-4 oz stomach (I would have put a dent in it). The meat was fantastic -- especially the corned beef.  Our geriatric server forgot the Russian dressing until we reminded her, but we substitute the brown mustard on the table and were very happy.  Here is Larry's tableside review of our sandwich: 

Strangely, Larry was born and raised in New York but has no accent and has troubled mustering a New York accent.  His "forget about it" at the end of the video is about as good as it gets, but in his defense, he is a tremendously funny guy and is in a dozen commercials so his lack of accent isn't really hurting him any.

The Best/Worst Recipe in the World

Here's the family folklore: my grandfather was in WWII (or was involved with the war effort somehow) and in his soldier's K-rations kit was Spam and a can of creamed corn.  A member of his squad/platoon/drinking posse found some potatoes in a market or pasture or something.  My grandfather put these things together and created something we grew up calling Grandpa's Surprise.

My sisters and I ate this often as kids and always liked it but now, as an adult, I am completely unsure if this dish is actually good or simply so steeped in the sweet marinade of youth that I'm clueless to how bad it is.  I urge you to try the recipe -- it's very easy and very cheap -- and let me know if I'm insane.

Grandpa's Surprise

Ingredients:

3 large russet potatoes

3 tbs vegetable oil

2 cans creamed corn

1 can Spam

Begin by cleaning the potatoes (do not peel) and roughly cutting them crosswise into planks. In a 12-inch non-stick frying pan add the vegetable oil.  When hot, add the potatoes and cook until browned and soft.  Remove potatoes from pan. While potatoes are cooking, dice the Spam into 1/2 inch cubes.  Add Spam to hot frying pan and cook until brown and crispy on the edges.  Add the potatoes back to the pan.  Now, add the two cans of creamed corn on top of the Spam/potato mix.  Stir minimumly so as to blend the ingredients.  Turn the heat down to medium - medium low, cover pan, let cook for 10 minutes not stirring.  Remove lid and stir, cook another 5 minutes.  Serve.

This dish looks as if it has already been eaten once, i.e. horrible.  But the flavor is a nice balance of smoky saltyness and sweet creaminess.  It is also incredibly hearty.  I recommend eating it before chopping firewood, breaking horses, building a community barn or, naturally, fighting a war against Facist forces.