Schokoladnaya kartoshka: The Humble Russian Dessert

     The subject line of the email from the editor of Penn Appetit read simply “Dessert Competition Saturday!” Relishing any opportunity to bake, I didn’t need any further convincing to enter the contest. Reading on, I discovered the judging criteria to be taste, appearance, and creativity. Although I wasn’t hoping or even trying to win, I’m a naturally competitive person (insert Wharton joke here) and so thought that my creativity could help differentiate me from the others. Namely, I was certain that if I made a Russian dessert, there would be little chance that anyone else would think to make the same thing.

Schokoladnaya kartoshka. Photo courtesy of Penn Gastronomy Club 

      I tried to think of my favorite Russian sweet that my mom and grandmother had baked me. The scharlotka, an apple cake, came to mind, as did the Napoleon, the Russian version a creamier and moister variation of the French classic. But these two desserts, although beloved by me, seemed to be too ‘classic’ and not quite interesting enough for the competition. I thought back to the almost dozen summers I spent living with my grandparents in their home in Russia. When I accompanied my grandmother on her weekly grocery shopping excursions, we would walk all around the city visiting various different shops - the butcher, the open-air vegetable market, a vendor selling canned goods, the fish store, and finally the bakery. At the bakery she would buy us a couple loaves of the traditional dense black rye bread, and if I was lucky, she would also buy me a sweet treat or two. Whenever she succumbed to my begging and pleading, my first choice would always be the schokoladnaya kartoshka, or chocolate potato.

     This dense, rich, and intensely chocolaty pastry doesn’t have any potato in it but is shaped to look like one, with nuts poking out to look like its sprouts. The walk home always seemed excruciating long, as I couldn’t wait to dig into my dessert. Sitting in my grandmother’s tiny kitchen, in between sips of black tea, I would enjoy spoonfuls of the moist chocolate ‘potato.’ I haven’t eaten this uniquely Russian dish for years, since the last time I was in Russia was more than 4 years ago. I decided the dessert competition would be the perfect opportunity, or excuse, to attempt to recreate my favorite childhood dessert.

     Following a few internet searches, I found that the ‘potato’ was made rather simply: chocolate icing mixed with cake crumbs. Excited that I stood a fairly good chance of accurately recreating this childhood memory, I bought the necessary ingredients and set about baking. Although I ALWAYS bake my cakes from scratch, since the recipe called merely for cake crumbs, I decided to use a store-bought package of yellow sponge cake mix. I wanted the ‘potato’ to have an intense chocolate flavor, so I added a quarter cup of cacao powder to the cake mix before baking. Next, I made the chocolate icing, mixing first equal parts creamed butter and condensed milk. Finally, I added a few ounces of melted bittersweet chocolate and a couple of teaspoons of vanilla extract and mixed it all together to form the icing. Once the cake had baked and cooled, I crumbled it to form crumbs and combined it with the icing. To sculpt the finished ‘potatoes,’ I rolled several tablespoons of the cake crumb-icing mixture into balls, dusted them with cacao powder, and rolled them in chopped pecans. Finally, I was ready to taste my creations to see if they lived up to my expectations.

     Although not as dense and rich as I had remembered, my recreation of the schokoladnaya kartoshka was still satisfying, every mouthful moist and flavorful. The taste and feel of the dessert made me think back to all of those summers I spent with my grandmother, helping her on her weekly grocery expeditions. Now, I can’t wait until she comes and stays with my family again later this year, so I can share my version of this dessert with her.
                                           

My grandmother in her kitchen in Russia.

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A Taste of Turkey

After returning to sunny West Philadelphia and working on adjusting back from a semester abroad in Istanbul, Turkey, I’ve started to become reflective. What about my experience in Turkey was so profoundly different from life at Penn? It could have been the language – Turkish is unlike any language I’ve ever studied, and is definitely hard to get a grip on (don’t worry though; I managed to work out the most important words - names of foods, fruits, vegetables, etc. and became proficient in ordering in restaurants). Was it life on two continents? (Istanbul straddles both Europe and Asia, and is divided by a narrow body of water called the Bosporus Straight that connects the Black Sea to the Marmara Sea.) Was it the traffic? No, alas, it was the food.

With influences from the Mediterranean diet, Middle Eastern cuisine, European tastes and some uniquely Turkish delicacies, Turkish culture is obsessed with food, and much of their culture is defined by their dishes. Turkish cuisine boasts a heavy emphasis on meat, fish, bread, olive oil, and sugary, nutty delights, and is sprinkled with distinctive spices and tastes from near and far.

Today I am bringing you a classical Turkish dessert: muhallebi, or milk pudding. I found a wonderful pudding establishment in the heart of Sultanahmet, the historical district of Istanbul. After exploring the jaw dropping beauty of the Harem of the old Ottoman sultans and ogling their jewels in the treasury of the Topkapi Palace, I stopped for a quick break at a cafe that had the most beautiful and exotic looking puddings lining the windows. Hoşgeldiniz, or Welcome to Turkey!

Top layer: Dark chocolate pudding with garnish  Bottom layer: Classic Turkish milk pudding

Top layer: Pistachio pudding with garnish

 Bottom layer: Dark chocolate pudding

Top layer: Fruit pudding with orange zest and figs, and garnished with ground walnuts, pistachios, coconut, and sprinkles. Bottom layer: Milk chocolate pudding

I found a recipe here for classic muhallebi - try it on your own or get yourself a plane ticket to Istanbul!

If you are interested in an easy but excellent pudding recipe (not Turkish), I would highly recommend checking out this one.

-Alexandra Golub

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Kitchen Confidential

Let's just get this out of the way: I did not make any notable food this week.

I know, I'm sorry. It was a busy week! So, instead of my usual random musings about my food philosophy leading into an awesome recipe with pretty pictures, there will just be random musings.

On the plane ride from Seattle to Philly, I finally read what many consider to be the quintessential book on working as a chef: Anthony Bourdain's Kitchen Confidential.

Kitchen Confidential completely surprised me. When I think of cooking, I think of the (at absolute minimum) thirty minutes I take to prepare a meal that I have never cooked before (not including cooking time), and for more complex meals, at least an hour, even when I've cooked them hundreds of times before. I love cooking and I've thought of doing it professionally, but this book really opened my eyes. My über careful, extremely slow way of cooking would never cut it in a restaurant.

Kitchen staff must be human robots, churning out hundreds of the same dish in a night as fast as they possibly can. And they often treated like dogs. Before one proves themselves as a capable cook at a restaurant they are worth absolutely nothing to the rest of the kitchen staff. There is, of course, no room for creativity unless one is the head chef and gets to decide the menu, but even then there is almost no improvisation on a day-to-day basis. Even for chefs that get to be creative, the job is even more about management than it is about cooking.

I am very happy I read this book, if only because now I will hopefully stop daydreaming about cooking for a living. Hopefully...

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¡Feliz Navidad!: A Tamale Tradition

For as long as I can remember, my Christmases never consisted of “Who pudding and rare Who roast beast” from classic Seussian lore: homemade tamales always take center stage. The Mexican tradition dates back to Mesoamerican times, when the commonly held belief was that God created humans from corn. Ritual offerings soon substituted wrapped tamales for human sacrifices upon the arrival of conquistadors. These precious bundles of corn are popular not only during Christmastime, but also for other sacred occasions such as baptism, first communion, and wedding anniversaries.

On the morning of Christmas Eve, we load our car with holiday goodies galore, traveling onwards to my aunt and uncle’s house. On the way, my family makes a quick pit stop in Chinatown to bring fresh boxes of dim sum—meaty siu mai, plump har gow, steamy char siu baos, and luscious egg tarts—that sustain us throughout the morning.

My aunt and uncle have been preparing for days in advance. The night before Christmas Eve, bags of dried cornhusks find their way into the house and soak in water overnight. We dry them the day of by layering the leaves with paper towels on cookie trays. Pounds of pale yellow masa (maize dough made from freshly prepared hominy) fill massive bowls placed strategically around the kitchen table; we evenly spread the paste on the cornhusks (shiny side facedown). Containers of the savory pork-beef-chile filling are interspersed with the bowls of masa; my aunt perfected the mixture the day before. This in itself is a process, from de-seeding the chiles to pureeing them in a blender to stirring in the shredded pork and beef and an array of secret ingredients. The concoction rests in the fridge overnight and are ready for use by the following morning; it stains our fingers crimson red as we plop generous dollops on top of the masa. Two plump olives, black as night, are the final flourish, the last to be nestled in the bed of meat and spices before the pocket is carefully folded up. The tamales bask for four-plus hours in the sauna-like environment of immense metal pots on the stove.

Before long, it’s time to feast on the fruits of our labor. Slightly gritty with a light corn flavor, the masa caresses the piquant meat mixture. Saltiness from the olives punctuates each bite. Each year, there is always an unspoken challenge: who can eat the most tamales? The record high is an astounding twelve, accomplished some years ago by my cousin with an extraordinary bottomless stomach. The current championship belt, though, goes to my younger cousin with an equally-as-impressive seven tamales.





Paired with fluffy Spanish rice, spicy salsa, and cool guacamole, this is all we need to keep our stomachs full throughout the afternoon and evening. The spread of sweets is equally as satisfying: the customary two-pound box of See’s Candies, homemade pistachio cashew brittle, cupcake-shaped chocolate truffles, apple turnovers, streusel-topped pan dulce, baklava… This is one Christmas feast that puts any HoneyBaked Ham to shame. ¡Muy delicioso!

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Trip to Old City: Fork

“It’s like a theater,” says Ellen Yin of her buzzed-about restaurant, Fork, to a flock of spectators from Penn. Every day Yin, her new chef Eli Kulp, and the rest of their team put on a show, usually to a full house.

Like any seasoned producer, Yin thought carefully before she drew back Fork’s curtain in 1997. She selected a business partner, studied the competition, brought financial backers on board, and negotiated a promising location.

The acts at Fork are inspired by the set: a vast, high-ceilinged dining room that Yin speaks of warmly. A few months back, server and artist Tony Demeles outfitted its two center-stage walls in matching murals, tableaus of ghostly saplings, rusty shadows, and sunshiny streaks. Yin calls the space, “Vibrant, forward, and contemporary,” just like the fare dished up in house.

Man of the hour Eli Kulp is busy breaking duck legs behind the scenes. If Yin is Fork’s entrepreneurial producer, Kulp is its visionary director. He looks like a football player, but handles a tangle of radicchio like it’s a baby bird’s nest. His shtick is age-old technique meets space-age science meets aesthetic uplift.

This afternoon, as is his style, Kulp’s killing a number, plating duck done three ways for his now-drooling audience.

Word of mouth is that the Chinese-inspired dishes they tasted five minutes later were both delicious and economical: meatballs made of leg and drenched in sauce made of liver, jewel-toned prosciutto cured, dried, and sliced playbill-thin, cross-sections of breast. The money note is the breast’s skin, which melts on your tongue like candy.

The students scrape their plates clean and have to break from salaciously licking duck fat off of their fingers because Kulp has reemerged from the wings. This crew deserves a hand.

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Bloggers' Bites: Thanksgiving 2012 Edition

Bloggers' Bites is a series of posts chronicling the foodie adventures and musings of Penn Appétit's blog staff. For this special Thanksgiving edition, Penn Appétit bloggers reflect on their favorite memories from a holiday that's all about good food.

Zoë Kirsch: Thanksgiving Day is all about the day after Thanksgiving. I say this because in my home, Thanksgiving dinner is almost too much. It's a heaven-sent avalanche of food, hell bent on sending you straight into a coma. My Kentucky-born grandmother and mother pull out all the stops. There's the classic: stuffing, two kinds of gravy (vegetarian and meaty), turkey (light and dark), cranberry sauce, and mashed potatoes. There's the Southern regional: pickled peaches, marinated brussels sprouts, and corn pudding. The pair have dessert covered, too, in the form of three pies (Chess, pecan, pumpkin). As the dinner winds down, we pat our bulging tummies and decide no more meals for the next ten years. Cue the next day. The sun has risen, and we can now stand up without falling over. Time for round two. We tell ourselves that the suffering endured last night has made us wiser, and so we help ourselves only to measured portions of stuffing, gravy, turkey, and cranberry sauce. Just those, microwaved and sandwiched between two thick slices of whole grain bread.

Katie Behrman: 10 years ago, my family made a pecan pie for Thanksgiving. I had never had a pecan pie before, but all I had heard that day were my mom’s rave reviews. After consuming a delicious, and plentiful, meal, we first decided to go see the 2nd Harry Potter movie. We left the freshly baked pie on the counter and bid goodbye to my dog. When we returned from the movie, however, we were shocked to see that the pie had fallen to the ground! Its dismantled container rested on the floor, but its contents were nowhere to be found. What could have happened? My dog sulkily came in to greet us, and for good reason. Crumbles of pie had attached themselves to his whiskers and crust lay embedded in his eyelashes. He had eaten the ENTIRE PIE! Crust and all. Somehow, while we were at the movie, my dog had managed to knock the pie off the counter and lick away each and every morsel! Although I was disappointed that I didn’t get to try the pie, I don’t think I would have remembered the taste as much as I remember seeing my dog mope across the room, tail under legs, with little specs of gooey pecan littering his nose.

AJ Winkelman: Thanksgiving, for me, is not about food. Yes, I LOVE ridiculous amounts of moist, healthy turkey meat, but honestly most other Thanksgiving staples are just not that exciting for me. Thus, in my most special Thanksgiving memory, food is an afterthought. That Thanksgiving is the one in which my family and my cousins, who had previously never shared a Thanksgiving, were together. The piles of fluffy mashed potatoes, multiple turkeys, and the pumpkin pie were better than any food I've ever had, not because they tasted better, but because they did what no other food had successfully done before them: they connected our three families, if only for one day.

Laura Sluyter:  With all the lore and love surrounding the Thanksgiving turkey, some may find it surprising that my vegetarian aunt always hosts our family's Thanksgiving feast. I, however, think it's the perfect arrangement. My aunt cooks the turkey (and tofurkey) with as much care as anyone, and she takes the sides to a whole new level. Green beans, asparagus, salad, beets, mushrooms, brussel sprouts, creamed onions, sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, stuffing, dressing, homemade bread, and so on. With a side dish to person ratio greater than one, its no surprise we all leave the table stuffed. At least, I tell myself, it's mostly vegetables.

Krystal Bonner: As a vegetarian, my favorite part about Thanksgiving is introducing my extended family to delicious meatless holiday dishes. As a rule, I steer clear of preparing cooking that attempts to mimic meat (anyone who has tried Tofurky can attest to the prudence of this). Instead, I try to utilize seasonable produce and fresh herbs to create flavorful dishes that everyone can enjoy. This year I'm going to attempt a walnut and apple cornbread dressing (some Thanksgiving jargon for you—it's only called "stuffing" if it is cooked while "stuffed" inside the turkey). Of course, my other favorite part of Thanksgiving are the desserts—no dietary restrictions there other than the size of my stomach!

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An Uncommonly Tasty 1920 Commons

If you ask most upperclassmen their opinion of 1920 Commons, generally it won’t be very positive- the food is thought to be mediocre at best. I’m not a picky eater, and as one of the few sophomores with a small meal plan, have meal swipes to use. This meant dining at Commons fairly often, and my opinion of the selection was always average, until I got inventive.

Commons food is considerably bland, but as I’ve learned, has unlimited potential. I was recently filling my takeout box with spinach from the salad bar, and wondered about the possibility of actually cooking the spinach leaves. I have a stove in my apartment, and realized this would actually be possible.

I then proceeded to add a variety of raw vegetables, quinoa and grilled chicken. All were healthy, but flavor-wise, none of these foods were spectacular by themselves. When I returned to my apartment and sautéed them together with olive oil, salt and pepper, the result was wondrous. Believe it or not, my Commons meal was actually tasty.

Since then, I’ve come to realize that when it comes to Commons, all you need to do is add flavor. The salad bar is basically a stir-fry bar waiting to happen, and other foods can be improved upon too. For instance, the grilled chicken is generally tasteless, but when I cooked it with vegetables, balsamic vinaigrette, and lime juice, it was delicious.

Freshmen generally don’t have the option to cook, but for any upperclassmen that still have meal swipes and enjoy cooking, give Commons a chance. Putting in a little effort and adding your own twist makes the world of a difference.

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Your favorite food is… lettuce?

“Your favorite food is… lettuce?”

I dread the unavoidable question, “What is your favorite food?” While the most common answers include some sort of chicken, a pasta dish or the always-popular pizza, I hesitate to say that I often scribble the word “salad” when I come across this question on any survey. Now, I know what you’re thinking. You can tell so much about a person from what their “favorite” things are. Whether it is food, music, or academic subject, while trying to get to know someone these types of questions are the ones people ask first. So, when I voice that the food I enjoy the most is a mixture of raw vegetables, I usually get some puzzled looks automatically wondering if I am (a) a vegetarian (b) a freakishly health conscious individual or (c) just a really bland person. Well, the answer to that question is none of the above. Yes, I often run for the salad bar in a dining hall (and not only because this is sometimes the safest choice), but I could not imagine not eating meat, I am no more concerned with my weight than the next person and I happen to think that I’m far from ordinary. Yet, the frequency of which I consume salad has given me a bad rap.

However, out of all foods, salad allows a person to express him or herself more than any other. The possibilities for how to create your own salad are endless if you think far beyond the standard lettuce, tomato and cucumber combination often used as an appetizer for the more flavorful meal to follow. Skeptics, especially the male ones who find their masculinity threatened by the idea of a salad as a meal, should start at a place like Sweetgreen, located ironically right next to Chipotle and Bobby’s Burger Palace on Walnut Street (so, if your stomach is really aching for a burrito or a burger after a salad, you’re in the right place, though I can almost guarantee it won’t be). There, you’ll find tasty and unique options from “Guacamole Greens,” a mixture of mesclun lettuce, roasted shrimp or chicken, avocado, grape tomatoes, red onion, crushed tortilla chips and drizzled with lime cilantro jalapeño vinaigrette dressing or their “Chic P” salad which is baked falafel, chickpeas, cucumber, peppers, and pita chips topped with a lemon hummus tahini dressing over baby spinach leaves. Once you have graduated from the options already created for you, Sweetgreen allows you to combine all the vegetables, meat, and crunchy topping you desire to build a salad that caters to whatever you’re in the mood for at that very moment. Though a little overpriced, it is places like Sweetgreen that prove that it is OK to like salad as much as I do. I’ve learned to embrace the quizzical glances as I joyously dive into sweet corn, plump red grapes, carrots, dried cranberries and toasted walnuts over baby arugula and keep quite as my eating habits are constantly questioned. Those who have labeled salad as boring or to be only consumed while on a diet are sadly mistaken. There needn’t be anything painful about eating lettuce, you just need to know mix it up a little.

-- Xandria James

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Picnic Playlist

Need the right music to get you in the picnic mood? Look no further: Penn Appétit has the perfect playlist for you!

Sound of Sunshine - Michael Franti & Spearhead
Left & Right In the Dark - Julian Casablancas
Walk Tall (feat. Paul Simon) - Ziggy Marley
Get Some - Lykke Li
Girl - Beck
Ambivalence Avenue - Bibio
Surprise Hotel - Fool’s Gold
Relator - Pete Yorn & Scarlett Johansson
I Can Change - The Very Best & LCD Soundsystem
Colorful - Rocco DeLuca & The Burden

Check out the Spotify playlist here!

--Shaye Roseman

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Obsession

Now I’ve got an obsession… I must admit that I am obsessed. Having just recognized my obsession about a week ago, I can’t say whether this has been a life-long passion or merely a new devotion to my home-town. Either way, it has grown into an obsession, an obsession which I, apparently, share with other Penn students from the South. In fact, during a “diversity” training that I recently attended, someone categorized this obsession as a typical southern stereotype—“OBSESSED with Chick-fil-a” proclaimed the boldly written post-it-note.

At first, I chuckled to myself. But then I started thinking about how many times I had passionately expressed the wonders of Chick-fil-a to those unfortunate souls who had yet to enter the beckoning cow’s lair. How many times I had glorified their perfectly crispy nuggets, their piquant special sauce, their creamy milkshakes, or their crispy waffle fries. How many times my fellow southerners at Penn and I tried to organize a Chick-fil-a outing. Too many. Obsessively too many.

Does moving to a new place, a place where our prevalent foods are not readily available cause us to acquire new obsessions? Or do they merely unleash something that we have always liked? I’m not sure. But, I certainly think that the foods we grew up with become, in a way, a part of our identity. It’s interesting to think about all the foods that one may believe a certain group of people are obsessed with. I, for one, think Philadelphians are obsessed with cheesesteaks. But, I’d really like to know what other areas share a special connection with a food item or restaurant! And, if those people think they’re obsessed…or if it takes a drastic location change to unveil this preoccupation!

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Penn Bites

Recently I read an old blog post by Adam Roberts, the AmateurGourmet, on his New York recommendations. He began with a summary of the quintessential nibbles that define New York: dumplings from Chinatown, a hot dog at Gray’s Papaya and an epic bagel. It prompted me to think of Penn bites, the foods that provide a snapshot of life and eating at Penn. Here's my immediate bite list. Feel free to suggest more in the comments.

1. Kiwi
Yes, frozen yogurt is a huge trend. Yes, there are three frozen yogurt places within walking distance of my house. None of them are self serve and none of them offer the breadth of flavors and toppings that Kiwi provides. Kiwi also constantly changes their flavors (countdown to pumpkin season please) and it’s a fun place to run into friends. Penn and Kiwi have a great relationship. How many times have you grabbed Kiwi to catch up with a friend? It’s a thing here and we somehow all convince ourselves it’s healthy.

2. One BIG coffee nursed slowly over the course of a day of studying

My caffeine levels at college are probably dangerously high, something that ought not to continue after graduation. I’m a big fan of coffeeshop studying and suspect that nothing represents the Sundays of my college career better than a large coffee and serious study time.

3. Food carts
Perhaps my favorite part of Penn’s food scene is the food trucks. Where else can you get anything from a macaron (at Sugar Philly) to an arepa (at Delicias Philly) to meatless meatballs (at Magic Carpet) to the perfect hangover sandwich (at Hemo's) within a few blocks of one another, usually for under $5.  Waiting in line and running into random people is half the fun. The other half is going so often that the employees know your name and order.

4. Wawa
Penn students get religious about Wawa and after a few weekends here it’s easy to see why. Late night Wawa runs are not merely a culinary experience; it’s social and it’s fun. Also, they have $1 coffee (any size) all of January and that needs to be acknowledged.

5. Houston Salads
I dare you to find another salad bar without a limit on toppings or a charge for anything beyond the basic carrot shreds. Houston doesn’t charge extra for cheese, nuts or nice fruits and the salads are huge! Get your parents to give you some Penncash and get nomming.

6. Brunch
There’s no such thing as breakfast or lunch on the weekends. Fact: These meals always merge. Whether you brunch at Hill, Tap House, Sabrina’s, White Dog or in your apartment, you’re brunching. It’s a thing. It’s tasty, you’re willing to wait for it and it delays the inevitable torture of a Sunday afternoon full of homework.

So there’s Penn, or at least some pivotal parts of it, in a few bites. When your kids someday ask you what college was like, just give them a tasting menu. It will be way less awkward than explaining any actual stories of your adventures.

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Stove Top Popcorn

When I was little, snack time was a scheduled occurrence. Monday through Friday as soon as my brother and I got home from school, we would sit down at the kitchen table and have snack with my mom. There were many classics – crackers and cheese, apples and peanut butter, veggie sticks and the occasional cookies and milk – but one of my favorites was popcorn. We even had a special popcorn pot. My mom would place it on the stove, pour in a little oil, let it heat up, and then add the popcorn kernels. My brother or I would have the job of turning the crank, which spun a propeller on the bottom of the pot to keep the kernels moving. When the once lively pops grew few and far between, we would take the popcorn off the stove and toss in melted butter and salt in a giant bowl.

As my brother and I got older and started staying after school for sports and activities, the popcorn pot made fewer appearances. In fact, I cannot remember the last time we used it. A couple of weeks ago, however, I started noticing popcorn recipes on various food blogs, and they reignited a hankering for popcorn. Last week, I gave in and bought a jar of kernels at FroGro. Of course, our little high-rise kitchen at school doesn’t include a popcorn pot, but I read online that you can make popcorn just as easily in a normal pot. Sure enough, in less than ten minutes, I was able to make my first pot of popcorn, and I haven’t stopped since.

Back in the days of snack time, we made normal butter and salt popcorn most often, but I also liked a sweet variation with peanut butter. Over the past week, I’ve been embracing the sweet side. I’ve mixed popcorn with melted nutella, peanut butter, and almond butter, and I’m thinking about trying a version with melted jam soon. I’ve also seen lots of delicious although slightly more complicated variations online.
Kate from Cookie + Kate blog provides a great description of how to make stove top popcorn here. The process is super simple, but her advice is helpful.

Also, here are just a couple of popcorn variations that caught my attention:

Chocolate from Simply Scratch
Cinnamon Spice from The City Sisters
Chocolate and Peanut Butter from Brown Eyed Baker
Sticky Date from Colourful Palate

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“Can I take a picture of that?” Social Media and Food

They're in every restaurant, tilting their plates for the best angle, chiding people not to take a bite yet or get sauce on the table. They document their meals and are getting a lot out of it. During the past few years, eating has become social. Not just social in that you converse with your dining companions. A good meal can be shared with thousands in seconds. Smartphones and small cameras are extremely portable and quick. How can social media enhance your culinary experiences? Let’s break it down.

1. Twitter

Twitter is an incredible place for a foodie. Everyone from your local barkeep to a national food critic to a magazine editor to your favorite coffee shop probably has an account. They post recipes, pictures, tips and sometimes sales for twitter followers. In the past week on twitter I have seen: Mario Batali answer cooking questions in an informal Q&A, a frenzy over world Nutella Day (February 5^th), menus for food carts near Penn, restaurant tips and countless bites from the lives of the food obsessed. Penn Appetit tweets (@PennAppetit), and I highly recommend anyone interested in food to sign-up for a free account. Twitter can suggest people to follow but searching for your favorite restaurants, chefs, brands and friends is a great place to start.

2. Pinterest

Pinterest is an online pinboard that allows you to collect links from around the web (see the sampling of this author's "Living to Eat" Pinterest page). You install a small bookmark that lets you grab any image from any website and add it to a board. The boards can have categories (food and drink, things to buy, places to visit etc.) How is this relevant to food? People pin recipes from tons of food blogs and Pinterest sorts it by category. Browsing the food and drink category will definitely make you hungry.  The home décor category will make you want to renovate your kitchen. Click any picture that looks good and you’ll be taken to the source. You can check out the recipes and the blogs. You can follow a board if you like one user’s taste in food and their pins will show up in a feed. You can also re-pin a recipe to one of your boards to look at later. I have a board full of recipes I want to make in my apartment next year (I don’t have a kitchen now). Pinterest is invite only (or you can request one and get on in a few days). Comment on this post if you want an invite and I’ll set it up.

3. Foursquare

Smartphone users know that your phone can be an incredible source of food knowledge. Apps like yelp give you restaurant recommendations wherever you are (I successfully used it in France). One of my favorites is Foursquare, the app that lets you check into the places you visit. Not only do you save money with Foursquare (I get free coffee, coupons and other perks for checking into places with specials), you get the inside scoop. People leave tips at their favorite spots highlighting favorite dishes, good places to sit or weekly specials (the picture shows Foursquare tips from Ocean Harbor Dim Sum--we chose well). On a recent visit to Distrito, Foursquare tips led me to my favorite dish, a mushroom flatbread. Foursquare also has an explore feature that recommends nearby places based on your check in history. A search for sushi, coffee or chocolate gets great results and is accessible on a desktop.




4. Photography apps

 Now that you’re eating well, you want your food pictures to look good. Photography apps for the iPhone such as Instagram allow you to add filters to your photos and enhance the lighting. Fun borders add an extra flair. Another favorite of mine is Diptic. It's a cheap app that lets you make photo collages based on a variety of templates. Making a Diptic is a great way to share the variety of dishes at a meal without posting tons of pictures of small dishes. You can export your Diptics in regular or high resolution, and they look great.


Social media has taken the food world by storm and there are countless ways for you to participate. There are so many tools (share more in the comments) that channel a collective passion for food into restaurant reviews, new recipes and overall better eating experiences. In the words of Ina Garten, “How bad can that be?”

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The Insatiable Journalist Part 5: Glamorous Beyond Anything

Number 61 on my Life List is "go to a gala." Tucked between "hike in a rain forest" and "sing karaoke," it represents the modern day lingering of any Disney Princess fantasy I might have indulged as a child and a desire to have some sort of standard for knowing when I'd really "made it."

Well, consider it "made." On Thursday I attended the Philadelphia International Festival of the Arts opening night gala at the Kimmel Center. It was the second time in the past week that I got all dressed up to air-kiss and make small talk with Philly's high society.

It started on Tuesday night. Chef Georges Perrier was the guest of honor at the Flavors of Philadelphia dinner benefiting the American Liver Foundation. Since Georges was going to be there, so was I. The event started, naturally, with a cocktail hour that was much more about schmoozing than it was about eating. Sponsors like It's a Cupcake served up bite-sized savory options such as cornbread topped with pulled pork and the like. Chef Perrier arrived surprisingly early, inspiring Patti to ditch our conversation and chase after him calling "Chef! Chef!"

I presume she eventually tracked him down but by then dinner was being served up inside the Loews Hotel Millennium Ballroom. A series of tables formed about a dozen semi-circles around the room. At the break in each circle a cooking show style mini prep station was manned by head chefs from respectable restaurants around the city. I was at the Le Castagne table where Chef Brian Wilson served up asparagus topped with a poached egg, mushroom risotto and seared Ahi Tuna. Everything was delicious - the mushroom risotto in particular made the whole event worthwhile - and paired with a selection of wines that even my unsophisticated palate appreciated.

Chef Perrier made a brief speech thanking the organization for the honor and recognizing the participating restaurants...in his own unique way ("I hate chu! Chu zteal all my buziness!" he said of the French chef in attendance).

Two days later, I joined Georges, Patti, Mayor Nutter, and 850 of the best-dressed Philadelphians at the Kimmel Center to celebrate the first ever PIFA. This year is Parisian themed which means first, that Le Bec-Fin and Chef Perrier are the center of the epicurean component and second, that there was a crepe cart and an overwhelmingly decadent display of French pastries set out during the cocktail hour.

The event was glamorous beyond anything I've ever witnessed in real life. I sipped champagne and wondered about the relevance of jugglers and stilt-walkers while a quartet serenaded the black-tie attendees. In due time, we filed into the vaulted Verizon Hall to witness Chef Perrier receive the festival’s first annual Cculinary Visionary Award and settled in for a joint performance by the Philadelphia Orchestra and Pennsylvania Ballet.

The only drawback was that at $750 a pop for tickets, my press pass didn't cover the Wolfgang Puck catered dinner. Fortunately, a press lounge and the light show featured on the replica Eiffel Tower kept me sufficiently entertained long enough to witness the aerial acrobatics (performers suspended from the ceiling scaled the Kimmel Center walls and danced at a gravity-defying impossible angle) over dessert.

I'll be heading back to the Kimmel Center on Monday for the press welcoming of the eleven chefs from France paired with French chefs around Philly for the duration of the PIFA celebration. And even though I missed out on dinner on Thursday, I've heard a rumor that Wolfgang Puck will be catering this press event as well.

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The Insatiable Journalist Part 4: Time to Start From the Beginning

I didn't have any crazy adventures with Chef Perrier or Chef Elmi or even Patti the PR woman since the last time I've posted. Don't get me wrong, it's not like I haven't been working on "LBF: the Life and Times" - my faux working title until I get a better idea of the story's arc. Quite the contrary. There have been interviews to transcribe and logistics to maneuver for the remaining visits and, oh yeah, a 7000 word story to consider.

Some of the best experiences are (I hope!) yet to come. But as excited as I am, I'm trying to go against character here and not indulge my giddiness by spilling all the details before they're worked out. Instead, I figured it's about time that I gave this crazy guy who flirts uncontrollably and smokes in the kitchen some context, the sort of context that explains why, in spite of those idiosyncrasies, he is one of the most well-respected men in the city.

Local legend remembers him as the man responsible for Philadelphia’s Restaurant Renaissance in the 1970s and since then for maintaining a standard that refuses to let Philly’s food scene be reduced to cheesesteaks and tastykakes. Recent years have seen Le Bec-Fin falter under the weight of economic realities and critics who don’t think people should have to spend a fortune or put on a jacket and tie just to eat out. The young crowd with new money doesn’t want to celebrate the hallmark moments of their lives at the same old restaurant on Walnut with the overbearing chandeliers and gilding that recalls the ballroom on the Titanic, where their parents and grandparents dined out in their best pearls and cufflinks. With the ethos that newer is better sweeping the nation and hot celebrity chefs opening “concept” restaurants it seemed that the short French chef with the even shorter temper might be reduced to a relic, or worse, a joke.

Eventually, despite lightening the dress code and holding promotions to defray the costs of dinning there, even the notoriously stubborn and self-assured Georges Perrier couldn’t ignore that with big names like Stephen Starr, Jose Garces, and Marc Vetri offering patrons a dinning experience that is hipper, younger, and sexier that the once-classic Le Bec-Fin was becoming obsolete. Last July, Georges Perrier announced that after forty years, Le Bec-Fin would be closing the upcoming May. That is, until he changed his mind.

In perfect Perrier style, he announced the non-closing on New Year's Eve to so much fanfare that it doesn’t take much of a cynic to infer why the line cooks rolled their eyes at any mention of the potentially tragic closing. Maybe they knew something the rest of us didn’t and had reason to retrospectively not take the would-have-been loss of a job seriously. But just because the foodies of Philly let out a sigh of relief on January 1st and tsk tsked the rest of the city to respect their elders doesn’t mean the scene is changing. Le Bec-Fin is just as out of place amid the unpretentious BYOs and monthly new Starr creation as it was this time last year. Maybe the threat of closing and the slowly stabilizing economy is the wake-up call the city needs to reclaim her epicurean icon. But if LBF is to last another half a century--as Chef Perrier assures me it will--something’s got to change.

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The Insatiable Journalist Part 3: Oh the Food!

The kitchen at Le Bec-Fin is hot - the hottest in the city, one of the line cooks tell me, having reached 130 degrees last July. The kitchen is cramped - renovations this summer will open up what is currently barely enough room for the servers to pick up dishes handed over by cooks confined behind a prep line that creates a tight hallway to work in. And the kitchen smells, not of fois gras or rosemary essence or the browned butter that coats each piece of meat before being plated, of cigar smoke.

Chef Georges Perrier, who at 68 no longer slices, dices or plates at lightning speed, is smoking a cigar. Smoking a cigar and releasing a tirade of obscenities at the staff. He yells with such sincere disgust that I'm left cowering and hoping he'll forget I'm there; but the moving target of his anger - now it's Geno, the nineteen year old cold-prep cook who warned me that he would be fired (nominally, of course) before the end of the night; then a sluggish server; then a dishwasher to "clean zis shit up!" - barely bat an eye. They're used to him. And there are enough stories ("all the stories true," the new head Chef, Nicholas Elmi tells me) they could have been used to him before they even started working there. The only thing Chef Georges Perrier is more famous for than his attitude is his food.

And, oh the food! The first day of my spring break I spent nine hours (until I just couldn't stand up any longer!) in the kitchen at Le Bec-Fin. How was it? Exhausting. Hey! When was the last time you were on your feet, on your game and in the heat for that long!? I don't know if I could be there six days a week like so many of the amazing people I met. But as a once-in-a-lifetime experience it was so worth it.

Upstairs in the predominantly-female, Katy Perry-soundtracked, much cooler, and all around sweeter pastry kitchen a mere mention that I had never tried the coffee cake earned me a slice and less than perfect strawberry macaroons were left to me to dispose of.

Back down amidst the frantic hustle and bustle of the main kitchen, all the twenty-something guys working the line offered up tastes of everything they made (even rabbit loin stuffed with shrimp paste!) as side dishes to the bucket of fries meant to sustain me and give me a chance to taste the many sauces. Before the dinner rush, 24-year-old Moses (my stand-in big brother all day) set me up with a plate of turkey meatloaf and mashed potatoes, like only Le Bec-Fin can make.

Over the course of nine hours I learned that everyone smokes out back, that drama abounds when Moses can only afford enough five hour energy for the back of the house, and a whole new supply of curse words. Sometimes, it's hard to remember that on the other side of the swinging doors is a dinning room full of people on their best behavior. But ultimately, it's the guys in the back who are responsible for the food worth paying for -- and they know it. Out back in the ally, to catch my breath for a moment, I see 24-year-old Tyler desperately banging on the doors of other restaurant kitchens that let out back here. Inside, they've run out of spinach, but at Le Bec-Fin, you can never let the guest know that you ran out. Because, as Moses reminds me gesturing at my tape recorder, "people somewhere are talking about us."

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The Insatiable Journalist Part 2: Dinner with Georges

"You show me better ice cream in Philadelphia and I'll retire today!" Retirement might not be such a bad idea since Chef Georges Perrier is already in his late 60s; but it looks like he's stuck with the long hours for at least a little while longer - the ice cream truly is the best in Philly. In fact, the challenge was modest if anything - with ice cream that good he could have wagered against the whole world. The single scoop of vanilla ice cream is served alongside Le Bec-Fin's "Costa Rica" - Praline Crunch, Bailys Cremeux and Coffee Marscarpone Mousse layered together to what amounts to absolute perfection. I'm indulging despite the fact that over the past two hours I've had four other courses of incredible Le Bec-Fin food because when Chef Georges Perrier himself says "You like dessert? She'll have our Costa Rica," you have their Costa Rica.

But let me explain.

When I started to settle into the idea of writing about Le Bec-Fin during this semester, realizing that I had become too emotionally invested to not write about it, I could never have imagined it going this well. As soon as I confirmed with Patti Klein, owner of the Restaurant Collection PR firm, that I would, in fact, be meeting the one and only Georges Perrier I made reservations for my (shh! don't tell) first meal at LBF. Sitting in the vaulted dinning room that calls to mind the ballroom from Titanic, I had an amazing meal of escargot, striped bass with a french brioche encrusting, roasted wagyu beef, and a milk chocolate mousse cake with a layer of creme brulee in the middle. How was the food? "I mean, it's Le Bec-Fucking-Fin!" my date said when I asked him that same question at the end of our dinner. Translation: extremely high expectations exceptionally well met. I wholeheartedly agreed.

A week later I ventured downstairs to the swanky Le Bar Lyonnais to meet the legendary chef, tape recorder in hand. We spoke for nearly an hour about LBF's legacy and his plans for the future. Then, while I spoke with Le Bec-Fin's executive chef Nicholas Elmi, Georges schmoozed with various patrons and settled in at the bar with Patti and a friend of his. After wrapping of the interviews, I stalled for a fortuitous time looking over my notes, "'annah! 'annah! Come have a drink wit' us!" Georges called to me. And how could I refuse?

It started with wine. But eventually, as Georges implored to "'ave the chef," Chef Elmi, that is, "bring us more food - I'm starving!" and, despite Patti's maternal protests that he was only to have a plate of vegetables in compliance with his supposed diet, everyone complied and the evening turned into a showcase of the new(ish) Chef's ideas for new menu options. We ate things like artichoke cappuccinos and shrimp in duck gelee and the most amazing steak that I remember nothing about except how melt-in-your-mouth tender it was while Georges boasted loudly and made inappropriate comments that sent Patti into a frenzy about whether or not my tape recorder was off.

The thing is, it was. I have plans to spend plenty more time with both Chef Perrier and Chef Elmi on the record (and share the details here!), but the dinner at Le Bar Lyonnais was just for fun - and to forever have a story about my dinner with Georges Perrier.

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Haute Chocolate

Philadelphia’s current wintry weather calls for a cozy spot by the fireplace and a steaming cup of something warm. What’s my drink of choice? A mug of decadently rich hot chocolate, lavishly topped with a generous swirl of whipped cream and fluffy marshmallows. Cocoa is not only a sweet treat, but also a health drink in disguise: the beverage has nearly twice the antioxidants of red wine and up to three times those found in green tea. There’s no better reason to sip away!

The best hot chocolate I ever had was at a small café located on Île Saint-Louis, a natural island in Paris that overlooks the Seine. I was stunned when the waiter arrived at my table with a cup, spoon, and pitchers of whole milk and melted chocolate. It was the first experience I had at a café/restaurant where I could adjust the level of “chocolateyness” to my liking—needless to say, I thoroughly enjoyed it. As I sipped my cup of chocolat chaud slowly and people-watched, I knew I was having the ultimate Parisian experience.

What about the times you can't jet off to Europe? There are plenty of Philadelphia locations that can satisfy your hot chocolate cravings. Right near the Radian on campus, Capogiro makes more than just incredible gelato—they serve a delightful Italian Hot Chocolate, accompanied by a generous helping of whipped cream and dusted with cocoa powder on the side. The foam on top of the cocoa masks the thick richness beneath; the drink completely warms you from the inside out. It’s like sipping pure melted chocolate, only better. (For those adverse to such a heavenly drink, they also offer “regular” Hot Chocolate.) Max Brenner in Center City is famous for their wide cocoa selection (not to mention any other chocolate dessert you can think of). They offer global options (whether it’s the Mexican Hot Chocolate spiced with red chili, nutmeg, cinnamon and pepper; the Swiss Whipped Cream Chocolat; or the Hot White Chocolate hailing from Trinidad) in both hot and cold varieties. An added bonus? The fun you get from drinking out of their architecturally cool cups. RIM Café in South Philly’s Italian District is also notorious for adding chocolate to every beverage on their menu. The drinks go well with their massive cannolis and excellent biscotti, making you feel like a true Italian for a day.

My other hot chocolate favorites:
• Seattle’s Best Coffee’s “Cocoa Trio”: hot cocoa topped with whipped cream, chocolate drizzle, white chocolate shavings, and a log of dark chocolate.
• Caffe Nero’s Hot Chocolate Milano: a true European hot chocolate (thick, rich, and smooth).
• Recchiuti’s Dark Hot Chocolate: there is a slight bitter tone from the dark chocolate they use in the drink, which perfectly counteracts and balances the drink’s natural sweetness. The huge vanilla bean marshmallow on top is the icing on the cake.
• Jeff de Bruges' Chocolat en Poudre: the resulting drink made with this French chocolatier's hot chocolate powder will instantly transport you to the streets of Paris.

If you prefer to be your own barista in the comfort of home, check out these recommendations for the best supermarket hot chocolate mixes!

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The Insatiable Journalist Part 1: I Write Food

I like food. And I like words.

At my home growing up, we had an archive of Bon Appetit magazines dating back to the '80s. Sometimes, when I was cooking for a birthday or a special event, I would delve into them in the hopes of uncovering a vintage delicacy. Hours later I would end up with too many options spread out around me, tracing out a trail from whatever I started off looking for into increasingly less relevant but equally tempting options.

When I left for college, I signed up for my own subscription to Bon Appetit - even though I spent my first two years eating dinning hall food on the meal plan - just to read and drool over. Now that I'm finally cooking for myself, I've begun acquiring my own enviable stack of Bon Appetits and cookbooks that rest alongside classics like The Odyssey on my bookshelf.

I have a collection of Craig LaBan restaurant reviews that I read cover-to-cover, like a novel.

What I'm trying to say is, I don't just eat food - I read food, I talk food and, as an aspiring journalist, I write food.

Restaurant reviews, mostly. But this semester I've been given a wonderful opportunity (courtesy of ENGL 170) to research and write about whatever I want in popular culture. And what I want is to report some sort of breaking news in the comprehensive and under-appreciated Philadelphia restaurant scene.

The idea was simple at first: find a restaurant opening right at the end of the semester-long project and follow it from now until then, documenting the inevitable ups and downs of the process. This idea presented two major obstacles: knowledge and access. I need to know about an intended restaurant opening several months in advance, and I need the opportunity to find out more than just what's in the press clips.

Overcoming the first of these obstacles is currently underway courtesy of various professional contacts and a healthy dose of not taking no for an answer. In fact, the process of opening a new restaurant may yet be the story I write if the right characters reveal themselves. But along the way I've become emotionally invested in a story that has nothing to do with opening.

If you're interested in these sorts of things (and if you're reading this, you probably are) you've heard that Philadelphia culinary landmark, Le Bec Fin, was supposed to close this year. After 40 years of waking up at 4 am to bring freshness to the restaurant that started a Renaissance, Chef and Owner Georges Perrier was giving up the fight to stay relevant in a food scene that is becoming more about hip celebrity chefs and concept dishes and less about the old-school glamor of dining out that he so famously brought to Philly. But earlier this month, Chef Perrier announced that Le Bec Fin will no longer be closing. Instead, the restaurant will be celebrating its 40th anniversary with a new lease on life. As a self-proclaimed foodie I'm curious: can an old dog learn new tricks? Is this a much-needed wake up call--that newer is not always better and there is still a place for classically good food? Or is this just the final stand of a man who refuses to accept that pride comes before a fall?

I don't yet know how this will turn out, or even which story I'll be writing. I've spoken with the public relations people for Georges Perrier but also the people representing Jose Garces and numerous other restaurants and restaurateurs in the city. I'm excited to get started--to become an investigative journalist entrenched in even just a single aspect of the the Philly food scene. And I'm excited to share the entire experience right here.

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Restaurant Week - Words of Wisdom

Having experienced different versions of Restaurant Week in New York, Boston, Chicago, Los Angeles, San Diego, and now Philadelphia, it's become a big debate whether or not it's worth it to partake in the process of culling the long lists of restaurants (and menus) for those few choice reservations.

As Philadelphia continues to prove itself a city worthy of culinary and gastronomic interest, I've been fairly impressed by the quality of the menus offered as part of the various neighborhood-oriented Restaurant Weeks. At present, the Center City Restaurant Week has been soaking up attention for the last two weeks of January.

For $35, one can enjoy a 3-course dinner, consisting of options for appetizer, entree, and dessert. And at some places, one can also find a 3-course lunch for $20. In looking at these price points, the first question is whether or not it's necessary to pay these prices for a quality meal at your restaurant of choice. For example, many of the restaurants on the Center City list pride themselves as neighborhood restaurants that patrons can afford to come back to day in and day out. Am I going to spend $35 on dinner for myself on a daily basis? Probably not. Am I going to splurge on a meal during restaurant week? Probably. Will I do so at a neighborhood restaurant? Debatable.

I certainly don't wish to short-change places like Twenty Manning Grill, Smokin' Betty's, or Oyster House simply because they're affordable (especially since they're all personal favorites), but is it worth it for me to indulge at these places when I could easily spend upwards of $40 and $50 at Amada, Estia, or Zahav? Where getting a meal for $35 is actually a bit of a steal? If you think about it, it's a tough call.

Another consideration in this decision-making process is the quality of the menus involved. For example, my brother, a notorious epicure, has pretty much sworn off Restaurant Weeks altogether. Having experienced his fair share of boring menus (and worse yet, poor delivery of boring menus), he has totally lost faith in the ability of restaurants to showcase themselves during these periods. If he sees another  basic arugula salad, roast chicken, wild salmon, or chocolate cake on a Restaurant Week menu, he's going to shoot himself. And yes, maybe these are staples for many establishments, but restaurants would do well to keep these items off their Restaurant Week menus.

Ultimately, in this day and age of foodie culture, patrons are often looking for more. And what Restaurant Weeks can do is help restaurants showcase their potential, their innovation, and their craft. What combination of ingredients will not only draw in new patrons by their descriptions alone, but more importantly, showcase those ingredients in unique ways? What kind of dishes will reflect and define the personality of a restaurant, such that patrons will want to experience it for the first time -- and then want to come back for more?

For example, take the Square 1682 menu that I chose at random from the Center City list. While this menu presents just a few too many choices (for my tastes at least), what it does well is offer patrons a wide range of options -- and often in dapper fashion. Although you'll recognize a few commonplace dishes like the endive and frisee salad, the New York strip, and the roasted pork chop, you'll also notice the South American shrimp, the chicken consomme, the black cod in porchetta, the Pennsylvania goat chili, and the trio of interesting gelato flavors. You'll even notice that the pan roasted chicken has been scaled up with spatzle, and the wild salmon with ginger-soy hijiki sauce. While not every patron is looking for a bizarre experience, a Restaurant Week menu should at least be able to distinguish itself from every other Restaurant Week menu. Otherwise, what's the point?

Working at the business school, I can't help but be in a constant mode of what I refer to as "CBA" -- cost-benefit analysis. If I'm spending my fairly non-existent spare waking hours going through menu after menu, it better be worth it. If I'm spending my fairly non-existent spare cash paying for my chosen menu(s), it better be worth it. I have very little patience for boring, and absolutely no tolerance for expensive and boring.

For experienced foodies and foodie newbies alike, two words to remember when checking out Restaurant Week: Choose wisely.

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