Everything was set for the grilled fish taco throwdown.  Jonah’s husband had seared off his 2lbs of mahi and I did the same with my orange roughy.  At the picnic table, we arranged our ingredients. Her purple cabbage and flour tortillas. My jalapeno crema cabbage and corn tortillas.  Assembling and eating got underway and everyone raved about the creamy dressing that seemed to give my tacos an edge.  “What’s in that dressing?” asked Jonah.  Oh, sour cream, jalapenos and their pickling juice… and a little ranch dressing. “What?!” Jonah’s eyes got as round as saucers, her voice louder and more shrill.  “You mean MSG? Ranch with MSG?”  Um, I dunno. Looking down at my plate for some way to deescalate.  Ranch-ero sauce maybe? We went on with the tacos, putting the idea of chemically salty ranch enhancement behind us.  Once home, I checked my bottle of ranch in the fridge.  Damn.  MSG.  Since that day, I’ve been looking at the back of every bottle of ranch dressing I come across. Yup. MSG in every one of them.  Makes a damned good taco though.

White baby food

Jasper will hardly eat anything we put in front of him.  But, anything he can dip, he likes. In fact, he just licks the dip off the chip, and we have to hope that there’s some nutritional value to the salsa, katsup, etc.  On a recent trip to El Vaquero, even though the little guy was acting all crazy, we had to put the fiery hot salsa at the other end of the table.  How would we occupy him.  Well, there were two dips.  The other one was white. It made my skin crawl to taste it. This is the stuff that inexplicably shows up at bad Mexican restaurants. Typically, it’s whole pile of ranch dressing with a touch of dijon mustard, or something more mysterious, but just as unexciting.  Jasper dragged a chip through it.  And another. Smearing it on his face on the way into his mouth.  Then his fingers. Then his whole hand.  It made me nauseous to watch, and I finally took it way from him and wiped the white glop from his face. No mas, por favor.

Cousin Bo

The last time I visited Arkansas, I was able to reconnect with my second cousin, Bo.  It had been a couple decades.  We played together during childhood summers.  Since then, the family had gone from tight knit to far flung with a few rifts thrown in for good measure.  When Bo and I tried to get reacquainted, it was like were were looking at each other from different universes – our life experiences were so decidedly different over the past two decades.  Nonetheless, we sat down to dinner, traded old stories, and found some common ground: food.  Apart from our differences over protein (meat at almost every meal vs no meat at almost any meals), we both had a weakness for dining out. His favorite? Wings.  Reaching for a white plastic bottle of Kraft dressing, he said, “Cut me open, and I’ll bleed ranch.”  With that beautiful proclamation, I blacked out the rest of the encounter.  We’re Facebook friends now and I hope to see him again. But if he’s ever at the hospital and needs a transfusion, I’ll be sure to get his instruction to the doctor.

The little known genesis of a salad dressing

Ranch is actually not salad dressing. It was originally intended as a potion – as in magic.  Some Hogwarts student were tasked with concocting a tonic that would make its victims eat too much against their will.  This way, if you wanted to ruin someone’s day and put them out of commission for a stretch, you could just make them ingest some of this thick white creaminess. Once inside the belly, the potion coated the stomach and numbed the nerves in that area. As the stomach stretched, the victim would have no clue they were at capacity. Once the ranch reached the pyloric valve to the intestines, it acted like an arm stuck into an elevator, causing the doors to constantly reopen. Food in the stomach just took the A-train to the poop chute. The students did not pass their assignment, because they hadn’t considered the long term health consequences.  And yet, they shared the recipe with other underachieving students of wizardry.  Eventually dropping out of school, they each went on with their lives, unfortunately opening restaurants and giving up any magic other than their number one money maker:  White Lightening or The Digestive Tract as Wide Open as a Ranch.  Which is where it got its name.

Non-empty calories

At the end of a tour of the MCV birthing center, we gathered in a classroom for a slideshow. A dozen or so super-pregnant ladies and their baby-daddies all sat facing the front as our maternity care expert went over the procedures for identifying early labor and active labor and quizzed us about when to report to the hospital.  “Remember that labor lasts a long time. You need to come prepared. Bring your favorite thing to drink water out of,” she explained as she scanned the room, looking for an example. “… like her’s,” pointing to the white sports bottle in my wife’s hand. Karen raised it up for everyone to note.  “And don’t eat snacks with empty calories, like potato chips.  Go with granola bars instead.  Or eat carrots… with ranch dressing.” A chuckled burst out of my mouth.  The guy next to me leans forward, looks at me, and motions to my wife’s water bottle with a grin and raised eyebrows.  “You got ranch in there?”

You want these.

Since then, my friend Matt took me for a surprise dessert treat after a trip to El Vaquero. Low and behold, in a strip mall behind Chicken Fiesta and La Sabrosita, sits the barely noticeable La Michoacana heladería (ice cream parlor). That visit was surreal. We sampled flavors frenetically. One tasted like a pat of butter on your tongue, another was straight essence of strawberry. I wound up with “moccacake,” a combination of coffee ice cream and thin ribbons of crispy chocolate.

That mild flavor was good, but not as great as it sounded. But, so what? There were so many more stones to turn over here. I’d entered Wonka’s factory, tried a sample, and didn’t turn into a giant blueberry. Proceed! No need to try the mango chili flavor. Even though I think everything is better with hot sauce, I didn’t like mango chili candies or ice cream in Mexico City, so I don’t have to go down that road again. Some flavors just aren’t geared for the Americanized palate. Others, holy shit, will tear a hole in the fabric of your flavor reality.

Jesus Lopez makes all the ice cream on site.

I brought my wife and child for the next visit. She was floored by the variety. Trying strange flavors is one of Karen’s biggest hobbies. She will go back to a place until she’s satisfied every curiosity. But, proprietor and ice cream craftsman, Jesus Lopez, will hasten that process by offering an unstingy spoonful of any flavor you look at twice. And, his generosity is better than his English, so you may still be scratching your head after tasting.

Plain on the outside. Rainbow bright interior.

Similar to the fantastic gelateria in the West End, Deluca Gelato, I think the stars of the line-up are the fruit flavors. Lopez says he uses fresh fruits instead of frozen whenever possible. With the strawberry or the pineapple-coconut, your mouth will testify to the truth of this statement. Kapow!

Pineapple coconut is sure to spread good cheer.

But the real education comes from the produce he imports for his south of the border flavors. Guanabana (gwah-NAH-bah-nah) is Jesus’ favorite. It’s just expensive enough that he doesn’t make any money off of selling it, but he can’t imagine not offering it. Mamey (mah-MAY) is rich and musky, the color of creamy black raspberry – almost strawberry rhubarb-like.

Little Pancho? Just try to guess what it really is.

And then there’s the the combinations. The strawberry is extra-ordinary, but how about strawberry ice cream with loads of pinenuts scattered throughout? Do you take sliced almonds in your capuccino? Well, you do at La Michoacana.

Butt of Tiger? Landscream? Taste them. Then order strawberry.

Light of the Moon? Kiss of Angel? Both sound dreamy. Deadfruit? Butt of Tiger? Not nearly as nightmarish as they sound. Plus, you can have them with a side of chicharones.

You read that right. TRES LECHE CAKE ice cream!

After two family visits, it’s become clear to us that the ice cream is just a prelude to the best part. That freezer full of popsicles are our favorite – somehow smoother and tastier than a scoop. Make a stop at La Michoacana on your way home, get them togo (para llevar), and enjoy the feeling of a tropical paradise in your own home.

Bebidas! (drinks!) All I know is, one of these is horchata.

BONUS: They have cold drinks. Exciting ones. Lopez mentioned horchata, but there were other jazzed up agua frescas. What the heck is that fruity pink thing? Next on my list. That’s what it is.

La Michoacana
7808 Midlothian Tpke, Richmond VA 23235 Ph: 804-248-0939

La Michoacana
10XXX Jeff Davis Hwy
specifics are in the works.

But if there’s one thing that’s very un-Richmond, it’s ugliness.  Publicly dishing out abuse is just not done.  Despite Stuzzi’s controversial popularity, there is a common thread running throughout the commentary on the various blogs and review sites: Peter Caserta is a misogynist, and an angry one.  His pattern of publicly belittling and coming on to his female employees and patrons crosses a line, or lots of them. As an employer, it’s an abuse of power and trust.  And for customers, his transgressions are upsetting and creepy.   But, don’t take it from me. The comments below speak for themselves.

From a comment on Varmit Pickrel’s Richmond.com review:

I have to say the owner did leave a bad taste with us… we asked to speak with him and he got belligerent with the waitress who relayed our request to meet with him. She apologized for his actions but the way he treated her and us as paying customers does make us put a return visit to on hold indefinitely.

Excerpts from some of the reviews on Yelp:

I also had the pleasure of sitting back and observing the owner schmooze around and find excuses to flirt with all the young women – pretty repulsive to watch.

—

The owner was a complete greaseball, he attempted an unpalatable act of flirting with my party and Stuzzi unfortunately came out looking bad because of it.

—

I must admit, the old macho attitude toward women reminded me of the Soprano’s, and it was very condescending. It has been awhile since a  man addressed me as “sweetheart” while never having set eyes on me.

—

They have so many service issues to iron out- I mean, the owner chewed out multiple waitresses within earshot of me and other customers. One girl came from the back sniffling and wiping tears. Kinda made for an uncomfortable meal.

—

About the servers: I can see why they get chewed out often, though I am not sure it should happen in front of customers.

From comments on Robey Martin’s Style Weekly rundown of brickoven pizzas:

The owner of Stuzzi came into my place of work and tried to hire me to work at Stuzzi… because he said I was beautiful! What a creep, and to make things worse he sat down at my only dirty table, called my restaurant disgusting and demanded it be cleaned.. and then hit on me and offered me a job.

—

If you walked away wondering what to think about stuzzi’s, then you should just go in and pay attention to how their management treats women and their staff.  Stuzzi’s is run by men that love to hit on younger women. It’s gross and their food is on the same par. greasy and gross

From a comment on Pamparius’ pizza blog:

Peter roams the place emitting sleeze. He’s a pervy old guy and gives the place a bad energy.

—

I also worked at Stuzzi. Without knowing what I know now about Caserta, I was concerned about how shady the place was being ran. Along with myself, none of the other girls were paid what they were promised during the first week of training. I was also given substantially less of what I made during the soft opening. My service was always great– the complaints I received were from patrons noticing Caserta’s obtrusive presence and firey temper toward his employees. I am glad I quit when I did because I honestly could not bare making that restaurant any more money. In addition, I am going to have to file a wage form with the labor bureau because they owe me so much money from “missing days” on my paychecks and telling me a different tip out amount than the original tip out amount (and then lying about it to my face).  [removed a bit about mediocre food] Why give money to a millionaire who exploits college girls? Bloody sleeze.

P.S. He is 71 and tried to sleep with my ex coworker who was 22. He makes out with young golddiggers who wouldn’t touch him if he wasn’t a walking bank account. I’m so grossed out by Stuzzi and Caserta. Sexism, male chauvinism, exploitation, and and flat out crooks at it’s finest.

—

(from an ex-Pasta Luna employee) He is bitter and mean and irrational. He also has gone crazy over the years, especially as pasta luna failed, causing him to constantly mettle in his restaurant at the cost of consistency.

From Varmit Pickrel’s Richmond.com review:

The owner arrived in less than six [minutes]. He roughly grabbed my arm; his eyes dilated wider than the pizza in front of me, and said, “This is the real stuff. You don’t see this quality in Richmond.”

The last two comments in that collection make the whole situation seem sad, as Caserta might be too unbalanced to control his mistreatment of women.  But, I’m hoping anyone who reads this thoughtfully will have too much  sympathy for the victims of Caserta’s abuse to look the other way.

As unsettling as all of those characterizations and anecdotes are, I still let my coworker treat me to lunch at Stuzzi the other day.  Caserta was there.  He seated us and  noticed the table being wobbly and immediately berated the nearest server (young attractive female ) to fix all the tables in the place.  It was uncomfortable to witness. Having personal experience with abusive superiors at work, I always wished someone had my back for once. But, they didn’t.  Everyone just cowers and pretends it’s cute, laughs it off, nothing serious.  And in this instance, I didn’t say shit either. I just ate my limp pizza while Caserta gave the next table over an earful about how they all needed to post reviews of his restaurant on Zagat and Yelp.

That day, a picture of my lunch pizza attracted the following from someone on Twitter, “From what I have heard from workers, that owner is a misogynistic asshole to employees.”  That’s when I decided, amidst a lot of hand-wringing, to put some of these comments together for public consideration.  Most of us give a lot of latitude (even appreciation) to the idiosyncratic personalities in the restaurant business.  And sexual harassment in the restaurant world is so common, it’s typically overlooked.  But, I have a hard time believing that anyone can take the above statements together and dismiss them as insignificant. You have to assume it’s just a sliver, that there are others who haven’t taken to the internet to tell their stories.  Maybe this post will prevent other young women from stepping into Caserta’s line of fire.

What’s next?  I have no clue.  I just want to know how can we support the female employees (to file legal grievances?) in order to bring them the justice they deserve.

UPDATE: A comment recently came in, “Bravo on the Stuzzi post. I haven’t experienced his misconduct first hand, but if that’s what’s happening then it needed to be addressed.”

I also got feedback saying that “crafting that post using anon comments is probably not a best journalistic practice. You could rip (or praise) ANY restaurant using that methodology.”

As the first comment points out, it should be addressed, but there’s that nagging “if” as well.  It seems pretty clear when reading the stuff, but the last thing I wanted with this post was to be making baseless claims. I was hoping that more servers, cooks, customers who’ve dealt with or witnessed the bad behavior would come forward with a comment. There were some elements of that in this thread, but for some onlookers maybe not enough to be convinced that where there’s smoke there’s fire.

Unfortunately, in this kind of situation, you can usually count on the people who know the most to stay completely quiet (for various reasons).  If any of you who are concerned, rather than persuading people to not eat at Stuzzi, how about asking around, maybe your Twitter or Facebook networks, if anyone knows anyone who’s been harassed, unpaid, publicly belittled, etc, they should be supported. I’m sure we can find a way to do that.

When I first perched on a barstool at McCormack’s Whisky Grill on Robinson, it was in their first couple weeks being open. Mac, the bartender and owner, let me know up front, “we only take cash.” Well, I’ve got $10 if that’ll afford me a rusty nail. Thanks to Mac’s willingness to explain the philosophy behind his bar’s economic system, I got a lot more than the drink for my ten bucks (gave the rest as tip).

The other guys at the bar were clutching their wads of greenbacks, ordering whiskey and canned beers alternately. But Mac made time away from them to explain how he’s learned from his experience running McCormack’s Irish Pub in the Bottom that credit cards and bars don’t mix, at least, not in the bar he was hoping to helm on Robinson. From the sparse looks of things on that night, I wasn’t immediately convinced, but I was riveted by the valiant effort.  Not only was Mac pushing the tantalizing flavors of hundreds of bottles of booze, he was putting it out of reach of anyone who didn’t play by his basic rule: cash only.

Drop the Debt

Mac went on (and on) about the trouble that comes with running credit cards for three quarters of the orders each night, from happy hour high balls to music venue cover charges. It sounded like more than just a hassle, there’s also the fees that cut into profits. Add to that, the sting of funding a restaurant’s overhead on credit, leaving returns all too diminishing at the end of the day.

It’s not just his own financial solvency that Mac was concerned about.  Seeing people charging more than they can afford, time and again, isn’t Mac’s idea of fun.  Add to that, the fact that a bar customer is much more likely to become a problem, puke everywhere, drive drunk, or get in a fight when they’ve been ordering with the impunity afforded by plastic.  If that’s what a prospective customer wants to do (and the frat party marching up and down Main and Robinson have a reputation as such) then Mac is happy to direct them to one of the area’s bars that do take credit.

I remember feeling that Mac was a dreamer, or at least that his ideals were going to be tested to their limits.  I told him that cash is becoming obsolete and asking customers to carry it could be his downfall. Mac had heard it before and took it in stride, saying, “If people aren’t willing to go down the street to Retreat Hospital to use the ATM, then I don’t want their business. If that’s why I don’t make it, I can live with that.”  I left not knowing if I’d just talked to someone who was crazy or brave.  Mamma Zu’s only takes cash and American Express and it works for them. Maybe Mac’s wall of liquor and New Orleans inspired menu would provide an attraction special enough for Mac to set his own rules.

Cash Rules Everything Around Me, but…

Fast forward a few months and I’m back in McCormack’s on Robinson. This time, I was with friends, traipsing from The White Dog (RIP) up Main to the Fan crossroads of weekend debauchery and down Robinson past preppies of every Madras stripe. Interestingly, we were stopped by a door man who checked our IDs and informed us of the payment policies (rather than leaving that to the bartender). Inside, it was standing room only. There were enough people to let me know that McCormack’s had arrived, at least on this Friday night.  The cash experiment seemed to be a success.   We tried a couple brown liquors, slurred our words a little, and went our separate ways home without the cash that we came with.

Fast forward a couple more months and I’m the only customer at McCormack’s and I’m waiting on two friends. The $19 in my pocket tells me that I have to order the cheapest food and the cheapest drink and that’s it. After noticing that my friends were going to be less retrained with their food and drink orders, it became clear that I could either eat what I wanted, or drink what I wanted, but not both.  Not without having to wash the kitchen’s dishes.  So, I ran down the street to the ATM. I’m cheap, but I don’t like to be a party pooper.  Remind me to tell you the good news about the food.*

In the kitchen, I could see a tattoo’d guy pulling fists full of fresh kale or collards out of a bin and placing them in a sautee pan. This was a good vantage point and a good sign (unless you prefer the daylong cooked greens).  Then I recognized him. Dana Bittenbender, a guy I met 10 years ago when I worked at Main Street Nautilus. Dana worked-out there. Between sets at the bench press, we discussed the punk rock scene (girls), fitness (the girls working out around us), and other young dude topics (like girls).  He was a real no nonsense guy.  Kinda fitting/ironic, cuz he worked for a company bringing moon bounce inflatables to parties.  Likewise, though I’ve always been the anti-jock, I found myself working at a gym, desperate to avoid soul-crushing office jobs (like the one I’ve got now – and actually like pretty well).

Since those days at Pain Street Naughty Body, I didn’t see Dana around.  Ten years went by and here he is in front of me, making my greens to order.  But, according to my server, he co-owns the place along side Mac.  Dana brings a plate of fried catfish nuggets over and we get caught up.  Rather than talk about kids or marriage, I fess up quick that I’ve got this food blog thing and I’m itching to write about the cash only policy.  “Yeah. Well, it’s about to change,” says Dana, with some satisfaction in his voice.

Credit Where it is Due

Yall ready for this?  Dana explains the frequency with which they were turning people away for lack of cash while Mac was exhausting himself justifying his business decision to each and every patron (whether they stayed/returned or not).  Check the online reviews and you’ll see that Mac has gotten a little bit of a reputation for his polarizing position.  People seem to feel judged, inconvenienced, and defensive.  Dana, it seemed, was trying to play peacemaker (and money maker).  “There were people leaving left and right. Money out the door.  I had a business that took credit cards. You just factor it into the expense of doing business.”

I can tell that Dana would rather be selling the delicious sounding items on the menu than a philosophical approach to the economy.  So, we discussed the finer points of the vegetarian BBQ: tofu that grates like cheese, two kinds of jack fruit, and where the hell all that smoke flavor comes from (can you tell I flipped for their fake meat BBQ?).

Back to the cash thing.  Dana reluctantly admits that they won’t be taking cards across the board.  The details aren’t ironed out yet, but there will be some kind of limit (like $40 maybe), and a surcharge for using credit (Obama says you can do this now), and maybe a discount for paying with cash. The compromise sounds convoluted, but it’s a concession to keep the customers they don’t want to lose and who are willing to figure out the process.  It could  be the beginning of a complete 180 on Mac’s cash policy, or it could be just the balancing act that will preserve the integrity of the Mac’s intentionally different style of restaurant.

The new policy isn’t in effect yet.  Stay tuned for an official announcement from Mac.  And this unauthorized post provides a limited view of the transition, at best.  Hopefully, we can hear more from Mac on the subject as well as from the customers.  Of course, you could always just head over to the restaurant after 9pm, and he’ll be there to give you an full explanation along with your beverage.  Personally, now that I’ve enjoyed a meal at McCormack’s, I’m more apt to come prepared with cash if it means I’ll get to have that BBQ again.

*Let’s talk about the food and drink for a minute, cuz McCormack’s is about to open for lunch as well, and eventually breakfast.

Grub: I was really impressed with the menu (because I’m male?). There were lots of vegetarian options, tofu, beans, greens, and mac’n'cheese.  All comfort foods that I like.  The flavors were sometimes a little off, but all in all, the spirit of the food made me want to eat it more often.  In fact, when I received my Pauper’s Platter sampler of sides and BBQ, I nearly sent it back.  No way this is vegetarian. But it was.  And behind me, a table full of VCU art student types each ordered variations on the same vegetarian BBQ (a couple had it served as a sandwich). And the catfish nuggets were a suitable stand in for The White Dog’s classic catfish fingers (Dana said Barry ate at the Whisky Grill a few times in the last month that The White Dog was open – passing the torch, maybe?). My pals got a dessert of bacon cheesecake. How does that sound? Well, they liked it, but wished there was more continuity of flavor between the cheese and the ribbon of bacon (I suggested whipping the rendered bacon fat into the cheese before it sets).  Is this kind of eating up your alley?  It’s not like the rest of the restaurants nearby, so it may stand a chance, especially once word of the new payment policy gets out.

Booze: There is no mistaking that enormous wall of liquor.  It’s a draw, for sure. I love the selection. The drink menu could keep me occupied for hours (though I can’t fathom paying the prices commanded by the high end obscure brands of whiskey).  There’s so much variety that the mid-range bottles I sometimes buy at the ABC store aren’t priced much differently from the lower tier spirits. Points for that. However, I find the pours to be too small for the money.  I had two drinks on my recent visit and they seemed thimble-esque, gone in a heartbeat even when sipped, and not quite a two-beer buzz by the end.  I know the value-focused (cheapskate) comments are predictable coming from me, but they’re stated elsewhere on the web as well. Maybe Can Can’s triple glug tumbler of Dewars and Drambouie has spoiled me, but my neat pours of whiskey were some of the smallest drinks I’ve ever been served.  Next time, its’ beer for me, unless someone else is payin’, with cash.

El Vaquero’s Fin de Semana

On the weekends, the alarmingly sparse El Vaquero offers special foods and drinks that you can’t get during the week.  There’s tamales for $1.50 a pop (be sure to get some salsa verde or crema to go with, cuz tamales tend to be a little dry), sopas (mostly offal/guts, but also seafood – both pho-like  in the hangover-curing dept), pozole (high on my todo list), and a lot more. I’m still working my way through the list (or bringing people with me to see them try out the meaty stuff.  If going during the week, be sure to try the refried beans.  They look like pintos and puree, but taste more like slow cooked pork than beans, which will probably make any omnivore swoon.

Fried plantains not included.

One thing I jumped at from the weekend offerings is the drink called atole or champurrado: a thick cinnamony hot cocoa.  I had this at the house of my brother-in-law’s family in Veracruz. Vaquero’s version was every bit as good.  In fact there were bits of canela to spit out every so often. More reassuring than off-putting, since the stuff is so damned comforting to drink. I don’t know about the traditional utility of atole for certain, but it seems like drinking a masa spiked warm drink helps cure hunger (like economical tortillas add sustenance to a meal) and probably hastens a good siesta. zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…

Mexico Makes Sandwiches?

Cemita: the monster torta

Speaking of my brother in law, he mentioned recently that he’s gotten in the habit of stopping in Puebla for the legendary Cemita sandwiches after reading my blog about it years ago. Oh great. More mouthwatering memories.  A cemita is an enormous sandwich of pork and string cheese with shmears of avocado and tangy chipotle puree (above, the peppers are whole, but stewed). When my brother is in Chicago, he makes sure to stop at Cemitas Puebla for an adequate substitute. After watching this video I lifted from their website, I just had to share it on my blog. Aside from pouring over the ubiquitous links to my honeymoon post, watching this video should have top priority – it’s the centerpiece of this entry in terms of ravenous hunger inducing imagery. The production of the Chicago cemita is impressive.  Even Guy Fieri’s typical overreactions are pretty well on target in this case.  If any of you stop there while in Chicago, please tell me how it is.

Many layers. Many hands. Many people in line behind me.

If you think the Chicago version of the cemita looks good, a visit to the source would blow your mind. The Americanized version only appears to echo’s the experience offered by the exquisite Mexican assembly line pictured here. They keep adding layers until the sandwich looks like the leaning tower of Piza.  If there is any way to get a cemita in Richmond, I’d like to know (and to substitute something for the pork, preferably). We’re seeing more tortas on menus lately.  Maybe you can order a torta and ask for ingredients that might approximate the experience (not likely). Just throwing it out there. Maybe we start a trend and a market for cemitas in Richmond will emerge.

The Shoe that Eats Like a Meal

In Puebla, the culinary capital of Mexico, tacos al pastor is available on every corner and at every convenience store deli.  And even though the al pastor trend has caught on at Mexican restaurants in Richmond, I’m sure even the least of the versions in Mexico beat out the best we’ve got in Richmond.  That’s not really news, but I do think we need to try to replicate something we can actually do well.  What I wanna know is why haven’t huaraches arrived in the states (or at least our state)?  Huaraches are kinda like the al pastor of Mexico City, available from every street vendor with a sizable comal (griddle or seasoned pan). They’re basically the Mexican New York slice: inhalable savory simplicity.  The tortilla is thin and oblong, coated with a subtle sauce and sprinkled with cheese, and maybe meat and veggies for the extravagant with money to throw around.  I loved these, and I’ve craved them ever since.

Mas huaraches, por favor.

Here, I’m eating a huarache (means shoe, cuz it’s shoe-shaped) with both green and red sauce in a little cantina in the middle of the subway station.  Always fickle, I ordered both house sauces and nibbled off both ends, but you can picture the big oval, right?  A braver Southside adventurer than I, Robey Martin, alerted me that a certain place that shall remain unnamed sells a product called a huarache (you gotta wait for Robey to shine a light on the spot on her blog… and it doesn’t come up on Google Maps or Yelp anyhow). I visited once, but my experience probably isn’t a good gauge (since I hear the grilled chicken is central to the food at this joint). I ordered one without meat, and it came piled high with lettuce and tomatoes like your average tostada. Besides the warm handmade oblong tortilla (delicious, but really thick), it wasn’t exciting, at least not in the nostalgia department.  Really, like Capriccio’s plain cheese pie, it’s the minimalist version that I’ve put on a pedestal, so anything extra is bound to detract on my scorecard.  But, you might fall in love. Who knows. I’m just gonna have to take up making these things in my own home (if I had a tortilla press big enough). Each delicate layer adds up to real heartiness.  The perfect balance, in my opinion.  The shoe that eats like a meal.

Taco Rides… on Bikes!

Trying to combine Mexican food and travel… here’s a thought.  If you’re into Mexican food or just new food experiences and you like to ride bikes, I’d like to propose a weekly or bi-weekly bike ride to the southside (out Hull or Midlo) to XYZ taqueria to try whatever peaks our curiosity on the menu. I’m taking a page out of Pamparius’ weekly pizza ride idea here, only our routes might be a little bumpier.  If you’re interested, drop a comment and I’ll get in touch. Maybe we can turn it into a Meet-Up group or something like that. Even if it’s just a couple of us, we’ll burn some calories and then put them back on and then burn them off on the way home. A good day, if you ask me.  But, even better if we can get a round of cold micheladas before getting back on our bikes.  What are those? Stay tuned for the next installment.

*While discussing Cemitas on Twitter, @DonPepeVA spoke up saying he was going to Chicago soon and my bro gave him the URL for CemitasPuebla.  He’s had the real deal before, and he was excited about the lesser version as seen on TV.  I need to visit there and find out how it was.

UPDATE: My bro is sending me pictures of his cemita escapades in Puebla.  It seems he went to a storefront for his, whereas mine were from una mercado.

A torta is not a cemita, but a cemita might be a torta.

Big bread and big cheese.

Eat it before it eats you.

My sister in-law, Karina's "1-cemita per family" ration.

We’ll have a roll call of VOP chapters and ally organizations, awards, workshops, lunch, speakers, and a general good time celebrating all of our work.

There are so many food blogs in Richmond with large and small followings, both local and national in scope.  I try to make mine different and worth reading, or at least worth making fun of.  Richmond Magazine had Richmond.com as the #2 favorite food blog, which is peculiar, since it’s a Media General site with paid writers (whom I enjoy reading) and a confusing aggregation of local blogs, including this one (so, were some of the Richmond.com votes intended for actual bloggers?).*  And the legendary, BrandonEats is listed third favorite, despite only posting a few times in 2010.

I don’t know how many people voted, but I take these rankings as a sign that food writers’ reputations are kind of a misnomer in terms of our usefulness to readers, blurring the lines between professional and amateur, with fanfare attached to both authoritative and inquisitive perspectives.  All in all, the diversity of approaches gives us a rich environment in which to write about the food happenings in our kitchens and around town.  I hope it continues, regardless of who thinks who is “on top” (the readers will be the winners).

I’m still not totally sure that Richmond Magazine’s voters correctly understood that they were voting for best and not worst food blogger, but I’d revel in the recognition either way.  I do feel like I got off to a better start in 2010 than any year since starting the blog in 2006.

Although Richmond Mag quotes me saying that I don’t care if people want my head on a platter, that’s not quite true. My provocative statements are usually contrasted by equal parts self-effacement. Although this blog serves as my soapbox and confessional, it’s the comments that make me proud (and really deserve a good portion of the RichmondMag honor). If a post inspires thoughtful discussion, contentious or harmonious, then I’m happy. I’ve listed some of those comment-magnets here as “The Best.”  However, some of this year’s posts seemed to go unnoticed. So, they’re getting another shot under the heading, “The Worst.” I hope you’ll check those out if you haven’t already.

THE BEST

• Restaurants for the Rest of Us presents a critique of Richmond’s restaurant scene and the fanfare’s fetish for fanciness.
• The Pros and Cons of Cupcakes shows my wife and I fighting about our divergent views on cupcakes.
• Health Inspection = Critical Deliciousness is my attempt to put health code violations in perspective.
• A Gathering of Food Bloggers was a first and a lot of fun.
• How NOT to Tweet. If I’m going to put my energy into Twitter instead of blogging, the twittersphere has got to shape up.
• Aziza’s Oven and its Possibilities was my favorite before it was even built. Luckily, the pizzas are living up to prediction.
• Is Gelato. Is Not Gelato. Putting Deluca Gelato on the map and trying to make sense of Italian ice cream.
• Hot Pizzas vs. Cool Heads was my confession about resisting the urge to talk about pizza in Richmond like a zealot outside an abortion clinic.

THE WORST:

• Holiday Food Rewind is a pictorial of Christmas spent gutting fish in Richmond and then New Years in the Arkansas’ Ozark mountains.
• Sideways Challenge: Merlot vs. Pinot Noir. Wine is helping me enjoy my meals more, but the education is going slowly.  But, at least it’s fun.
• Brand New Kitchen for $150: Still proud of this budget remodel effort.
• Sheba: Queen of the Bottom. I re-fell in love with Ethiopian food over this meal. The restaurant just changed their name to Addis.
• Super Burritos to Carytown’s Rescue and mine as well. I can’t wait for Cafe Ole to open in Carytown. I ran into Betsy Thomas and she said that she used this blog entry to get a bank loan. Whoa.
• How to Fix Shit Up proves the old addage, “behind every man, there’s a better woman.”
• Vietnam Garden’s New Greatness: This is one of the best Vietnamese restaurants in town and it gets very little attention, for better or worse.
• Fish Taco Cookoff between me and Jonah Holland produced a delicious dinner and a good time.

With baby number two on the way (another boy), and my last semester of grad school as well, I predict that for the rest of 2010 I’ll either not have time to write, or I’ll procrastinate on my other responsibilities by creating lots of new content here. No telling which it’ll be. But, if I don’t live up to the Richmond Magazine hype, check out one of those other local food blogs.

*I just noticed that the category specifies, “food blog or website.”  So, Richmond.com more than qualifies, but the content from other bloggers is a confounding variable.

UPDATE: I’m reading over the restaurant superlatives in the food categories.  To say the least, I do not share the the readers’ enthusiasm for chain restaurants.  In fact, I’m having trouble reconciling these food awards they’ve bestowed with my food blogging award they’ve given me. Speculation is welcome, though I probably don’t want to hear the possible explanations.

Jen’s secret weapon: When thinking about the chefs behind the sandwiches, the image of spunky Jen standing her ground against the invading Boka Truck driving Patrick doesn’t really tell the whole story.  You see, Jen’s got a secret weapon. Vegans may beat a path to her door, but meat and potatoes are a high priority at Cafe Gutenberg too.  Introducing Garrett Berry, Jen’s partner in every aspect of managing and cooking and life.  They met in 2004 while working for the New England Culinary Institute in Vermont, fell in love while playing a shit-talking game of pool, and followed one of their buddies to Richmond in 2005. From 2006 to 2008 they ran Cafe Gutenberg’s kitchen and took it over when the owners decided to sell.  These past couple years, they’ve been working steadily to reinvent the restaurant with their dream concept in mind, “to apply the details and standards of classical cuisine to the foods that regular people really want to eat, and to squash the idea that passion and skilled execution should be reserved for expensive ingredients.”

In the Cafe Gutenberg kitchen, Jen says, “we have a good balance where he does a lot of the Low notes- sauerkraut, braises and meats, and I do the High notes, the vegetarian stuff, salads and sauces…. We split up our duties more by components than by dish….The Banh Mi is a good example- I do the Tofu and Pickles, he does the Pork and Chili Sauce.”

Garrett isn’t exactly quiet behind the scenes either. He claims to make some of the best pork in town, and says that Patrick knows he can’t produce pork that measures up to his, as long as people don’t mind a messy sandwich.  Although not quite relevant to the sandwich competition, Garrett is particularly proud of the Cafe’s french fries, a recipe he and Jen derived through a painstaking process (when ordered, their prized fries are served alongside the banh mi for about $8).

Patrick’s Boka (Truck): Of course, there won’t be fries involved during the showdown, so much as confidence, and Patrick brings enough of that to battle a team of two co-chefs.  Rather than describe the Boka Truck’s proclamations on Twitter, let’s go back in time a year or so to see Patrick making a run at the 6th season of Top Chef:

Ironically, Patrick may have been a little too mild mannered for the Bravo network producers, because they selected his then neighbor in Springfield, Mike Isabella, a chef at Jose Andres’ Zaytinya in DC.  Anyone who saw that season will remember Mike’s tremendous ego turning him from simply a self-centered blowhard to the villain everyone loved to hate (his derogatory remarks toward his competitors didn’t hurt).  But, maybe missing the Top Chef opportunity hasn’t been all bad for Patrick.  Recently, a tweet from Boka Truck trumpeted the news, “Boka Truck is EXPANDING!!! The Evolution of Richmond’s premier food truck will be publicized as we roll out our secret plans…”

If Patrick’s boundary-pushing in both the cooking and promotion realms has achieved his aim of building a customer base in every corner of Greater Richmond with a single truck, he may soon need a fleet to be all of these places during crucial dining times.  Who knows, maybe a storefront is in his future.  But, first he’s gotta put his banh mi where his boka is and clear the Cafe Gutenberg hurdle.

THE JUDGES:

Chef Ellie Basch: Thinking of local chefs who know their sandwiches, Chef Ellie seemed like a natural fit.  Her name first came up while discussing the Chefs Move to Schools organization to improve school lunches, which Jen suggested as a benefactor of the event. Since then, Ellie Basch’s expertise became apparent to me. With cooking experience that ranges from her youth growing up in Indonesia working for her mom’s catering business, to Richmond institutions like The Jefferson and the Frog and the Redneck, she’s well versed in all kinds of cuisines. As the website for her catering business, Everyday Gourmet, says, “Ellie’s knowledge of Asian spices and flavors and French cooking techniques have allowed her to combine the finest points of various cuisines into Everyday Gourmet.”  And that’s a good synopsis of the significance of the banh mi sandwich: an unusual combination of foods from different hemispheres in an accessible form that regular people can appreciate and afford.

These themes run through all of Ellie’s current activities; on Savor’s menu of inspired meat and veggie options, sustainably sourced produce, recently working on a project teaching kids to cook, and pushing a comprehensive approach to environmentally sound materials in all of her cooking endeavors. For a first hand look at Ellie’s down to earth approach to food, see her pre-Broad Appetit 2009 video where she contemplates a pork BBQ sandwich.  It seems pretty southern, but it could be described as banh mi-esque (taking artistic license here).

An Mekong: He stole the show in the last primer post and he’ll probably do the same on Monday night.  So, before spreading some of the attention around, I’ll be succinct.  He’s high spirited, generous, and sitting atop Richmond’s Vietnamese cuisine throne.  His praise will be the jewel in the crown of whoever wins the competition.

Robey Martin: Since we had two food professionals and me as judges, I wanted another food writer on board to help me represent the consumer’s perspective.  Robey and I are (usually) friendly enough that bringing her aboard might seem obvious, but I put it off for a good while, not wanting to fill the panel out of the same kind of convenient circumstances that got me involved.  Robey’s WhineMeDineMe blog leapfrogged in popularity in early 2009 (known as In Vino Veritas for its first 2yrs) and she gained still more notoriety debuting in Style Weekly just a few months ago.  While those credentials alone might earn her a place on the judging panel, it’s her inability to pull punches when giving her opinion that I wanted to have on hand for this occasion.  If there’s anything amiss with her sandwich, Robey will speak up about it. There aren’t many certainties going into this throwdown, but that’s one.  Reason enough to come out, if you ask me.

Me: I first fell hard for the banh mi sandwich at the 2009 Broad Appetit food fest.  It was Cafe Gutenberg’s offering and kind of a coming-out party for them as Jen and Garrett had recently taken over the business.  Unfortunately, their booth was at the far end of the festival and foot traffic seemed light when I spotted those two words scrawled on a sign at their booth.  Wow. I’d always wanted to try a Banh Mi, and here it was in both veggie and meaty versions.  The employee I spoke with tried to give me a hard sell about the local veggies and other goodies inside the enormous sandwiches they were slicing up for each order.  I stopped him quick.  Hey man, I would eat a tofu banh mi if it was from Costco.  You had me at banh. Heck, if there was no tofu, I’d have been tempted to try the pork, just because I’d seen too many food shows and articles in magazines to let the flavor remain a mystery.  (I’m also carrying a torch for a good pan bagnat)

Walking away from the lonely Gutenberg cooks, I’m chewing the first bite of this sandwich and exclaiming curse words of disbelieve in my mind.  Oh, shit, that’s some flavor! Action packed! Goddamn this is a helluva sandwich… and etc until it was gone and I was left to nibble on my garnish of watermelon radish. Ouch! That stings, but so pretty. Red and white hotness searing my whole mouth. Can you tell I’m a radish noob? They’re a taste I’m still acquiring, but this one was fer serious.  Definitely punctuated the plate, and I wound up crowing about that sandwich as my favorite dish of the whole event (tho I can’t find any evidence of this online).

In the year or so after the event, I sought out banh mi sandwiches wherever I could find them.  However, because of my baby-imposed dining restrictions, I never made it back to Cafe Gutenberg.  So, this will be kind of a banh mi homecoming for me. Revisiting the sandwich that introduced me to the genre and seeing how it measures up to all the banh mi that I’ve had since as well as the new kid on the block, Boka Truck.

THE EMCEE:

Vickie Mullins: Because this whole thing started on twitter, anyone can and did become associated with the planning.  I’m an extreme example. Vickie Mullins is another enthusiastic bystander who wanted to pitch in, first volunteering her hotel workplace by the airport.  Even after we decided to hold it closer in to the city, Vickie stayed on board, excited to build awareness for the local organizations improving school lunches around Richmond.  And, since a host was needed to narrate the flow of the event, Vickie stepped up to play that role.

When Vickie passes the donation can to you, I hope you’ll step up as well.

Sorry for the abrupt ending, but time’s a wastin’.  Gotta give people a chance to read this before the big night.

We'll be dining on an homage to this monster.

Although Richmond’s Banh Mi Throwdown at Cafe Gutenberg on Monday does take some of its inspiration from Flay’s TV show, we don’t have the same circumstances in place. When Patrick from Boka Truck sent out a tweet that his banh mi was the best in the city (after one day of selling them?), I shot back asking if he’d tried Asian Bakery Cafe. I’d recently become somewhat addicted to their $3 tofu sandwiches and wanted to know how his compared. I didn’t hear back. The twitter trash-talk escalated from multiple directions, and before long Jen at Cafe Gutenberg had thrown her hat into the ring. So, I just started nagging that a vegetarian version should be included in the competition. And, in hopes of a free sandwich, I’d be happy to judge it.

A Sandwich that’s Ready for Prime Time?

It’s probably Bobby Flay’s Throwdown show that puts the image into our minds of the brash Boka Truck putting his tricked-out version of a banh mi up against the long successful traditional style from a local Vietnamese restaurant. I was curious about that myself. But, a cable TV-network fueled talent search this was not. Twitter excellerated one guy’s somewhat premature bragging into a mild-mannered melee with bystanders like me inadvertently piling on.  Despite social media’s potential for making new connections, they can still be somewhat insular, not unlike our real life relationships, dining choices, etc. And it’s really not the disparate groups existing happily in separate spheres that find reason to “throwdown” against one another. Why would they, when there is really no competitive overlap? No, it’s the two who are somewhat alike and have mutual friends who wind up stepping on each other’s toes and then decide that there’s not room enough for the both of them in this town. And that’s where Jen Mindell comes in.

Sitting at a table on the sidewalk in Shockoe Bottom, we had a little meeting to iron out the details of the event. During that hour and a half, I watched Jen challenge at least half of the things that came out of Patrick’s mouth. The back and forth was lively and a good preview to their July 26th showdown.  Don’t let them leave the throwdown without reenacting some of that banter.  One thing they did agree on was that neither of their sandwiches strives for authenticity. These are interpretations of the Vietnamese sandwich. They are celebrations of the great culinary ideas and flavors that are present in a traditional banh mi, but they’re “kicked up a notch,” or several. Unlike the hand-held, on-the-go size banh mi street food sandwich that can be found at a few of our pho noodle houses (always served with a rubber band around it), these throwdown competitors sell elaborate sit down entree sandwiches.

Pimp My Banh Mi

Banh Mi Throwdown judge, An Mekong (yes, Richmond’s king of GOOD beer), says his favorite banh mi is back home in Vietnam. He waxes poetic about  buying them on the roadside first thing in the morning. He loves the gravy they slather on the sandwiches (not mayo) and you just don’t see that from any Richmond banh mi makers (see the video above).  So, maybe even Richmond’s “traditional” banh mis aren’t so traditional after all (tho I love a good cheap imitation, personally). Also, “The secret is the bread,” he says. “It’s got to be fresh baked and crusty on the outside.” The banh mi sandwiches he’ll be eating at the competition use fresh bread, but the competitors don’t bake their own. Cafe Gutenberg gets their baguette from Jean Jacques and Boka Truck sources sub rolls from Catina, a banh mi shop near Tan-A on Broad Street. If An is right, that like pizza, the crust is 80% of the equation, both competitors make up for their outsourcing by focusing on top-notch ingredients that deliver significant flavors.  Finally, I asked An why his restaurant, Mekong, doesn’t sell banh mi sandwiches. “Too much trouble!”  Fair enough.  Luckily, he won’t mind telling us how two of Richmond’s banh mi upstarts stack up in his hierarchy of deliciousness.

Now, let’s give credit where it is due.  If you want to get a good basis for understanding the sweet/sour, crunchy/chewy complimentary contrasts involved in the banh mi sandwich, here’s your homework.  As basic as the lil hoagies might be, I recommend making a stop at one of the following Vietnamese places ASAP for a sandwich that will only cost you $2.50-3.50 (they don’t have websites or twitter accounts, so I went with Yelp listings, mostly):

Pho 79's hard to miss sign, that most people miss.

• Asian Bakery Cafe
• Catina
• Pho 79
• Vi Bakery (there be smack talk at this link)

Eating at any of these places is sure to be enlightening and economical. I’d suggest going back and forth between Asian Bakery and Catina until you decide which is better. You can officiate your own private throwdown.  Also, a bubble tea or Vietnamese iced coffee to wash it down.  Speaking of which, after the Throwdown, we’ll be in Shockoe Bottom and the night will still be young.  Maybe a bar crawl will be in order, or at least a debriefing session over some cold drinks.  Sake bombs at Sumo San? Mojitos at Havana 59?  I’ll leave it to the bar-hopping experts (anywhere but Cha Cha’s, please).  Also, Monday the 26th will be my 36th birthday. Another weird by-product of event planning via itty-bitty twitter committee.

Banh Mi Throwdown

Monday, July 26th at Cafe Gutenberg

6:30 – doors and drinks

7:00 – samples and judging

UPDATE: Another installment of this primer is in the works. Mostly to answer any questions you pose in the comments, amusing odds and ends, and some background on the other judges. Big BIG thanks to this Canadian blog for providing the diagram and Bourdain clip.

1. Preserving lemons: Ever since Olio turned me on to preserved lemons as a blockbuster secret ingredient, I’ve been wanting to cook with them more often. I rarely see them on shelves, and when I do, I can’t rationalize $7.99 for two lemons swimming in brine.  Meanwhile, the web has loads of tutorials on how to make them at home.
   

   Get messy, but don't be sloppy like me.

   When our friend Sabrina (@murdochkittster) came over this weekend, the low maintenance recipe seemed like a good activity. She brought lemons.  We had jars and salt.  After cutting the lemons open and loading them with salt, we packed them into the jars, with more salt in between, along with peppercorns, coriander seeds, and fresh bay leaves from the garden. When they were full, we added some lemon juice and boiling water.  Then we started to shake a closed jar and saltwater went everywhere.  It hadn’t sealed. It was one of those fruit jars with a clamp and a rubber gasket.  Unfortunately, this one was from World Market and seemed to be toy.

   

   The culprit is the one on the right.

   We had to transfer the contents to another jar.  Some sparks flew between me and Karen as we tried to decide on a replacement under slight duress. Neither of us was unhappy about going back to square one.  Eventually, I found a much larger jar, picked up some more lemons at the corner store, and filled that one up with larger quantities of the same ingredients.  I put the lid on. Turned it tight.  Flipped it over and the lemony saltwater poured out onto the counter. Ugh! Another non-seal. “You didn’t test it!?!?” exclaimed Karen and Sabrina.

   

   "I coulda done this better than daddy."

   Long awkward pause with me looking for an escape route.  Mason jars materialized quickly and the third time was the charm. No leaks.  We’ll have preserved lemons in a month and can start looking for a tagine for some Moroccan dishes.  Folks, you can do this.  Just don’t be an idiot like me.

2. Canning peaches:Karen did it all herself.  So, of course, she should tell the story. Karen, take it away.
   

   For a taste of summer, come December.

   Last summer I swore I was going to can tomatoes but the season came and went and it never happened. So this year I wasn’t going to miss out. I got all my supplies together, started reading my thrift shop find “Putting Food By” and was ready to go when our CSA sent out the message about boxes of peaches from an orchard outside of Charlottesville (Crozet). I put in my order for half a box ($20) and was excited when jason brought two brown paper grocery store bags home on Saturday, each half full of peaches. This was the first time I ever tried canning and I felt a little overwhelmed with all of the sterilization procedures but once I got going it really wasn’t difficult, but it did take much longer than I expected. Three and a half hours after I got started I had 7 quart jars of peaches swimming in a white grape juice syrup with the lids sealed properly (thank goodness, or I would have thrown a fit after all of that work.) I would recommend a partner for this activity – you need an assembly line. There are just too many little steps: 1. Sterilize the jars and lids 2. Cut the peaches in half 3. Blanch the peaches in boiling water 4. Transfer peaches to ice water bath 5. Peel and slice the peaches 6. Transfer peaches to water bath with lemon and asorbic acid so they don’t brown 7. Boil the peaches with the packing liquid 8. Fill the jars with peaches 9. Get out the air bubbles 10. Fill the jars with boiling liquid 11. Top the jars 12. Boil the jars in water bath. I am exhausted just thinking about it. I think I might enjoy canning something that I don’t have to peel first – a project that is more like cooking then you just happen to can what you make. I had a lot of plans for those bags of peaches: a jam and a peach barbeque sauce, but amazingly I used all but 6 or 7 peaches in my 7 quarts. Each jar took about 9 peaches! At the end of the day I felt like I had been run over by a truck but I think that had something to do with being 6 months pregnant and this damn belly slowing me down. So I am now in the market for a tomato canning partner in crime! Interested?

3. Making mozzarella: While I was trying to ruin the lemon preservation process, Karen occupied our spastic toddler while reading aloud the direction for making mozzarella to Sabrina.  As much as I wanted to take part, I had my hands full.
   

   Sabrina stretching the moz.

   Luckily, Sabrina ain’t scared. There is no trepidation with her. I could see this trait on her face when we first met in a graduate course earlier this year. Then, she came with me to the Maymont herb sale, met my wife, and realized that they had worked together pretty closely way back in 2003 (or thereabout) when she was an intern at my wife’s office. Karen even went to her birthday party.  Ah, small town Richmond.  So, basically, Sabrina made the cheese. Maybe she’ll drop a comment about it. We started with a gallon of milk (not organic, because it has to be pasteurized, not ultra-pasteurized – shop for it and you’ll see).  She boiled it with rennet. Stirred it. Strained it. And before you know it, she’s stretching it and salting it. If that sounds overly simplified, that’s because I wasn’t really paying attention. Try this tutorial. And yes. It’s delicious.  One gallon gave us about a baseball sized portion of moz.

4. Buying vinho verde: When the heat wave first arrived, I asked my pals Matt and Dipti at J.Emerson wine to fix me up a six pack of white wine so Karen and I could cool off during dinner (especially during dinner prep in the hot kitchen).  They had to work within my $60 limit and they had no problem with that.  Despite its upper-class location and aethetic, J.Emerson has loads of budget bevs and their cheese is often a real bargain (their goat gouda is a fave at my house).  When Matt showed me the bottles, he held up a slender one and said, “You know about green wine, right?” Oh, yeah. Sure. Eco-organic. Whatever. I played it off. Turns out he was talking about vinho verde, the young and crisp tasting Portuguese white wine that’s slightly effervescent.  Back at the house, Karen and I both loved the drink.  A couple weeks later, I had some more vinho verde, this time a $3.99 Trader Joe’s variety and liked it about as much as the $8.99 bottle  I had purchased. So, next time at TJ’s I brought a few bottles home and even threw in a $5.99 vinho verde to boot.  Since, I’m really “green” when it comes to white wine (and probably wine in general), my palate isn’t picking up subtle differences.  In fact, I’m just looking to cool the fuck off by drinking anything cold I can get my hands on and tastiness is just icing on the cake.  So, that’s what little I know about vinho verde so far: gimme dat. And yes, my pregnant wife is having wine. And beer too. Both in extreme moderation. Less than half the recommended European allowance. Since our first boy has been such a wild child, we’re medicating this new guy ahead of time.
5. Visiting Sweet Frog for frozen yogurt: We left for Short Pump at 9am with a laundry list of places to visit (Trader Joes, Target, Best Buy, Whole Foods, and World Market).  We figured by the end of that, it would be time for a frozen treat.  Since Veronica Perez, who knows her desserts, regularly sings the praises of this new-ish frozen yogurt place, we really wanted to try it out. When I asked Twitter if Sweet Frog is open on Sunday, there was some mixed info. They didn’t used to be (something about a sign that said Sundays are church days). Then they posted a note that they would be open Sundays.  At our last stop before dessert, Jasper’s diaper leaked and soaked his shorts (understandable after 3hrs away from home). After a trip to the bathroom, his legs were naked, just sporting a diaper and a t-shirt.  But, whatever.  It’s was hot out.  It was already noon by this point, so we headed over to Sweet Frog next to the movie theater.  The hours posted on the door said it opened at 1pm. Nope. Already feeling overexposed to the radiation of Short Pump’s nuclear fallout of big box store explosion, we weren’t waiting around another hour.  Instead, we stopped by Deluca Gelato on the way home. Our usual “seven hills” sampler included a peach brandy flavor that totally took me back to my childhood visits to Vivoli in Berkeley.  Maybe grappa was their secret ingredient (and the missing puzzle piece of my developmental issues).  We picked up a pint of mint chocolate chip split with white choc0late raspberry.  When we got home and busted these out after dinner, they quickly became two of our favorite Deluca Gelato flavors.  On another note, on Thursday I had a lunchtime trip to  La Michoacana, a latino ice cream shop in the 7800 block of Midlothian Tpk (there’s another one way out Jeff Davis Hwy) that has the most bizarre flavors and colors I’ve ever seen.  And that’s not a bad thing. I can’t wait to go back with Karen.  So, no actual Sweet Frog froyo in this entry, but the story had a happy ending and many more to come as long as I visit one of these three places throughout the heat wave. 
6. Filling the growler at Whole Foods
7. Harissa and honey roasted eggplant: The best thing I ate all weekend.  Karen found it, tweeted it, and hunted down some harissa at the store. Actually, neither of us had been able to find the North African chili paste in stores until she went to Whole Foods and they were out. However, a shopper heard Karen asking a clerk and pulled the last jar out of her cart and gave it to her (the irresistible charm of the baby bump works on me too), plus it was on sale and actually made in Morocco (same brand makes preserved lemons).  Anyone know where else to find harissa in Richmond?  If not, we can make our own. I’ve been craving the stuff since one of the Next Food Network Star contestants (my fave cook from that season) made a steak sub with harissa rubbed on the meat before grilling it.  This dish is BIG on flavor and deep caramelized melt into a puddle goodness. There was a little leftover, so I diced it and served it as a spread for crackers.  Really awesome since it was so intense. Again, here’s the recipe. (if you don’t visit that steak sub link, it mentions stirring harissa into mayo. ’nuff said)       
8. Grilled salsa of roma tomatoes and red onions
9. Frozen fish: The vague title here led my mom to comment thinking that I know something about frozen fish. I don’t. But, I did get a tip from my grilled fish taco adversary that Trader Joe’s has good frozen mahi.  When I checked it out, the stuff looked good and it was cheap, so I brought some home. Unfortunately, it thawed out in the car and I had to cook it that night. I tossed it with my homemade taco seasoning and pan seared it and made fish tacos again. The fish was perfect. The sear and the seasoning seemed to hold in the moisture, which is good, since I always worry about frozen fish releasing all of its water as soon as you heat it up.  The frozen wild caught salmon in chimichurri sauce looked pretty good too.
10. Olive oil growlers?
11. A cupcake 180: Not too long ago, my wife and I argued from opposing sides about cupcakes.  She loves them.  I took issue with the confections with all kinds of sarcasm, even invoking the righteous anger of Malcolm X.  Well, now the cupcakes have come home to roost, because Karen has accepted a gig redoing the website for Pearls Cupcake Shoppe (you’ll know Karen’s new design is in effect when a cupcake slideshow shows up on the front page).  Since taking the job, she’s brought home cupcakes and made me eat them, brought me into the lions den  to say hi to the owners (who raised an eyebrow at my anti-cupcake stance), and now I’ve got to acknowledge a conflict of interest (and I’ve got to STFU).  As I said to the owner, I like “a cupcake,” just not cupcakes in the abstract sense.  And really, if Pearls is going to make delicious vegan and gluten-free cupcakes, giving solace to the dietarily restricted, how can I not appreciate that? (they have normal ones too) At a recent sidewalk sale when we popped by, Pearls offered delicious peach limeade. I couldn’t say enough nice things about it.  We also learned that they’re going to branch out to pies and maybe some other baked goods, so keep an eye out, if you’re a dessert person (I’m not, except ice cream).  But really, what my wife likes, I like, by extension. It’s like the Pythagorean theorem of food opinions.  Now, I’m going to quit while I’m ahead.
12. My oven’s pilot light…
13. The Justin French implosion: Ever since someone told me that Justin French had fired his staff and told them that he was declaring bankruptcy on his $250 million of debt, I’ve been watching for media headlines.  For the most part, things have been very quiet. Strange. I guess even in its death throes, the advertising budgets of French’s numerous businesses command a great deal of deference from our local media. Maybe they were giving him some space as he restructured his finances during a messy divorce, or maybe he was just overextended from taking advantage of Richmond’s fetish for savior developers riding in on white horses.  You’ll recall that I took French to task over his sketchy maneuvers to open the smoking lounge at The Republic and kissin’ cousin, Empress.  His Scotts Addition and South of the Fan properties had some crying slumlord among other accusations.  Then he backed the Urban Farmhouse’s eco-oasis in Shockoe Slip (a pretty superficial greenwashing, unless you like bland $10 hummus sandwiches).  Well now, my past time is watching the econo-nerdy Richmond Biz Sense’s reporting of Justin French’s public meltdown. He’s jumped in their comments section, taking all comers (and there are many), and graffiti’d his own buildings, and it seems like it’s only going to get uglier. So, now we get to sit back and watch.  Hopefully some additional investigative journalism will help Richmond make sense of French’s shady dealings and where we (the collective Richmond “we”) went wrong following his pied piping (but I don’t know which publication will have the guts to shine a light on the real estate underbelly of our city, especially when that light might get in our own eyes a bit).
14. Battling the kitchen compost bin
15. The Black Hand’s beer

It’d probably help make this a little less self-centered if you say what your interest is in a story.  That way, if I post unsatisfying gibberish, then others can chime in with something actually helpful.  And maybe the comments turn into a larger conversation that serves more interests than my two cents would have alone.  Okay. Pick something.