…San Francisco. Again.

This time it wasn’t the cowboys that captivated me, but the cows. Driving back from Napa en route to the Frisco airport on the last leg of my annual California journey, I rear-ended my rental when I found myself completely awe-stuck and staring out the passenger window at black & white striped cows. A little Googling later revealed that these magnificent beasts are actually peppercorn Belted Galloways, identifiable by the distinctive white belt of hide that runs between their midsection. Drop dead gorgeous!

This latest gander to The Golden State taught me many things about myself, chief among them that I have changed. Once upon a time “drop dead gorgeous” was reserved for the Johnny Depp types who wandered into my acting classes at NYU. There was even a time before that, before I moved to New York at the ripe old age of 18, when I didn’t know what a black & white cookie was. Now I risk fatality slowing down on speedways to catch a glimpse of cows. Collisions aside, I’m the happier for it. (And P.S., as someone whose most common experience in a car is in the back of a yellow cab, I always spring for rental insurance.)

So I’ve learned I like cows? Sorta.

I like green. I like grass. I like grass-fed beef. I like living somewhere, if only for a week, that makes a green lifestyle achievable. New York has many virtues, but “greenery” does not rank chief among them. It’s hard to live green in any city, and even with all its access and the liberal politics of the Urban Elite, New York can seem especially crippled by corporate giants who must get off on profiting from the chronic disease laden industrialized diets of a population trapped on an island without a stitch of farmland. A wet dream for the processed food set, if ever there was one!

I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again, I know it ain’t gonna be popular ‘round these parts, BUT, in my humble opinion, the food in the Bay Area is better than the food in New York. I’m not talking about restaurants, I’m not talking about scenes or experiences, I’m strictly talking food. And what that really amounts to is produce and proteins, both of which are in a league of their own out west because both are grown out west. How can the Hudson Valley compete with the Salinas Valley? The North Fork with Napa? The Hamptons with Carmel?

If New Yorkers wanna eat green there are grub-hubs that cater to their tastes, but if they wanna eat local, they would be denied citrus, olives and artichokes for starters. Hell, even the berries in San Fran, a summer staple at farmers’ markets in Manhattan, were in a league of their own out west. As an on-the-go breakfast before my cycling odyssey over the Golden Gate bridge, destined for sardines at Fish in Saulsalito, I picked up a tub of strawberries in the Ferry Plaza and mixed it with cottage cheese from Cowgirl Creamery that was so good it hurt…quite literally, pangs of jealously shot through me when I experienced what real cottage cheese tastes like. Sprinkle a little Spearmint Sugar from Allstar Organics on top of the berries & cream, finish it off with a macchiato shot from Blue Bottle Coffee Co., and for under $10, a San Franciscan can start her day with what is truly a breakfast of champions.

That’s something else I learned on my western adventure: cooking in Cali is pure joy. I’d never had the opportunity to find myself in a California kitchen before this most recent visit, and you better believe I made the most of my good fortune by cooking up a pasta littered with fresh morels and fava beans, accompanied by grilled bruschetta topped with local blackberry honey and sour cherry compote. The next morning I followed that up with an herb and triple crème omelet made from newly laid chicken eggs I myself collected from the hen house! Sharing good food with good friends in their incredible Napa Valley farmhouse has set the bar for eating, and drinking, locally. Their ranch also lays claim to a winery that produces killer cult cabs and a private collection to make you cry.

Last summer I predicted a move west was imminent in 5 years time; it’s now 4 years and counting!

Those home-cooked meals weren’t the most refined food of the trip, but they were surely the most remarkable. Another thing travelling taught me about myself? I prefer home-cooked to haute cuisine! Don’t get me wrong, I did some serious restaurant hopping and had exceptional bites worthy of praise all across Northern California, but again and again, I found myself much more compelled by simple, sincere dining experiences than the flagship destinations that garner all the stars, all the fame, and all the big ticket price tags.

Hands down, the best bites I had on this trip came from the insanely inspired menus at Nopalito and Ubuntu. Any good foodie has heard the buzz about Ubuntu’s vegetarian fare, which absolutely redefines vegetables without a soy burger in sight. Both have soul, Ubuntu shares its space with an exceptional yoga studio and a hot-off-the-presses Annex next door, but the recently launched Nopalito also boasts a creation story to warm your heart and your café con leche. The husband and wife team behind Nopalito, and its sister spot Nopa, backed their latest venture with Nopa’s Mexican line chefs at the helm. After years of being spoiled on staff meals of grande proportion, they decided their cooks’ carnitas and quesadillas were worthy of a venue all their own. And of course, that venue features a sustainable, organic kitchen that takes great pride in sourcing its ingredients locally. That’s as green, and glorious, as it gets!

But there were truly a plethora of food finds that rattled my taste buds on this last trip westward. It’s not easy picking favorites when surrounded by excellence on all sides, but I can tell you that for my money, The French Laundry sits squarely in the middle of my list. Indeed, I found a better use for Keller’s menu the next morning as we packed “essentials” for our afternoon hike. If pressed, I would rate my experiences as follows:

1.    Nopalito (San Francisco)
2.    Ubuntu (Napa)
3.    A16 (San Francisco)
4.    Blue Bottle Coffee Co. (San Francisco)
5.    The Ferry Building: Boccalone, Far West Fungi, Acme Bread Company, Cowgirl Creamery (San Francisco)
6.    Chez Panisse (Berkeley)
7.    Miette (San Francisco)
8.    Fish (Sausalito)
9.    Bouchon (Yountville)
10.    Ad Hoc (Yountville)
11.    French Laundry (Yountville)
12.    Sausalito Taco Shack (Sausalito)
13.    Gitane (San Francisco)
14.    Bottega (Yountville)
15.    Beretta (San Francisco)

What California can really teach us all is how to pioneer a new lifestyle that is both greener and more delicious than most. Biking, hiking, cooking, forging, dining, drooling over the abundance of local produce and the sincerity of community cuisine, makes me wanna get serious about cutting the industrialized “fat” from diet and living a food life I can really be proud of. I can talk and write about doing exactly this until the cows come home, but if I’m honest with myself, in order to do his right, I may just have to mooooo-ve west!

We almost forgot the secret ingredient in our guacamole…mango!

Click here to get the recipe or visit The Supper Club online.

Photo Courtesy of The New York Times

Celest taught me to believe in box office ratings. She makes the argument that box office profits on opening weekends make a big impact on what sort of films get produced and released, and she spends her movie money accordingly. Obviously, the power of the purse persuades the powerful in Hollywood to make movies audiences rush to crowded, sold-out shows to see. So if you want to support a filmmaker or her particular project, it behooves you to influence the studio heads by buying a ticket on opening weekend. Because as the logic follows, each of us can change Hollywood one ticket purchase at a time.

As an ardent convert to Celest’s theory, I was crushed to read the Food, Inc. review in The New York Times five days late. I have an excuse that will suffice with any foodie, I was eating at The French Laundry the night the film opened, and have only just gotten back to New York and my daily pouring over of The New York Times. But still, if there was ever a film to throw my purse behind on opening weekend, it was this one.

Within 10 minutes of reading the review, I ran out the door to catch the next showing of Robert Kenner’s sure-to-be “new-classic” documentary on the corporatization of food in America. At Film Forum I realized I wasn’t the only one to miss out on the premier; there was a line of hopeful viewers wrapped around the block waiting to get in, and the evening shows were already sold out. This was on a Tuesday afternoon no less! I scored one of the last seats in the house and made my way (sans processed popcorn) to a perfectly centered single seat.

The film was stunning, in that it was both shocking and beautiful. Of course, the film is also gruesome and difficult to sit through at times, but the message delivered had the full house shrieking, gasping and applauding throughout the entire course of the movie…and this wasn’t exactly The Dark Knight crowd (though Celest and I did see that one on opening night)! Food, Inc. works in the same ways Michael Moore’s documentaries do. They disgust, they provoke, they might be propagandizing, but they always point to a fundamental truth about the world in which we live. In this case, it’s that fast food is killing us and our planet.

Alice Waters has called it, “The film I have always been waiting for.” She has known for much longer than I that America needs this film. I’ve had only a growing sense that Americans need to be turned on to the dangers of industrialized foods. And what better way to turn them on than by making slow food cool? Joel Salatin, an organic farmer featured in Food, Inc. makes my point when he asks, “Is cheapness everything? I mean, who wants to buy a cheap car?” Touché, farmer Joel! If cool is our cultural currency then both cheap cars and cheap food are decidedly uncool.

Bill Maher trades on cool and has been trying to build a popular cry for food reform for years now. On his HBO show Real Time, fast food is a favorite subject, and a few weeks back he even interviewed Food, Inc.’s narrator, the accomplished journalist Michael Pollan. But the problem with Pollan is that he isn’t cool; he communicates to the converted, but would have a tough time reaching corporate food’s most dedicated victims. I’m not sure all his reasoned logic and science could even influence my own Mamma, let alone the thousands of mammas raising families alone on less than we were blessed with. But movies have a way of making magic. Despite the odds, the crowds are queuing up for Food, Inc.; the power of the purse may yet prevail.

Which is why, for the first time in my life, I was joyously hopeful while enduring a long wait in line. I realize this is Manhattan, and short of San Francisco, likely the most targeted demographic this movie can expect to capture. And yet, today I can honestly say that my hope springs eternal for the progress possible tomorrow.

Because as they say in the film, and not unlike Celest’s own movie-going mantra, “Each of us can change the world with every bite.”

A few weeks back The Dinner Belle partnered with The Supper Club to co-host a “Chef’s Night In” Cinco de Mayo cooking lesson and dinner party. On hand were 20 invited guests, the Sauza Tres Generaciones tequila sponsors, and a piñata. Erin and I were behind the stove teaching and tasting our way into Mexican food comas. Weeks of preparation meant weeks of “research” (i.e. eating the best tacos, tamales and flautas round town) to compile our own signature recipes for what I’m calling “New-Mex” cuisine.

New-Mex is this New Yorker’s compilation of everything I love about Mexican food, Tex-Mex, and my personal favorite, produce-centric Cal-Mex …of which I’ve been eating plenty of out West and will fill you in on next week. Our New-Mex menu ranged from Queso Fundido, a classic chorizo and cheese fondue, to mushroom and corn Huitlacoche Quesadillas. Our bartender poured mango margaritas and spicy Pepinos (not unlike my own recipe for cucumber margaritas) as we demoed Chocolate-Chipotle Rubbed Short-Rib Tacos and endured the rain to grill limes, Elotes Callejeros (Spanish for corn on the cob) and Key West butter-basted shrimp, the featured ingredient in our Napa Cabbage & Shrimp Tacos. We stuffed baby bell peppers with a mix of Mexican cheeses, lemon zest and garlic, and were gratefully kept dry under our assistant’s umbrella while popping those suckers onto an open flame. After a few tequila shots, we even had one guest jump behind the stove with us to whip up freshly fried tortilla chips!

Our menu was expansive and offered a great balance of lighter fare like, Papaya Y Jicama Ensalada, for guests gearing up for bikini season, and decadent desserts like, Aztec Chocolate Pots de Crème, served up in martini glasses for those of us who can’t turn down a spicy, salty sweet no matter what the weather.

But without a doubt, the most popular dish of the night (we actually sent a guest on a run for more avocados to make a second batch) was my Tequila Spiked Mango Guacamole. A lusciously creamy avocado spread spiked with Tres Generaciones Plata tequila and fresh lime, and then peppered with chopped red onion, cilantro, Serrano chili, and mango; this ain’t your grandma’s guacamole. Served with tortilla chips, sliced rainbow carrots & jicama, this recipe was the house hit, notwithstanding the candy and condoms that came flying out of the piñata as a heavily tequila-ed crowd went to bat.

As parting gifts, we assembled recipe books for each guest to take home and attempt our New-Mex cuisine in their New York kitchens. I’m gifting you but one recipe for “killer guac” to impress the crowds at your next summer soiree, but I promise new video websiodes in the weeks to come that will put you right smack-dab in the center of the party…

Tequila Spiked Mango Guacamole (serves a small crowd)

•    3 ripe Avocados
•    ½ Red Onion (diced)
•    1 Serrano Chili (seeded and finely chopped)
•    1 bunch Cilantro (chopped, reserve a few leaves for garnish)
•    1 Lime (juiced)
•    1 shot Premium Tequila
•    1 medium-ripe Mango (peeled, flesh cut from the pit and diced)
•    Salt to taste
•    Tortilla Chips, Carrots or Jicama Sticks (for serving)

First off, buy ripe avocados! Don’t be lured into the bright green, firm fruit; go for the ugly, mushy, brown/black avocados that seem to be on their last legs. They are! But they have one final chapter yet to write…they’ve been waiting for some lucky soul to grant them a last hurrah and transform their silky flesh into a velvety smooth guacamole. Remember: buy ‘em ripe and use ‘em right away, and save the green guys for sliced avocado and eggs.

When you get home, cut the avocados in half, running your knife around the pit from top to bottom, and back up again. Twist the halves in opposite directions to free the pit, and pull the halves apart. Whack your knife into the pit and pull it out, then scoop the avocado flesh into a large bowl. Continue with all 3 avocados. Then coarsely mash the avocados with a large spoon or potato masher.

Add the onion, Serrano, cilantro, lime juice and tequila and stir. Gently mix in the diced mango, but save a tablespoons worth to garnish the guac. Taste and season with salt.  If not using immediately, cover with plastic wrap pressed directly onto  the surface of the guacamole and refrigerate – preferably for no more than a few hours as guac oxidizes quickly and will turn brown.

When you’re ready to serve, scoop guacamole into a serving bowl and garnish with the remaining diced mango and cilantro sprigs. Serve with tortilla chips or carrot and jícama sticks. ¡Buen provecho!

I’ve been invited to a lot of A-list food events of late. So has Mr. Niceguy.

Over the past two years I’ve been posting on my blog at least once weekly, but it’s only in the past two months that I’ve been awarded entry at several hob-knobby foodie fêtes round town. Sometimes I’m directed to the press table, inevitably somewhere in the back of the room, close to a cranky kitchen door that constantly whines its way through the keynote address. On those occasions, I’m happy for the free booze and to be spared from cavorting with crusty oncologist types who seem as dry as matzo meal.

On other occasions I’ve been treated to experiences that seem nothing short of miraculous. This divine intervention is almost enough to make a believer out me, as it seems I’ve done nothing short of will myself into attendance at fabulous food fests I once regarded as mere myth. I’m here to tell ya fairytales do come true, because lately, me, the girl who spontaneously applauds a perfectly plated entrée and has quit a tenure-track professorship (in this economy no less!) to follow her food passions full-time, is being asked to join the New York City culinary gods at tables across the universe (okay, across Manhattan…same dif)! If this isn’t akin to seeing a portrait of the Virgin Mary cry salt tears, it’s at least my glass slipper.

A little over a month ago I was in for the surprise of my eating life, when what I thought was a simple sherry tasting turned out to be a 12 course dinner and sherry pairing hosted by The Secret Sherry Society and prepared by none other than Chef Wylie Dufresne, in the private wine cellar of his lauded WD-50. I say “surprise” not only because the dinner ended up being 12 courses long with just as few guests at the table, but also because the meal itself offered a plethora of culinary bombshells. It’s not often that I’m astounded by what I eat (or drink), but Wylie’s passionfruit filled foie gras paired with Chinese celery and Palo Cortado “Apostoles” Gonzales Byass sherry was a revelation, second only to the vanilla gelato intermezzo course. And I don’t even like ice cream! Filled with a balsamic reduction that oozed from the center of the quenelle of vanilla gelato covered in dehydrated raspberry dust, I washed down this treat with an equally sweet Pedro Ximenez Bodegas El Maestro Sierra dessert sherry that was as rich as chocolate fudge and as bright as sun-ripened raisins. To be sure, this sherry could be a sundae topping in and of itself. Just warm a few shots of Pedro Ximenez on the stovetop and pour over ice cream…you won’t be disappointed.

All told, I’ve collected many highlights (and hangovers) over the past few months of gallivanting for free; there was the Samuel Tilden birthday dinner at The National Arts Club, in which we celebrated this lauded New Yorker’s 194th year with a commemorative menu from 1882 a la Sam Ward; a lunch at newly closed Atria, to taste the Murray family’s Chateau Routas wines, that I swear to you, smelled like the leather upholstery inside a vintage Aston Martin and were just as smooth going down; a Supper Club dinner in the private dining room of the gorgeous but cuisine-challenged Soho spot, Delicatessen, at which I was seated next to former Top Chef contestant Sam Talbot of Surf Lodge fame; I dragged my Mamma along to a “Wines from Greece” tasting hosted by none other that Mr. Michael Pislaksi’s himself (my Dad and I ate at Anthos the week prior as a sort of taste test…so delish!); and though I did not get invited to the James Beard Awards themselves, I did score entry to the after-parties at Bar Boulud, The Modern and Pegu Club later that night; then there was the Solex-turned-Veloce-Pizzeria friends & family pizza party to introduce their new rustic Italian menu from rustic Italian chef-goddess, Sara Jenkins; a champagne and roast beef pleasure pairing at The Box; and the DBGB Preview Party, at which Daniel Boulud asked for my phone number…to collaborate on a catering venture, of course!

And on almost all of these occasions, I’ve bumped into, and awkwardly chatted up, Mr. Niceguy. You know the type; he’s ambiguously “older”, absurdly short, has chronic halitosis (and is a bit of close-talker to boot, which makes him nearly impossible to bear), but he is also the absolute nicest foodie on the planet and someone I can count on for conversation when my invite does not include a +1. Generous to a fault, always ready with a compliment or a clever quip about the latest cocktail craze, Mr. Niceguy is just that, a nice guy…not my next love affair.

Though I suppose it was only a matter of time until he grew the cojones to think otherwise. Last week Mr. Niceguy asked me out to dinner at Minetta Tavern, and because I like to think of myself as a nice girl, I couldn’t say no; and hey, Bruni just gave Keith McNally’s most recent foray into trendy comfort food 3 stars, a detail deserving of 3 more fun facts I discovered about my “date” while dining:

Mr. Niceguy doesn’t drink red.

Mr. Niceguy has a bald, er - I mean, shaved, head.

Mr. Niceguy will never get into my bed!

Because Mr. Niceguy doesn’t drink red wine, we were forced to order our vino by the glass, something akin to heresy for the sommelier on the floor that night.  The minute I informed said sommelier we’d be ordering individually, “We have very different tastes…you understand,” it was clear that he didn’t.  I literally watched the enthusiasm drip out of his smile like a slow leak in a flat tire, and this was only the beginning of the evening.

By the end of the meal, we had devoured 2 bloody New York strips, 2 orders of potatoes Anna, and 2 glasses of wine each (me, a California Zin; he, an Austrian Riesling…with steak!); even if he weren’t so goddamn nice, it could never work. White wine with steak is a deal-breaker for me, and Rieslings, well let’s just say I didn’t like grape juice as a kid, and I still don’t.

Walking home, I told Mr. Niceguy that Minetta Tavern reminded me of a poor man’s Waverly Inn; the food was solid, the crowd was über trendy, the décor was Old New York revived, the atmosphere was brilliantly alive, but the bill was a hell of a lot cheaper. Mr. Niceguy agreed. He suggested I blog about it. I thanked him for dinner and told him I’d best head straight home to start writing.

He responded, “Nice.”

11. Best Catering Company Gone Restaurant: The Green Table
Located in the Chelsea Markets and associated with The Cleaver Co., this spot seats famously intimate meals with the likes of the Dali Lama and Martin Scorcese. Known for their eye-candy and taste bud-pleasing food that satisfies. They are one of the top three green caterers in NYC, hailed by the likes of NY Mag and The Times. All greens come from Satur farm.

Location: Chelsea Markets, 75 9th Ave (Chelsea)
Kitchen Hours: Sun 11am-5pm, Mon-Sat 12pm-10pm
Standard Order: Harvest Salad $9

12. Best Green Cream: Grom
They’re super cool for my green list because they refuse to use any flavorings, colorings, or preservatives at all! They use only fresh, real fruit grown on the Mura Mura farm in Italy, and they purport to use “a type of farming with zero environmental impact, using old production methods, respectful (and a bit fearful …) of Mother Nature’s needs.” In other words, they strive for the highest quality ingredients for all their gelato flavors while giving some love back to the ultimate Italian Mamma, the earth. No wonder they’re also a big favorite of Celest’s.

Location: 233 Bleeker and 2165 Broadway (West Village & UWS)
Kitchen Hours: varies per season (during winter) daily Sun-Thurs 12pm-11pm; Fri-Sat 12pm-12am and Sun-Fri 10am-11pm; Sat 12pm-11pm respectively
Standard Order: try the flavor of the month!! Small $4.75

13. Best “Official” USDA Green Restaurant: Gusto Organics
There’s a lot of hoop jumping when it comes to being “certified” – often this just means lots of time, paperwork, and money…something people in the restaurant business don’t always have in this economy. Despite it all, this place seems to go above and beyond the governmental call of duty…let’s see if you can taste the difference?

Location: 519 Ave of Americas @14th St. (West Village)
Kitchen Hours: Breakfast: Mon-Sun 8am-11am, Brunch: Sat, Sun, Holidays 11am-4pm, Lunch: Mon-Sun 11am-5pm, Dinner: Mon-Thurs 5pm-11pm, Fri-Sat 5pm-12am
Standard Order: try the assortment of Empanadas, $4 each

14. Best Green for Less Green: Ivo & Lulu
Sister to an UWS spot, this little bistro is relaxing and old fashioned. I also love that it’s so economical (I’m all for keeping to my budget; more “fun money” to gamble with! They have a BYOB with no corkage fee. Can you say, “Soho Sunday brunch that’s fun and affordable?” Their small menu has only about eight dishes, all of which are fresh and seasonal. It’s organic produce and all-natural D’Artagnan game only here, so get your green on while spending less green!

Location: 558 Broome St (Soho)
Kitchen: 6pm-11pm, Tues.-Sat.
Standard Order: Gratin Dauphinois (scalloped potatoes) $11, smoked chicken breast, goat cheese and papaya puree $13

15. Best Recently Gone Green: Mario’s Trattoria
A Steven Hanson spot that’s assimilating with the green trend. Not only is the food good here, but every Steven Hanson establishment has their own in-house water system. This Hell’s Kitchen restaurant offers some of the best brick oven pizzas made with the freshest ingredients.

Location: 493 9th Ave (Hell’s Kitchen)
Kitchen Hours: Mon-Sat 11am-11pm; Sun 11am-4pm
Standard Order: Margarita Pizza

16. Best Grocer: Marlow & Sons
This is a small, cozy restaurant in my favorite borough. They buy the entire animal from the farm and butcher it on the premises (makes me shudder a little, but I know it’s responsible because Kimberly constantly lectures me about this). This way the chef can use any and all of the parts of the animal and ensure quality. They continue the trend by cooking interesting cuts of meat not found in many standard restaurants. In the front of the place, there’s a coffee bar and gift shop that acts as a type of gourmet grocery. And check out the new sister butcher shop called Marlow & Daughters!

Location: 81 Broadway (Williamsburg, Brooklyn)
Kitchen Hours: daily 11am-12am; Brunch coming soon!
Standard Order: Baby Goat (cabrito: the new “it” food), Market Price

17. Best Dress Up and Go Green: Mas
This glamorous favorite uses local and organic food as much as possible. Their menu changes daily to compliment the season’s availability. They even have a listing of organic cocktails and local wines – when winter returns, try the champagne cocktail with organic pomegranates.

Location: 39 Downing St (West Village)
Kitchen Hours: daily 6pm-11:30pm
Standard Order: Try the tasting menu for the full experience at $68

18. Best, If You Must…: Opus
A few years back, when Amanda and I were still roommates, she had to go on a wheat-free diet that really put a damper in our mac’n cheese and Magnolia Bakery dates. I never want to have to give up gluten, but if you do, this spot in the UES offers gluten and dairy-free options, including pizza and pasta dishes.  So, it’s kinda a health food joint, and Kimberly, you’ll be surprised to discover it’s open really late—5am daily! P.S. They offer more standard fare as well (whew!) and they have a bar and do takeout.

Location: 1574 2nd Ave bt. 81st and 82nd (UES)
Kitchen Hours: Tues-Sun 11am-4am
Standard Order: Caprese pizza (gluten free or regular) $18, gnocchi with sweet sausage $17

19. Best Wait-Worthy: Shake Shack
Can you believe all their beef is hormone free and everything is made fresh? Not only are the cheese fries to die for (Kimberly literally calls them “da bomb”-embarrassed for her?) but you can enjoy your “green” burger in the green outdoors (Madison Square Park or now on the Upper West Side), weather permitting. Just be sure to pick up your litter! Note: The shack serves Rootbeer on tap and local brews for Oktoberfest.

Location: Madison Ave. & 23rd; Columbus Ave. & 77th St. (Flatiron and
UWS)
Kitchen Hours: daily from 11am-9pm and 10:45am-11pm respectively
Standard Order: Shack Burger $4.75, Hand-Spun Shake $5.25, Cheese Fries $3.75

20. Best Burger: The Spotted Pig
This Tribe favorite, West Village gastro-pub dishes up homey food and drinks, including one of the best burgers in the city. Seasonal and organic ingredients are used by Chef April Bloomfield whenever possible, and all their buns, rolls, bread, pastry etc. come from the organic Blue Ribbon Bakery. Remember, in New York, “eating green” doesn’t have to mean spinach vegan cookies, one can have a responsible burger and fries!

Location: 314 W. 11th St (West Village)
Kitchen Hours: Bar Menu 3pm-5pm daily, Dinner 5:30-2am daily, and Brunch 11am-3pm (weekends)
Standard Order: Chargrilled Burger with Roquefort Cheese and Shoestrings $17 and Cask Beer $9

Photo courtesy of Rainbarrow Studio

I think this is one of the most exciting articles I’ve read in The Times all year. Kim Severson reports that a record number of college students are applying for summer internships on small farms throughout the country. Taking Michael Pollan’s message to the streets, or to the “soil” as it were, these kids are excited about making a difference and escaping economic woes:

“During a recession, a summer on the farm provides respite from grim job hunts and as much bohemian cachet as backpacking through Europe. But for many students, farm life is a way to act on the growing enthusiasm for locally raised food and the increased concern over food safety and the environmental impact of agriculture.”

“Some students say food is the political movement of their time. “I no longer wish I was born in the ’60s,” said Mr. Katz, 20, who discovered farming as an outgrowth of his interest in environmental issues. By actually waking up every day and working in the field and putting my principles into action, I am making a conscious political decision,” he added.

Read the full text here. Happy farming!

In honor of our nation’s new frontier , I’m doing my part to change the country the best way I know how…by dining out…green! Okay, I know the words “green,” “sustainable,” and “local” are thrown around as frequently as Rachel Ray’s “Yum-o!” these days, but this list promises to inform and correct any misconceptions about our beloved city’s culinary conscientiousness. We’re not quite San Fran just yet, but we’re closing the gap…

Better still, testing out my picks tastes great! From French fries, to ice cream, to the fancy dining destinations Celest makes me put on heels and a dress for, my personal green criterion varies from the standard guidelines of all “certified organic” all the time. I may not be as much of a slave to slow food as Kimberly, but taking baby steps in the direction of responsible dining is an easy place to start, and it DOES NOT mean a lack of options or taste. ‘Cause for even the pickiest eaters, like me, there are plenty of ways to Go Green in NYC! But just like a proud Mamma, I couldn’t possibly choose between my babies. So here are a few favorites…alphabetically listed, to play fair.

Top 20 Green Go-To Grub-Hubs

1. Best Simple and Sexy:Back Forty
Peter Hoffman’s less fancy Savoy, a place that really helped launch the whole “seasonal menu” idea in NYC in the first place. Chef Hoffman can be seen daily at the greenmarket, buying what’s fresh. The bar and all the tables in the restaurant are made out of recycled wood. But there’s nothing bland about beet and bleu cheese risotto balls and apple cider doughnuts.

Location: 190 Ave B (East Village)
Kitchen Hours: Mon-Thu 6pm-12am; Fri 6pm-12am; Sat 12pm-12am; Sun 12pm-3:30 pm
Standard Order: Risotto balls $6, Apple Cider Doughnuts $7

2. Best Effort: Birdbath Bakery
This “neighborhood green bakery” is brought to you by City Bakery and it is SERIOUS about being green. All the cups here are made of corn (which is biodegradable) and the walls of wheat. Weird sounding, yes, but really good ‘n green! The counter is made of recycled paper and the floors are reclaimed wood.  The place is wind-powered. The paint is non-toxic, the light fixtures are vintage…EVERYTHING strives to be green in this village bakery. Oversized cookies, distinctive raspberry muffins, and chocolate croissants will delight you.

Location: 223 1st Ave nr. 14th St. (East Village) and 145 7th Ave South (West Village)
Kitchen Hours: Sunrise to 10pm (or last cookie standing …), 7 days a week   
Standard Order: “Green Energy” Cookies $1.00

3. Best Farm to Table: Blue Hill Stone Barns
My wallet shudders at the thought that the tasting menu is now the only option available, but when Kimberly had a meal prepared especially for her by Chef Dan Barber, she raved. Everyone gets a meal based on their preferences (a real draw for picky eaters like me!) and can have wines paired with each course. The best time to go is late summer/early fall because it’s prime time for local produce. Be sure and take a tour of the farm; you’ll literally see it, smell it and then eat it moments later. This is New York’s legit farm-to-table experience.

Location: (Tarrytown, NY)
Kitchen Hours: Sun, Wed, Thurs 5-10pm; Fri, Sat 5-11pm; Sun 11:30am-2pm
Standard Order: Seasonal and made to order for each individual! Tasting Menu ~ 5 course $95, Farmer’s Feast $125, 4-course lunch $68

4. Best Brooklyn: Blue Marble Ice Cream
I’m so lucky because this place is SO close to my house! In the summer, I’m tempted to make daily visits. They serve AMAZING ice cream, made of all-natural, fresh, and local ingredients. And, they’re cool (sorry for the pun) because they turned to local businesses and architects to design their shop; now they use wind and water energy to power their business! The strawberry ice cream is by far the BEST EVER. For those more adventurous, try the purest damn vanilla you’ve ever had, with a drizzle of balsamic vinegar. The shakes are made with old fashioned soda shop machines, giving the maximum vibe of authenticity. Kimberly goes gaga for their brownies and Celest has given their coffee her seal of approval. Shhh… I’ve been known to double-fist a shake and a cone!

Location: 420 Atlantic Ave (Boerum Hill, Brooklyn)
Kitchen Hours: Mon-Thu 8am-10pm; Fri-Sat 9am-11pm; Sun 9am-10pm
Standard Order: 3 scoops for $4.50

5. Best Secret: Brown Café
Along with their two, sister businesses Orange (an event space) and Green (catering), they “focus on organically grown local produce, free range meats, and fish from conscientious purveyors.” Desserts are to die for – apple crisp with honey, powdered sugar, mascarpone, chestnuts and house made peanut butter gelato. All wines are small batch, organic and/or biodynamic.

Location: 61 Hester Street (Lower East Side)
Kitchen Hours: breakfast/brunch 9am-5:30pm, 7 days a week; dinner 6:30pm-11pm, Tues.-Sat.
Standard Order: brown breakfast platter $11, grass fed flank steak $20

6. Best Communal Table: Bussaco
There’s plenty of Brooklyn buzz at this Park Slope newcomer, and Kimberly’s brother’s best friend is cooking on the line. Committed to sustainable, local food and décor, there’s a wine bar and a large wooden communal table; you can’t get more rustic and natural than this.

Location: 833 Union St. (Park Slope, Brooklyn)
Kitchen Hours: Bar Menu: Sun-Thurs 5-11; Fri-Sat 5-12am; Dinner Menu: Sun-Thurs 6pm-11pm; Fri-Sat 6pm-11:30pm, Brunch: Sat-Sun 11am-3pm
Standard Order: Braised Short Ribs $12

7. Best Green Amongst Greenery: Central Park Boat House
This classic New York spot is undeniably pretty and offers the only lake-view dining in the city.  You can row boats on the river as part of your romantic evening. Doing their part to be responsibly green, the menu here features seasonal ingredients. Nearby atmosphere includes housing for over 26 butterfly species and a bird observational that deems qualifications from the Park and Wildlife association (all outside the restaurant of course…)

Location: 72nd St. and Park Dr. N. – (Central Park)
Kitchen hours: (subject to change with season, April-Nov) Lunch: 12pm-4pm, Dinner 5:30pm-9:30pm (last reservation) Brunch: 9:30am-4pm
Standard Order: adding to the cliché, go with the Filet of Beef $31

8. Best Italian: Del Posto
The inspiration behind this place comes from some of the best Italian food minds of our time: Lidia Bastianich and Mario Batali. Its menu, service, and ambiance reflect all things Italian, while in an American style. It’s the greatest attempt to put “Italian cooking on the same level as high French cuisine” in a green way. The in-house water program doesn’t hurt either.

Location: 85 10th Ave nr 16th St. (Meatpacking)
Kitchen Hours: Mon-Tues 5:30-11pm; Wed-Fri 12pm-2pm, 5:30pm-11pm; Sat 4:30pm-11pm; Sun 4:30pm-10pm
Standard Order: If you have the budget, go for the Roman Tasting Menu $120 which offers 7 plates

9. Best all Veggie: Dirt Candy
From its name, you might correctly imagine that the menu here includes many, many vegetables. On her blog, Chef Amanda Cohen boldly declares, “I don’t care about your health. And I don’t care about your politics either.”  What she does care about are your taste buds. This new place is as passionate about making perfect vegetable dishes as Peter Lugar is with his steaks. It makes my list, in part, because a lot of what’ll be on your plate here will literally be green.

Location: 430 E. 9th St. (East Village)
Kitchen Hours: Tues-Sat 5:30pm-11pm
Standard Order: try the Jalapeno Hush Puppies served with Maple Butter $6

10. Best Foreign Fusion Spin on Green: Elettaria
Another in-house water system, but here Chef Akhtar Nawab serves up food that combines French, African, and Indian flavors in a restaurant that looks as trendy and romantic as it sounds. Nawab has run several kitchens around town, but this is by far the most refined and greenest. Favorites include deep-fried quail, sweetbreads, and tasty crepinettes of pig’s trotter (Ha…just kidding! I won’t eat any of those things, but if you’re a little more adventurous than the average bear, you will, and you’ll love them here).

Location: 33 W. 8th St. (East Village)
Kitchen Hours: daily 5:30pm-11:30pm
Standard Order: Duck $25

To be continued…

Rain is one of those quintessential experiences that bonds New Yorkers in our suffering. When it rains, everyone has to deal with it, from real estate moguls to short-order cooks. A true New Yorker isn’t fazed by rain, and it sure as hell doesn’t change my plans, especially when it’s the perfect thing to faux gripe to the hot hipster barista about while waiting in line in front of the Mud Truck on 7th. In “dealing” with the rain, I try to handle it not as a nightmare, but an obstacle, an inconvenience, a chance to wear my rain gear! Truth be told, I adore my rain garb, and (almost) look forward to having to wear it. Classic, puddle jumping boots, a (gifted) Burberry umbrella that, thank God, hasn’t yet been left in a taxi or under my seat at a movie theater! In the right frame of mind, i.e. not carrying 40 LB bags of groceries home from the Greenmarket, the ensemble makes walking the cobblestoned streets of my neighborhood a romantic joy.

Though there’s something oddly beautiful about standing under an umbrella during a really thick rainstorm, watching the lights of the traffic moving down the street, sometimes the downpour just bites. The rain seems like a conspiracy to keep me from getting where I want, when I want, not to mention the hair…in those instances, I curse The Wet. On those days, if you can walk down the sidewalk without smacking into someone else’s umbrella and getting cursed at in Russian, or not have your umbrella blow inside out and in that split second before you fix it, become drenched, or keep your purse or backpack from accidentally sticking out of the benevolent jurisdiction of your umbrella so that the important catering contract you’re carrying gets soggy and your signature smudges, or just wait on the corner for the light to change without having a taxi drive by, covering your formerly pristine stockings with spots of filthy street water, well…if you can do all that on your rainy Manhattan days, then bravo!

Such fortune was not mine today.

So, while there’s something great about braving the elements in a cute hat and rubber boots, there’s nothing better than returning home to dry land. Tonight I was thrilled to stay in and play in my kitchen, making a simple pasta with seasonal English peas and fava beans and then getting around to my latest Netflix: Season 1 Disc 2 of Californication. I have to admit, this week of rain has stirred some serious California dreamin’ in my soul. I think a return visit out West is the perfect perscription for The Wet.

Photo Courtesy of The Huffington Post

Michelle Obama to the rescue. It may be premature to grant her superhero status just yet, but this first lady has done more for food in her “first 100 days” than other administrations have done in the last 100 years. By planting a green garden on the white house lawn and opening her kitchen
to food activist chefs and a public eager to see how the first family eats, Michelle Obama has stepped into a leadership role in stewarding our nation toward real nutrition.

I’ve heard her speak about the food she serves her family, and I think she would agree with my motto that eating in moderation means more than limiting indulgence; you can splurge on a breakfast of waffles, bacon and grits on occasion, just be certain the waffles are made from locally ground flour, the bacon comes from hormone free, heritage breed pigs, and the grits are made from scratch (trust me, they’re easy). That breakfast will not only prove a healthier alternative to either a protein shake or an Egg McMuffin, it will also be delicious. But since no one has time to cook like that every morning, and few people exercise enough to work off those calories every afternoon, the real question of moderation is how to balance indulgent eating with intelligent eating. A smarter breakfast would be whole milk yogurt and eggs (my recipe for Meyer Lemon Raspberry Crêpes offers a sophisticated take on this classic combination). Fast food shouldn’t even factor into the equation - except when it must.

I like to think I’m a smart eater, but I fall into moments of fast food stupor from time to time. I absolutely allow myself slow food indulgences heavy in fats, sweets and carbs with some regularity (never does a day pass without cheese), but I justify these delights by severely limiting my intake of fast food. Cutting the shit out of your diet actually means you can afford to eat more fat! You can enjoy more ice cream sundaes, fried chicken and cups of fair trade, artisanally brewed coffee if you seek out slow food sources. If moderation is ideal, then finding the right balance between occasional fast food consumption and a daily slow food diet is critical.

There is room for the occasional jar of chili “cheese” dip or an Oreo cookie. I grew into an addiction for these foods when I was quite young, and though I don’t endorse eating them, I can’t always help myself from eating them. But I do not buy them! I don’t hand over my hard earned cash to support companies who are profiting off the ignorance, poverty and illness of their customers. For that same reason, I never eat at popular fast food chains like Mickey D’s and KFC, that are surely the worst perpetrators of the lot. But when I find myself at a rooftop BBQ or back home in Buff for a family reunion, I don’t pass up a single “hint of processed lime” tortilla chip and I scoop as much cheese product onto that chip as possible. I eat Oreo cookies, and if all my Mamma’s got in the fridge is vitamin fortified skim milk, then I dunk with the best of ‘em and enjoy my fast food moment, confident that I’ll make up for it with plenty of slow food meals once I’m back in my own kitchen, or behind the wheel of my own shopping cart, or out to dinner at a restaurant of my own choosing.

Once upon a time, I felt unhealthily overweight. It took my friends pointing out the culprits for me to restore balance to my diet, and it wasn’t the triple crème cheese that commands top shelf in my fridge that tipped me over to the dark side. It was processed peanut butter, jam, and juice, microwave lunches, mid morning cupcakes masquerading as muffins, and quick-fix burgers, pizza and salads slathered in dressings made from packets of chemically seasoned powder, mixed with the kind of mayo that can sit on shelves for years before going bad.  I was getting all the calories and none of the nutrition. I told myself I was too busy to cook and traded my health for convenience. At the time, I justified this by spending good money on boatloads of vitamins to negligible effect.

Real nutrition comes down this: where science is uncertain, history should be our guide. Since fast food has no scientific clout, we ought to follow our forefathers’ and mothers’ lead and eat whole foods, not whole food vitamins, if we’re after the benefits those foods imbue. I’m not suggesting you should abandon your vitamin buying ways; I don’t think supplements hurt, but I am definitively saying that the only known source for receiving the benefits found inside whole foods is eating the whole foods themselves. Don’t fool yourself into believing vitamin fortified flashy health claims on foods wrapped in packaging that’s more expensive than the contents of the package; your money would be better spent on produce, proteins, starches, chocolate, even wine. Buying food weeks, or even months, in advance of eating it signals that it’s processed…fresh food doesn’t last that long. Yes, a slow food diet means shopping more often and spending more money, but it also means you’re investing in your body’s health and your palette’s joy.

There’s no band-aiding the issue, the only way around fast food is to slow it down; embrace slow food. A return to slower, more ritualized dining practices would go a long way toward preventing sickness and, in this economy, cooking at home has the added bonus of helping save money. Home chefs should shop locally for whole foods (organic, when possible) and steer clear of dubious health claims on boxed food products. Taking the time to cook, eat, converse and enjoy meals will improve your health, our country’s health, and the health of our planet. Of course, we can’t all slave over three slow meals a day. I’m a chef and I’m certain that’s not even possible in my little life with no one but myself to claim responsibility for, but we can make a committed effort to limit fast foods from our daily lives, because…

Fast food is killing us. It may be inconvenient, but it’s the truth.

I am not the only one to notice the symbiotic and highly profitable relationship between Big Food & Big Pharma, nor am I alone in diagnosing the tight grip they hold on chronic disease. I am a student of a small but growing few who have made it their lives’ work to advocate on behalf of real food. Al Gore pioneered the popular cry for diagnosing planetary disease, but it’s Michael Pollan, Nina Planck, Mark Bittman, Alice Waters , and a host of other outraged and out-financed foodies and chefs who are leading the charge toward addressing the diseased diets so many of us mistake for nutrition. Pollan is unapologetic when he writes in his Eater’s Manifesto, In Defense of Food: “All of our uncertainties about nutrition should not obscure the plain fact that the chronic diseases that now kill most of us can be traced directly to the industrialization of our food.”

So what’s a food maven to do? And why isn’t the US government on the list of culinary crusaders? Should the FDA be renamed the “Food Dopes of America?” The food faux pas of our most recent presidents tell our nation’s sorry story in an imitation nutshell. In my own lifetime, I’ve watched Bill Clinton frequent Mickey D’s, George H. W. Bush get down on some serious pork rinds, and though it pains me to admit, I’ve seen images, in Saveur of all places, of Barack Obama rewarding his campaign team with Dunkin’ Doughnuts. Let’s face facts: fast food is political gold. It’s an “everyman” diploma that wins the votes of its own victims. Voters identify with leaders who live, feel and even eat like they do. But shouldn’t we expect more from our country’s top dog?

President Obama certainly has a lot on his plate, so to speak, but our nation’s nutrition is no small potatoes . This is especially true for the strained middle class and impoverished populations who don’t have the money or lifestyles to support inconvenient, expensive diets, even if they have the markets in their neighborhoods carrying whole foods, which of course, they all too often do not. The inequity in nutrition in this country is shameful and only threatens to deepen as recession woes cut into family budgets and kitchen cabinets. My biggest fear is that tough economic times will give way to a backlash toward the green movement and force an even greater dependence on fast food.

To be continued…

Global warming may be killing the planet, but fast food is killing the people who live on it. I’m not singling out McDonald’s, Burger King, or any of the many fried chicken joints as the sole source of this most modern of epidemic plagues.That’s been done, well, and documented over and over again, even after the trans-fat ban here in New York City. My definition of fast food is broader than the Big Mac. To me, “fast food” is so much more and so much worse than a fried, hormone-fed beef burger on a refined flour white-bread bun, served alongside some sort of frozen strawberry-flavored (read: high fructose corn syrup and Red Dye #40), powdered milk substance that’s passed off as a milkshake.

So what is fast food? And what’s the alternative?

Fast food is conveniently ahistorical with no modern record of health benefits. Ostensibly, fast food is what’s sold at prefab, franchised, burger joints, taco shacks, chicken pits and sub stations, but in reality, fast foods have seeped into our supermarkets and our kitchen cabinets by way of the unsubstantiated health claims they make to an unwitting public desperate to believe that non-fat, vitamin D supplemented yogurt is a healthy snack that will stave off osteoporosis and other chronic diseases. In truth, there is no evidence of this.  To the contrary, we find ourselves in the midst of a well documented health crisis in this country partially brought on by the popularity of skim milk (an oft overlooked fast food, by my definition) and exacerbated by the deficiencies of vitamin D found in both processed baby formula and the breast milk of a modern mother on a low-fat diet.

Alternatively, slow foods are those ancient foods that our great-grandmothers cooked with before scientists ever even identified vitamin D. They are the foods that grow naturally on our planet and are un-fooled-around-with until a skilled chef or home cook gets her hands on them. Slow foods are real foods, like whole milk, that occur organically in nature, take more time and labor to prepare, and yes, contain shitloads of vitamins and nutrients—the ones that get all that praise for keeping us healthy. My mamma used to force-feed me carrots, not beta-carotene pills, to improve my eyesight! Carrots and other whole foods have well documented health benefits and can be transformed through mouth-watering recipes using real fruits, vegetables, meat, seeds, eggs, dairy, bread, even chocolate. Take the strawberry milkshake example for instance…

To make a milkshake, one must actually “ice” cream and blend it with milk (and in this example, berries). This process is not fast, but it can be relatively simple if one buys certified organic, whole milk (preferably from grass-fed cows, but I know that’s a luxury not everyone outside of an urban mecca like New York can easily find or afford), a great pint of vanilla ice cream from a local gelattoria you trust to use pure ingredients and old-fashioned creaming techniques, and strawberries. If you have a sweet tooth, you can throw in a spoonful of honey to help the milkshake go down. Your trusted gelattoria is even likely to feature a real berry, sip-able iced cream concoction on its own menu, if you find yourself without a blender or the ambition to cook.

But even in Manhattan it’ll cost you, both time and money, to seek out a true milkshake. Real food takes time, it often costs more, and it’s decidedly better. It’s better for your health; it’s better for our shared ecological health; I’d argue it’s better for the economy to support local vendors and increase consumer spending at shops that are environmentally responsible; it tastes better! But…it ain’t so easy on the pocketbook. That said, consumers have a choice, and those of us who are in a position to choose have an equal obligation to choose ethically—between real food that makes a substantial impact on global health or fast food that’s causing the slow death of so many among us.

Americans who subsist off the Western Industrialized Diet that consists of little more than fast food, suffer from more chronic disease linked to malnutrition than those populations around the globe that may not have high speed internet but, to their benefit, boast a custom of slow food. We could learn a lot from these people. The traditional diets of the slow food set imbue their cultures with the sort of patient cooking and ritualized eating that trade on inconvenience, but have rewarding health results. Hunters might get mauled tracking wild beasts in Mozambique, but they won’t die of obesity, as so many do in East St. Lou.

Today chronic disease is an accepted state of ill health in our society. I’m talking cancer, heart disease, diabetes, and yes, obesity. And that it is not just a byproduct of our species living longer. The malnourished among us look different than they do in other parts of the world. Instead of Kate Moss on a hunger strike, undernourished Americans often look like contestants on The Biggest Loser. And they’re not all eating at the golden arches everyday. Many are eating fast food that they don’t even recognize as such.

Fast food is processed food. It’s convenience food. It’s imitation food. It’s a cheese product, a frozen dinner, an artificially-flavored, powdered milkshake. Fast foods are often packaged foods; they are the canned and boxed foods like kids’ cereals, condensed soups and low-carb, protein-fortified pasta you find down the centrally located supermarkets aisles, separated from the fresh produce and authentic protein sections off to the side of the stores. Fast foods are also breakfast bars and protein shakes that are chock full of fortified vitamins and microencapsulated nutraceuticals that convince the unknowing that they are actually a nutritious substitute for oatmeal made with whole milk, topped with a dollop of butter. They are not. They are far worse for your body. These fast foods prey on accepted (even by the FDA) statutes of “nutrionism,” or the idea that nutrients alone are responsible for all the health benefits discovered in whole foods, and can therefore be extracted from whole foods and supplemented in fast foods.

Many fast foods used to be made up of little more than refined sugar, refined flour, soy and corn products—our nation’s most harvested and heavily subsidized crops. But in our times, the processed food industry has gone one step further in their calculated deception by selling “healthy” fortified foods—adding ginseng to cola and vitamin D to skim milk, and then claiming for their products all the advantages those vitamins and nutrients provide when they’re found in their naturally occurring, organic state inside whole foods. In fact, there is no proof of this. While affluent, educated, conscientious Americans spend good money on vitamins, dietary supplements and processed foods injected with nutrients (i.e. a carton of OJ fortified with omega-3s extracted from fish!) they throw out the baby artichokes with the bath water and miss the boat on real nutrition, a.k.a. real food.

These other fast foods are also much more deceptive, if not more destructive, than the Big Mac portends, because they’re hidden inside slick packaging and clever tag lines thought up by marketing gurus who have a financial stake in keeping Big Food in Big Pharma’s back pocket. The two are inextricably bound by one’s desire to keep us sick, and the other’s pretense to make us well. I’d go so far as to argue that Big Food and Big Pharma are in big business with the Big Guy upstairs. The two industries have shaped our modern sense or mortality by feeding us foods that make us ill, followed by pills that mask the sickness and permit us to continue our addictive diets, and eventually, dole out death sentences that are as premature as they are profitable. Healthy people don’t subsist off fast food diets, and healthy patients don’t need fast medicine; it’s in the interest of both businesses to keep us buying the foods and drugs that perpetuate this cycle of chronic disease.

To be continued…

Photo Courtesy of SMILE for NickyDigital

Unless you live under a rock somewhere out in East Bumblefuck you must have heard that London’s lauded fashion haven TOPSHOP, opened last week to multi-million dollar business and mobs of people queuing up for blocks, waiting in line for hours, just to go shopping (and meet Kate Moss).

The Dinner Belle catered the four-day launch event, baking British cookies by the hundreds-of-dozens to be distributed to hungry, dedicated shoppers enduring the lines for the sheer love of spring fashion. We turned out thousands each of heart-shaped Jammy Dodgers, Cheesy Biscuits and Strawberry & Cream Stuffed Scones to keep shoppers sated. Cigar girls toting boxes filled not with nicotine laden fire-ups, but The Dinner Belle’s sweet treats, kept queuers at bay outside, while inside the store, tiers of scones were plated during meet-and-greet sessions with Ms. Moss.

I used to live in London and can attest to just how fantastic TOPSHOP is. Does that mean I’d wait it line for hours to get in on opening weekend, no! But then again, I didn’t have to, because for four consecutive mornings Erin and I were toting boxes of jam filled confections to Soho at dawn. I can’t say this was a joyous job, but 7,000 cookies later, I’m still craving those goddamn jammy dodgers.

If you missed the launch but want in on the dodger action, the recipe below reveals the secret to these sandwich cookies. Having never made them before this event, I did a bit of research and based my recipe on the British version found here. They are a bit like shortbread linzer tortes and are a welcome seasonal treat with spring’s first raspberries right around the corner.

Within the month, farmers’ markets will be flush with berries of all varieties, from which you can make your own jam or berry sauce to sandwich between cookies or smear on scones. If muffins are more to your liking, try my recipe for jumbo blueberry muffins sprinkled with brown sugar crumb topping. Any way you slice it, breakfasts and desserts on menus and in kitchens all across town are sure to be filled with berries for weeks to come.

Jammy Dodgers (makes 36 cookies)

• 2 cups unsalted Butter (softened)
• 1 cup Brown Sugar (firmly packed)
• 2 large Eggs
• 7 ½ cups AP Flour
• 4 t Baking Powder
• 1 t Salt
• ¼ cup Milk
• 1 TB Vanilla Extract
• ½ Lemon (juiced)
• ¼ cup Raspberry Jam

Beat butter at medium speed with an electric mixer until fluffy. Gradually add sugars, beating well. Add eggs, one at a time, beating after each addition.

Combine flour, baking powder, and salt: add to butter mixture alternately with milk, beginning and ending with flour mixture. Beat at low speed after each addition until blended. Stir in vanilla extract.

Divide dough into 4 equal portions; wrap each portion in plastic wrap to prevent drying out. Chill for about an hour and then roll out cookie dough to 1/8-inch thickness on a lightly floured surface. Cut dough with a jumbo heart-shaped cookie cutter, and place hearts on greased baking sheets, or baking sheets lined with silpats. Then from half the heart-shaped cookies, cut out the centers with a smaller heart-shaped cookie cutter (these will be the cookie sandwich tops).

Bake at 350 degrees for 10-12 minutes or until lightly browned. Remove to wire racks to cool.

Place the jam and lemon juice in a small saucepan and heat over low heat for 2 minutes or until the mixture is combined and slightly runny. Spread ½ teaspoon raspberry jam on solid cookies; top with cutout cookies and sandwich together.

When I made these suckers for Topshop we couldn’t risk the cookie sandwiches coming “unglued” so I made a batch of royal icing to help secure the top of the cookie to the bottom. Just put the royal icing in a piping bag secured with a tiny tip (or use a freezer bag and cut a small opening at the corner) and line each sandwich top with icing, before pressing it atop the jam smeared sandwich bottom. I always use the classic Joy of Baking recipe for royal icing. If you’ve never worked with it before, royal icing is a confectioner’s sugar based icing that is sticky like Elmer’s glue and dries hard like rubber cement. It’s what gets used on gingerbread houses and fancy Christmas cookies with delicate detailing, and it tastes as sweet as can be. I actually think the sweetness is a welcome pairing with the tart, lemon-infused raspberry jam used in the dodgers.

Photo Courtesy of Daily Mail

I did have a garden first! Well, not so much a garden, as, like, a group of half-grown, over-plucked herb pots on the top of my six-story walkup—nonetheless…

I roundly applaud Michelle Obama’s efforts to bring our collective agricultural and food mentalities into a new era. This is my kind of era: one where Alice Waters’ advice is heeded, the nation’s first family sets a great example of responsible, healthful eating and the first lady is more than a just a style icon, she’s a gardener and a spokesperson for a cause I think is essential for the future of our country.  Those beautifully toned arms, showed off on the cover of Vogue, symbolize for me, her dirt digging, planting and harvesting of all those vegetables – and she looks damn good!

Despite the tongue lashing the Obamas initially received over their decision to keep the Bushes’ chef on board, foodies across the nation are beginning to eat their words. Not only has Michelle hired additional, impressive hands (such as Sam Kass, their chef from Chicago), but she’s also invited culinary students into the White House kitchen, helped serve in Washington’s soup kitchens, talked about the important aspects of eating locally and sustainably, and now she’s “breaking ground” on the new White House garden!

Nothing is more powerful than leading by example. Brava, Michelle!

Photo courtesy of Serious Eats

Thank God New York will still be cold for another few weeks. I need to hide in my cozy sweaters a bit longer and plot atonement for a recent baked goods overload that has left me feeling like the only “clothes” I have that fit properly are made of terry cloth. A robe is so dangerously forgiving of caloric indiscretions.

While I’ve been curled up in my apartment watching missed episodes of Top Chef (what a bullshit ending was that!), stuck in New York’s never ending winter, my senses of Reason and Proportion seem to have gone on vacation. I hope they were enjoying the tropical climes somewhere, because at the rate I’ve been ingesting sweets lately, I’ll never want to put on a bikini or go to a beach again.

Must “get a grip!” As my mother would say.

I’ve been known to overdo it. But it’s usually my enthusiasm for great socializing that’s to blame for my over-zealous consumption. I drink too much because I don’t want the night to end; the conversation stimulates and the cocktails are too beautiful and tempting not to keep on ordering. I eat too much because a) the occasion is celebratory, b) the last stop is steak tartare at Blue Ribbon, c) the alcohol has made me fearless of any consequences to my actions. Often, it’s all of the above.

I’m not usually a sit-in-bed-and-munch-through-a-box-of-Honey-Nut-Cheerios type. I don’t stock a lot of food at home, much less junk food. I don’t drink bottles of bourbon alone in my apartment. In fact, I hardly ever drink alone at all. But lately, all my rules have been out the door and I’ve indulged in some sad scenes: cake crumbs in my keyboard…chocolate frosting drool on my pillow…tossing out the only slightly wilted spinach in favor of stuffing another pastry box in the fridge…

The good news is the stuff I’ve been eating has mostly been fantastic. C’mon, I’m not investing in a new (larger) pair of designer jeans because I couldn’t help myself over some Entenmann’s. We’re talking hazelnut gateau from Patisserie Claude, cream cheese-iced carrot cake from Billy’s Bakery, French frosting cupcakes at Butter Lane and, mostly, anything and everything I can get my hands on at Milk Bar.

Photo courtesy of Serious Eats

Let me sing the praises of the latter a little so that if you see me on the street you’ll be less embarrassed about how round my face looks! Milk Bar is producing some of the most innovative bakery items you’ve never thought of. If you want classic (the best croissant in the city) go to Patisserie Claude. If you’re after key lime cake, compost cookies (everything goes in these babies-chocolate, oats, peanut butter, potato chips, you name it…), cashew blondies with shavings of white chocolate, cinnamon bun pie, etc. you must visit Milk. I’ll admit I’ve enjoyed some of the savory offerings as well. How can I resist a compact, flakey, salty, spicy, chewy loaf of chorizo challah? I can’t! They are also serving the same Momofuku soft serve I discovered several months back. Thankfully, it’s been too cold for me to chase cake with ice cream. The peanut butter cookies are, quite simply, the best I’ve ever had. And I’ve been doing a lot of research on this topic lately, I’m afraid.

The bakery is open until 12am, seven nights a week. This accessibility is a real nightmare when it’s clearly too cold to go for me to go for a run and negate some of the effects of their treats, but it’s a blessing if you’re in denial about impending warm weather and plan to stay home, put on your robe and eventually vacuum crumbs off your duvet.

Life has been serving me up the blues lately. First there was the Valentine’s Day Vurkey incident with my asshole-ex. Then Taleggio ate my peacock feather boa and started shitting blue; the vet was amused by my 3 AM, $300 hospital visit. That made one of us. His diagnosis, “Your cat has an affinity for feathers. Keep them out of sight.” Please, I live in a classic village-tenement-shoebox-studio…there is no out of sight! But the real heartbreaker of the week was reading through my friend Nick’s daily dining newsletter, Tasting Table, only to discover that, “Thanks to an impending 300 percent tariff on imported “luxury foods,” the price of France’s esteemed Roquefort will skyrocket to prohibitive levels beginning next month.”

I love bleu cheese (not to mention luxury foods). This seriously sucks.

Nick goes on to say that as a final adieu to affordable French bleu, Murray’s Cheese is offering $5 tastes, $10 cheese tours and free wine for the first 50 guests who enter the store today. I’m so there! Even though I’ve basically been bathing in flour and Roquefort all week, busily perfecting a recipe for bleu cheese soufflé to post on the Zette wine blog, I’m not tired of the stinky stuff that makes the insides of my cheeks tingle in only the way a stinging bleu or bad wine can do. If Taleggio’s Achilles’ heel is feasting on feathers, my weakness is for formaggio.

Case in point: after my Roquefort adventure later today, I’m headed to a Raclette dinner party hosted by friends who just came back from the Austrian Alps, a custom cheese grill snuggly stowed in the overhead compartment. I have a feeling Halumi kebobs are about to be a thing of my past. Grilled Raclette in one hand, a German Weisse beer in the other, life should always taste so sweet.

Maybe it can. The soufflé recipe below is equally excellent made with a Spanish cabreles or a Danish bleu. With spring right around the corner, a new Dinner Belle website poised to bring in new catering business, and an introduction to a new cheese treat just hours away, I’m hoping these blues will pass on by and leave me feeling gratefully green.

Belle’s Bleu Cheese Soufflé (serves 4)

• 3 t unsalted Butter (plus extra for greasing the dish)
• ¼ cup finely grated Parmigiano-Reggiano Cheese (plus extra for sprinkling)
• 3 t AP Flour
• 1 cup scalded Milk
• ½ t Kosher Salt
• ¼ t freshly ground Black Pepper
• 1 pinch Cayenne Pepper
• 1 pinch freshly ground Nutmeg
• 5 large Egg Yolks (at room temperature)
• 3 oz Roquefort Cheese (chopped)
• 6 large Egg Whites (at room temperature)
• 1/8 t Cream of Tartar

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Butter the inside of an 8-cup soufflé dish (about 7 ½ inches in diameter by 3 ¼ inches deep) and sprinkle evenly with Parmigiano-Reggiano.

Melt the butter in a small saucepan over low heat. With a wooden spoon, stir in the flour and cook, stirring constantly, for 2 minutes. Off the heat, whisk in the hot milk, 1/2 teaspoon salt, 1/4 teaspoon black pepper, the cayenne, and the nutmeg. Cook over low heat, whisking constantly, for 1 minute, until smooth and thick.

Off the heat, while still hot, whisk in the egg yolks, one at a time. Stir in the Roquefort and the 1/4 cup of Parmigiano-Reggiano and transfer to a large mixing bowl.

Put the egg whites, cream of tartar, and just a pinch more of salt in the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the whisk attachment. Beat on low speed for 1 minute, on medium speed for 1 minute, then finally on high speed until they form firm, glossy peaks.

Whisk one quarter of the egg whites into the cheese sauce to lighten and then fold in the rest. Pour into the soufflé dish, and then smooth the top. Draw a large circle on top with the spatula to help the soufflé rise evenly, and place in the middle of the oven. Turn the temperature down to 375 degrees. Bake for 30 to 35 minutes (don’t peek!) until puffed and brown. Serve immediately and enjoy!

2008 was such an exciting year for The Dinner Belle, and with the launch of our new website and exciting gigs with TOPSHOP, The Society and The Supper Club coming up later this month, 2009 promises to be even brighter!

It’s fun to think back to the time when Kimberly and I sat by the fireplace in my family’s Connecticut home, sipping tea (then red wine, then tequila—long conversation), plotting our takeover of the NYC catering world…ok, we didn’t set out to take over (just yet), but knew, as a team, we’d make an impressive mark. And from intimate UES brunches, to gorgeous, star-studded picnics, to penthouse Fashion Week showcases, we paved the way in the last year for a company that married our love for working alongside friends with a passion for feeding guests unexpected delights. With every new event, we plan a little more carefully, cook a little more impressively, and ultimately turn out events that only get better each and every time.

One of my favorite triumphs was our “Fancy” event. We presented a high-end, seated dinner for 30 executives, complete with a champagne reception on the private roof terrace of a gorgeous, rented penthouse, for a very impressive client.

The executives were from Macy’s, clients of Parlux, a top-notch perfume company, and the celebration was for Jessica Simpson’s new fragrance, called “Fancy.” (Celest, who grew up with Jessica, back in Texas, thinks the name of the scent is the height of irony!) At our event, the guests feasted on canapés such as our signature, truffle mousse mushroom tarts and scallop burgers, before sitting down to Kimberly’s decadent, “fancy” tasting menu. They toasted partnerships and bottom lines with wines paired with plates like grilled octopus and black coffee and chocolate-braised short ribs accompanied by pumpkin risotto. After individual apple tartlets a la mode, Kimberly and I were urged to come out and say “hello.” I never hesitate at a chance for attention (I am an actor, after all), so we smiled big, headed out in our matching aprons and received a standing ovation! (My first since a recent play reading about a high school-aged girl who becomes a champion skateboarder in rural Idaho. I had a very dramatic speech about gender inequality in The X Games and, well, I killed it!)

Anyway, I mentioned to the execs that not only had I catered their event, I am actually appearing in all of the Macy’s celebrity commercials, including the one featuring Jessica Simpson. This news was received as warmly as the finale of the meal—our decadent signature chocolate truffles.

Soon after this event, I played the part of Brooklyn hostess, when we celebrated our company’s anniversary, entertaining some of our clients, staff, and emotional supporters (all the Tribe. In the spirit of our “boutique” catering company status, we decided to keep it intimate. We made festive sweets like candied, pretzel cigs and cigars, pumpkin pizzelle cookies, plus our classic charcuterie board and partied the night away with bottles from my favorite local wine vendor, Sip Fine.

Our fingers are crossed for continued success in 2009 (and continued corporate budgets to allow for some new business for the Belles!). But, above all, we are extremely proud to launch our new website www.dinnerbellenyc.com and interactive blog. This has been a long time coming, but I’m so excited it has finally arrived!

Remember…New York Tastes Better with Belle!

My forthcoming book, People Are Unappealing: Even Me (head here to buy) has received some recent bits of advanced press in the New York food world and beyond thanks to a chapter detailing my experience waiting tables under the auspices of a celebrity chef.

Page Six found it, then New York Magazine, then MSN.com, etc. Oh. And then Perez. So on the upside, Perez Hilton knows my name now. On the downside, however, I’m now out of job.

This is all to say: anyone hiring a baby-sitter? Or cleaning lady? I’m VERY good at Windexing.

No. Not really. Really it’s to say:

In honor of waiters and non-famous diners everywhere, and (let’s be honest) in a blatant attempt at my own self-promotion (I’m an out-of-work waiter now, after all) I’d be thrilled and honored to have you buy my book. It’s officially out on Tuesday March 10th, but can be preordered immediately on Amazon ‘voila.’ Voila means ‘here‘ in French.

I have a confession to make: Despite cold temperatures, I get a major jonesing for fresh, summer berries this time every year. Alas! Fresh berries are not in season, and I just won’t eat Driscoll’s boxed decimation of a berry.

Another confession: I’m sort of a seasonal food snob…there, I’ve said it!

Such snobbery means I mostly refuse to eat fruits and vegetables that aren’t “in season.” For instance, I don’t do tomatoes past the first frost (which used to happen in late September, but in our globally-warmed climate, I now score at least two extra months of heirloom toms). In a game of Me vs. The Environment, that would be Me: 1. Environment: nil.

And who can stomach corn on the cob unless the forecast boasts temperatures in the 80s and up? Most markets give up on peaches, plums, nectarines and other stone fruits come the winter weather. Just forget zucchini outside of summer’s sunshine; summer squash is awash in watery blandness when it’s not in peak season. As for winter squash—it’s gotta be cold outside to be any good. Can you even image roasting chicken and veg on a steamy August night? Roasted root vegetables in the summertime…now that’s just silly. But perhaps the worst unseasonable sin of all is eating pitiful, imported berries come ski season. I can usually make it through February, but my March my sheer love for a perfectly plump blueberry, a wonderfully ripe raspberry, or decadently dipped, chocolate–covered strawberries urges me to put my ideology aside and attempt berries in winter. Temptation trumps logic and I buy a fruit I know belongs to summer. Always, I am disappointed.

This is why, when thumbing through last December’s Issue of Food & Wine, I was stopped dead in my tracks when I saw a luscious photograph of crêpes filled with sweet yogurt and berries. Reading the recipe, I discovered that they’d pulled off this wintertime, very berry feat by using frozen raspberries and strawberry preserves. This got me thinking—I could curb my craving if I could get my hands on some flash frozen summer berries (without additives) and perfectly preserved, canned strawberries. Whole Foods to the rescue! They had the frozen goods, and I still had a jar of strawberry sauce leftover from my adventures in canning last summer.

I’ve been enjoying these summer berry crêpes all winter long and have even made some improvements to the recipe. For starters, I looked to winter’s crown jewel, citrus, for inspiration. I’ve replaced the average lemon with an anything-but Meyer lemon and added its zest to the crêpe batter. I’ve also blended honey and toasted pine nuts into the yogurt filling, and spiked the strawberry sauce with ginger marmalade.

A final confession: my Meyer Lemon Raspberry Crêpes are better than F&W’s!

Meyer Lemon Raspberry Crêpes (serves 1)

•    1 large Egg
•    ½ cup Milk
•    1/3 cup all-purpose Flour
•    1 TB Butter
•    1 heaping TB Ginger Marmalade
•    ¼ cup Strawberry Sauce
•    ½ cup frozen Raspberries
•    1 Meyer Lemon (reserve juice & zest)
•    1 cup plain Greek Yogurt
•    1 TB Honey
•    1 TB Pine Nuts (toasted)
•    Salt to Taste

Melt the butter in a 10” nonstick skillet. This recipe will make two 10” crêpes, or several smaller crêpes if you prefer tinier portions. If you’re multiplying the recipe and feeding a crowd, you can even make the crêpes in advance and stack them on top of each other, then rewarm them in a microwave oven for about 20 seconds when ready to serve.

In a small bowl, whisk the egg with half the milk and add a pinch of salt to taste. Then sift the flour and whisk it into the mixture until the batter is smooth. Whisk in the remaining milk, along with the Meyer lemon zest and melted butter; a thin layer of butter should remain in the bottom of the skillet to prevent the crêpes from sticking.

Now this is key: let the crêpe batter stand at room temperature for at least 20 minutes. While the batter is resting, make the sauce. In a small saucepan, combine the ginger marmalade, strawberry sauce (you can always substitute strawberry preserves or jam if you don’t have sauce on hand), frozen raspberries and 1 TB of Meyer lemon juice and cook over moderate heat until jammy—about 5 minutes. Season with salt to taste and cover to keep warm.

In another bowl, mix the yogurt, honey and toasted pine nuts. I would even throw in another dash of really good sea salt at this stage.

When the 20 minutes are up, reheat your nonstick skillet over moderate heat. Pour in a half the crêpe batter and immediately rotate the pan to evenly to coat. Cook the crêpe until lightly browned on the bottom, about 45 seconds, then flip the crêpe and cook until brown dots appear on the other side, about 15 seconds longer. Transfer the crêpe to a large baking plate covered with parchment paper. Continue making crêpes with the remaining batter, brushing the pan with extra butter as needed.

Spoon half the yogurt onto each crêpe and roll ‘em up. Transfer the rolled crêpes to a plate and spoon the summer berry sauce on top right before serving. Even though this recipe idea was stripped from the pages of Food & Wine, it wouldn’t be a true French dish if I didn’t wrap this recipe by saying, “bon appetit!”

This Valentine’s Day was the most humiliating of my life.

I’ve been spending a wee bit of time with a certain dashing gent lately-we’ll call him Mr. Mortified-and V-day was to be our first official dinner party together.

As all good New Yorkers know, foodies never dine out on February 14^th; the menus are fixed; the prices are a farce; and the crowd is feeble. So we opted to stay in, and I offered to cook for him and his friends. Confident in my kitchen skills, though taste-tested they were not yet, Mr. Mortified invited his two best friends to join us for dinner. They were a married couple desperate to dislike me. I’m afraid I made it easy.

The menu was supposed to be a simple but delicious, can-cook-it-with-my-hands-tied-behind-my-back, roast chicken.  I assumed we were cooking at his place and showed up early that afternoon, in my sexiest red dress, for a taste of some pre-party action. Little did I know, Mr. Mortified had arranged for he and I to head over to his friends’ lavish townhouse in Soho at 5 o’clock sharp, groceries for roast chicken preparedly in hand. But it was Valentine’s Day after all, and we had more on our minds than stuffing a bird, so…we showed up at his friends’ place at 6:30, disgracefully accompanied by rumpled hair and groceries for veal saltimbocca.

We were late. Very late. He wasn’t planning on my red dress, and I wasn’t planning on Manhattanites cooking dinner at 5pm! So at Whole Foods we made a mid-game change in strategy and decided on saltimbocca…at that point, we needed something that required far less cooking time, and I figured I could pull this dish out of my chef’s repertoire without consulting a recipe. And maybe I would’ve been able to, had I not gotten completely trashed before commencing cooking!

But when we got to their spot, Mr. Mortified and I found our hungry host and hostess high as kites and three sheets to the wind. They had sated their cravings for (the nonexistent) chicken, with red wine and weed. After having made an embarrassingly late first impression, I had no choice but to join them! Two joints and one bottle of Zin later, I moseyed on over to the stove.

Stabbing my veal with colored toothpicks that would later bleed fluorescent dye all over my entrée was just the first thing I did wrong. Failing to pound the veal was the second. Squeezing an entire Meyer lemon into the sauté pan, thereby creating a pool of liquid for the meat to swim in, rather than brown, and finishing the whole thing off in a 200 degree oven for five minutes, was a sheer act of lunacy. I won’t even mention the salad I forgot to spin or the bread I burnt.

Seated at their gorgeous dining room table in their perfectly appointed home, my imperfect meal was a joke. A few bites in, I declared dinner inedible and suggested we order pizzas. Our evening’s hostess shunned the idea saying,

“It’s not that bad, Kimberly. You just need to reimagine the dish. It’s not veal, it’s…turkey!”

She was high but gracious; I was humbled. Her husband was fast on her good-hostessing heels, eating at least four pieces of veal to help soothe my shame. Mr. Mortified however, didn’t find any of this funny. He shoved his plate away announcing,

“I like turkey on Thanksgiving. Vurkey has no place at my table.”

Alas. Mr. Mortified and I didn’t make it past our day of good sex and bad Vurkey. My veal-turkey mishap was just more than he could bear. He lost all respect for my cooking, and in turn, I lost my nerve to try and change his mind, but I have maintained a friendship with my hostess from that evening. I’ve begged her to give me a “re-do” in her kitchen, and she’s pledged to save the joints for dessert. One man down, one girlfriend up. I like my odds.

But next year, I’m making chicken.

11. Best Italian Accent: Falai Panneteria
They brew Illy espresso—a favorite—and serve it signature black and white cups and saucers. In fact, everything here is pretty black and white: décor, tastiness, LES “cool” factor. This is a sexy spot to sip an espresso and share a “morning after,” rumpled hair, smudged eyeliner, aviator sunglasses kinda breakfast of baked eggs in tomato sauce and fresh ricotta with poached figs and wildflower honey. Or, come in the late(r) afternoon for pastries and a smooth, strong cappuccino. Stay or takeaway. Perfetto!

Location: 79 Clinton St.
Standard Order: cappuccino ($4), baked eggs ($11), strawberry tart ($4)

12. Best Café Coffee: Café Angelique
When I go to Europe, I come back lamenting the lack of café culture in the U.S. Even in New York City, we don’t have many places with a little sophistication (but lacking pretension) where you can have a coffee, maybe a pastry or, on occasion, even a hot meal. We have coffee shops (I’ve listed many), take away stands and full restaurants, but few places like Café Angelique, with tiny round tables meant for one (or a kissing couple), tiled floors, huge picture windows and better food choices than you might expect. Let’s be real—it’s not filled with chic, smoking philosophy students, but it’s as close to the ideal as I know of in the city. Stay or takeaway.

Location: 49 Grove (@ Bleecker); 68 Bleecker (btw. Broadway and Lafayette)
Standard Order: iced latte ($3.80), croissant ($2.25) or mushroom omelette sandwich ($3.50)

13. Best Uptown/Downtown: Sicaffe
I can’t believe how difficult it is to get great coffee above about 23rd St. and below Canal. Siccafe roasts its own beans at the UES locale and they make the best espresso I know of on the Upper East Side. It is pricey (a hazard of the locations) but not much different than the other really good coffee places (or Starbucks, for that matter). I love to sit in the picture window at the uptown location and watch the mix of Hunter College students and Bloomingdales ladies saunter by while I sip my rich, creamy latte or mocha. Stay or takeaway.

Location: 964 Lexington Ave. (nr. 70th St.); 29 John St.
Standard Order: latte ($4.45), mocha ($4.51)

14. Best in a Bowl: Danal
This is one of my favorite places in Greenwich Village for brunch, but it’s also great for a cozy, rainy afternoon coffee with a friend or a good book. Provencal atmosphere and really tasty full menu. They are closed for a couple of hours between lunch and dinner. Their traditional French presentation of coffee with steamed milk is particularly enticing in cold weather, when it is so satisfying to wrap you hands around a big warm bowl and sip your coffee kitty-style. No takeaway.

Location: 59 5th Ave (btw. 12th and 13th Sts.)
Standard Order: café au lait in a bowl ($4), for brunch, try the smoked salmon plate with
dill pancakes and crème fraiche! ($13)

15. Best “Coffee and a Bagel:” Murray’s Bagels
Okay, this is kind of an excuse to write about my favorite bagel (and egg salad) in the city, but all New Yorkers know coffee and a bagel is an unbeatable combo, and this classic proves why. The coffee, like the New Yorker accents behind the counter, is strong, strong. You can opt for au lait or go for an espresso, but I suggest a straightforward cup ‘a cawfee and the Sunday NY Times to go with your bagel and lox (or flavored cream cheese, or—my absolute favorite—double yolk egg salad). Sit in the window and watch 6th Ave. stroll by or takeaway.

Location: 500 6th Ave. @ 13th St.
Standard Order: Murray’s Blend ($1.85), egg salad sandwich on an organic wheat bagel ($4. 75)

16. Best in Soho: Petal Belle Cofferie
In actuality, this spot is only about six months old, but it’s designed to make you feel like you’re taking your coffee in a place that’s been around for a century. The feeling inside is decidedly “old world.” I love the black and cream striped wallpaper, the titled floor, the pressed tin ceiling, the retro signage, the old-fashioned bell that tinkles when someone walks in, and the marble-topped parlor tables. A sign on the wall says the music is streamed from Europe. There are a few café munchies on offer, but I prefer a double cappuccino and a lovely biscotti (those table tops are tiny, after all). Sit and sip or takeaway.

Location: 158 Sullivan St. @ Houston
Standard Order: double cappuccino ($3.50), biscotti

17. Best for Nostalgia: Oren’s Daily Roast
This was probably the first place I ever drank “real” coffee, when I discovered the charms of espresso at the NYU campus location. Good espresso drinks still take me back to those early sips. Offers a Frequent Buyer’s Card, which is nice if you live or work near a location and haunt it frequently. Takeaway only.

Location: 31 Wavery Place btw. Greene St. and University Pl.; 434 3rd Ave
Standard Order: latte ($3.30), iced latte ($3.85)

18. Best Coffee as Dessert: Café Orlin
Affogato (a scoop of vanilla gelato with a shot of espresso poured over the top) is on of my favorite simple treats. It’s the ultimate combination of two of my absolute favorite flavors/ textures: coffee and ice cream. The classic, simple, light dessert is the precursor to the 24 oz. Frappucino, which by the way, wasn’t the first combination of cold, sweet, smooth, and caffeinated. Affogato is sophisticated and perfect when you want a little hit of energy in your dessert. Café Orlin isn’t the only place to serve it, but it’s laid back atmosphere, late night hours (24 hours Fri-Sun) and proximity to my house, means it’s a favorite place to enjoy it. No takeaway.

Location: 41 St. Marks Pl. nr. 1st Ave
Standard Order: affogato ($6.25)

19. Best on the Go: Mud Truck
The bright orange truck appears as a mirage when you’re running to the subway (1/9 at Christopher Street or 6 Train at Astor Place) thinking you’d die for some good caffeine to take with you on your trip up or downtown. I like to think that the truck is an environmentally healthy operation, since it can’t possibly use as much energy as a storefront. They produce surprisingly good coffee out of what looks like an unpromising operation, infinitely superior to the ubiquitous breakfast cart or bodega cup of joe to go. But don’t push your luck. The cappuccino is all icky dry foam; stick to simple joe. The truck is a happy place, even early in the morning, because the patrons in line know they’re gonna start the day with something good. Don’t forget to tip; you know those baristas can’t be making a great hourly and that truck must be claustrophobic. Takeaway only (obviously).

Location: 7th Ave @ W. 4th St.; 4th Ave @ 8th St.
Standard Order: medium coffee ($2.25)

20. Best Anywhere and Everywhere if You’re Not in Manhattan/ Best for Decent, Big Corporate Employee Benefits : Starbucks
They are not the enemy. I believe that, on balance, Starbucks has been a good thing for coffee drinkers. The company essentially started an industry that didn’t exist in this country before they brought espresso to the masses. Why should Manhattan, Seattle, and The Bay Area be the only places in the nation where you can enjoy an espresso-based drink, the local paper and a comfy place to sit? Where else are you supposed to meet a not-yet-ready-for-Primetime date? If you’re fortunate enough to live in a place with better options (I do), then take advantage of those locally-owned spots, where the coffee is likely better than The Mermaid’s often sour, slightly burnt-tasting grounds. But don’t forget that elsewhere in the country, a Starbucks might be a welcome sight, if you’re after an iced coffee and your only other option is the automated machine and fluorescent lights of a gas station. Takeaway or stay (but if you do, in Manhattan, sit far away from the bathroom!).

Location: Are you kidding? If you’re in Manhattan, you’re within two blocks of one.
Just survey 360 degrees.
Standard Order: tall coffee ($1.90—deducted from the ubiquitous Christmas gift card)

21. Absolutely not: Dunkin Donuts
Some of the things I hate: Rachael Ray as spokesperson. The proliferation (somehow more egregious to me than Starbucks) on every corner of Manhattan, making the whole island into what looks like a giant, Midwestern strip mall. Blueberry-flavored coffee is worse than any other flavored coffee idea I’ve ever seen! The temptation of donuts when you just need some caffeine is cruel. The employees look miserable. But, Kimberly and Sara and I stopped at one for a quick pee en route to Andrew and Carl’s wedding and I’ll admit, I was glad for a clean bathroom. Still. I hate.

Location: Unfortunately, their garish signs are everywhere.
Standard Order: none; I stick out my tongue when I pass one or see a plastic cup with the
DD logo in a sidewalk trashcan

Last December I was invited by CS Magazine (a.k.a. Chicago Social) to attend a very special dinner party at Charlie Trotter’s test kitchen in Chicago. Instead of sitting in the main dining room, twenty-two guests were invited to experience Trotter’s private kitchen where he films his PBS television series, The Kitchen Sessions with Charlie Trotter.

Trotter attended the event, as did every member of his staff, each of who was periodically asked to step out from behind the stove or climb up from the wine cellar below to speak to us on the subject of “excellence.”

So there I was, New York food maven that I am, sitting among all of Chicago’s movers-and-shakers and their reigning culinary sovereign, when I was asked, “Kimberly, what does excellence mean to you?”

It surely didn’t mean the dried cartilage bone and soy reduction I found on my plate that evening (sorry, Chef!). Nor does it mean white linens, silver flatware, fancy dresses and suave suits, though all were brilliantly in attendance that night. To me, excellence is without definition because it is without boundaries. It isn’t a singular experience, but rather a pursuit as common as you let it live.

I try to let excellence live in my life in all that I do. When I was in grade school, I thought excellence meant straight A’s. I was wrong. When I moved to New York, I thought excellence meant rave reviews and loud applause. I was wrong. When I started my catering company, I assumed excellence meant beating out New York’s first-rate culinary competition to get hired. Wrong again. Excellence isn’t an achievement; it’s the intention you hold onto when achieving. It’s the drive. It’s the joy!

Whatever part of me might harbor excellence has pushed me toward those straight A’s and rave reviews and has absolutely given me the courage to leave behind a boring desk job in pursuit of a food life for which I am an untrained, inexperienced, and unlikely candidate. Excellence is what I let in when I live fully. Excellence is the journey toward whatever’s in my heart.

I’m not sure this was the response Trotter was looking for, but it’s the philosophy I live by. I hope I get asked back. But more importantly, I hope I continue living open-hearted and food-forward.

To catch a glimpse of moi in this month’s issue of CS click here and turn to page 145…P.S. I’m the one with the “excellent” cocktail ring.

For me, coffee is an everyday luxury.

By “everyday,” though, I mean Simple. Pure. Uncomplicated. I don’t mean that it’s a daily indulgence. First, I can’t drink coffee every day because I love it too much. I need to ration, so as not to take it for granted. Gotta keep it special. Second, I’m too picky about the quality—I only want the good stuff. And third, I’m too broke (like most these days) to justify spending $1500 a year on it (that’s right, do that scary $4 cup of coffee x 365 days in a year math!!).

I don’t even own a coffee maker. That’s right, I love the stuff, but I don’t own a coffee maker because I know that if I did, I’d drink, like, ten cups a day. And while I actually believe it has some good health benefits , I’m pretty sure ten cups a day wouldn’t be a great choice. And my breath would never be right. And I’d have the shakes. So, while I’m not always the best at moderation (frankly, I think the concept’s pretty overrated), when it comes to my cup of joe, I take it light, I take it without sugar and I take it seriously.

Here are my top picks for Best Brew in Manhattan. Lucky for me, most are pretty nearby because I live in a neighborhood that’s hooked on café in a major way.

Top 20 Manhattan Coffee Sips

1. Best Overall: Ninth Street Espresso
Brings coffee to a new level—like you’ve never drunk coffee before. Orgasmically good espresso drinks—hot or iced—perfect texture and a rich flavor that never tastes burnt. The baristas are scruffy enthusiasts whose nonchalant expertise and easy conversation really make the place special. Since the original’s all the way over on Ave. C, you know the folks who come here are in the know. Take away or sit for hours, but even though there’s now wireless(!), bring a book or a good friend and savor your cup.

Location: 9th St. @ Ave. C (also, 10th St. btw. Aves. A & B, and Chelsea Markets)
Standard Order: anything and everything; iced latte ($4.75)

2. Best Espresso Bar: Abraco
The most authentic espresso bar (no seats) I know of in NYC. The grey mop of hair atop (owner) Jaime’s head bobs up and down reassuringly as he greats patrons who stuff themselves into the tiny spot (they pour out the front side of the bar when the weather is nice). He always seems genuinely disappointed when you order drinks to go, as if he wishes you’d stay and be part of the neighborhood party over which he’s presiding at his special place. It’s his Bay Area vibe; I hear he’s Blue Bottle alum. Whole, organic milk only here. Coffee is absolutely top-notch and the food is also very good—made on site in the teensy, open kitchen. Single drawback: no neighborhood party on Mondays; they’re closed. Take away or stand.

Location: 7th St., btw. 1st and 2nd Aves.
Standard Order: a flat white (a cappuccino with milk all the way to the top) ($3)
and a slice of frittata ($4) or pain perdu with sweet ricotta ($4)

3. Best Atmosphere: 71 Irving
This is a gem of a coffeehouse; “cozy” doesn’t begin to describe it. A place I love to go to solo, or with a date who likes sweets. They have decadent deserts and pastries. Like an old, shabby/elegant house, complete with wooden windowpanes, a rickety staircase that ascends to God knows where and a non-working fireplace. I like to sip a mug and read a classic novel in the corner. The conversations that surround are usually of the play/concert/art exhibit review sort. Just the kind on which I love to eavesdrop! Take out or curl up.

Location: 71 Irving Pl. nr. 19th St.; 56 7th Ave nr. 14th St.
Standard Order: café au lait ($2.40)

4. Best Because they Act Like It: Joe The Art of Coffee
Joe on Waverly Place is an institution. It’s the kinda coffee shop that makes you feel like you could write The Great American Novel within it’s confines. It seems its coffee might hold the key to unlocking your creative genius (if you can tune out the parade of crying babies carted through the front door). There’s hardly ever a place to sit when you first walk in, (the location on 13th St. is, by comparison, sometimes virtually empty and pretty soulless feeling—lots of metal and soaring ceilings make it feel too “slick”). The baristas know how to pour a cappuccino with just the right hand flick to create a beautiful heart of foam on top (guess that’s the “Art”—but it’s a pretty pretentious name). The whole place has the attitude of being a great coffee shop and I’m a sucker for attitude, so the drinks taste all the better for it. Take out or wait patiently for someone to give up a coveted seat.

Location: 141 Waverly Pl; 9 East 13th St.; 405 W. 23rd St.; Grand Central Term.
Standard Order: espresso granita ($4.75)

5. Best Amenities: Think Coffee
The deals and draws of this coffeehouse: Free wi-fi (W. 3rd St. location only)! If you put $20 on a gift card, you get a medium hot or iced coffee for free. 10% of profits go to local charities. Milk is from local farmers only. All coffee is organic, free-trade, shade grown. Free performances (also W. 3rd location)—music, readings, etc. Huge space compared to most other Manhattan coffeehouses, including plenty of outlets to plug in your laptop. Late night hours—open ‘til midnight. Also serves food (good but pricey—grilled cheese sandwiches around $10) and wine and beer. Quality coffee, taken pretty seriously. Take away or hang out for days.

Location: 248 Mercer St. (nr. W. 3rd St.) and 1 Bleecker St. (@ Bowery)
Standard
Order: iced coffee (free with deal mentioned above; otherwise $2.31)

6. Best Fancy Coffee: Café Sabarsky
Though I’ve not yet traveled to Vienna, I’m told this traditional kaffeehause is a fantastic approximation of one of that city’s famed spots for eating pastry, drinking caffeine, and philosophizing. It’s quite a grand room, different from any other in New York. Chef Kurt Gutenbrunner serves a full lunch and dinner menu, but the coffee and sweets are the real draw (especially if, like me, you are confused about the supposed charms of Austrian cuisine…). Coffee is served in the traditional style: on a silver tray, with a small glass of room-temperature water. Café dressed up. Full table service only.

Location: 1048 5th Ave nr. 86th St.
Standard Order: café mocha ($5) and a slice of sachretorte ($7)

7. Best for a Kick Before the Show: Everyman Espresso
Apparently, this little spot of coffee goodness was started by some Ninth St. Espresso alumns, which explains the quality of the drinks, the organic milk and the minimalist aesthetic: blackboard explanations, classic drinks only. It’s convenient to Union Square, and I personally love its location, since it’s in the lobby of one of my favorite off-Broadway theatres, Classic Stage Company. I always go a few minutes early to get an espresso before the show. Hopefully, the performance won’t put you sleep, but a triple ristretto shot before modernized Greek tragedy is never a bad idea. They offer free wi-fi. Note: seating is stools and high tables. The lobby atmosphere feels like a lobby. Take away or take a seat. They should take a bow.

Location: 136 E. 13th St., btw. 3rd and 4th Aves.
Standard Order: macchiato ($2.75)

8. Best Sip While Window Shopping: Gimme! Coffee
Gimme! is modeled as a real espresso bar and is a place that’s serious about its café creations. I don’t think it’s as good as Abraco or Ninth Street, but it’s certainly better than most and highly regarded amongst a lot of enthusiasts. My favorite thing about the place is the location—smack dab in the middle of Nolita. It’s ideal for picking up a cappuccino-to-go (no seats inside; one bench out front provides the only seating option) when you’re admiring the wares of the neighborhood boutiques. Chic coffee for chic shopping trips.

Location: 228 Mott St. (btw. Prince and Spring)
Standard Order: cappuccino ($3)

9. Best for Beans: Porto Rico Importing Co.
Nice selection of beans from around the world, labeled as “fair trade,” “organic,” etc. The staff are surprisingly helpful and the feel of the stores is comforting: well-trodden floors and giant bags of beans infusing the air with amazing coffee perfumes. Decent drinks to go, including a couple of different flavored coffees each day. Surprisingly strict about No Pictures! taken inside the store—why ??? Take away only.

Location: 40 1/2 St. Marks Pl; 201 Bleecker St.; 107 Thompson
Standard Order: bag of organic French Sumatra, ground for a French press ($8.99/lb.)
I do occasionally make some at home with this. Once in a while…

10. Best Flavored: Grey Dog
I abhor sugar in my coffee. I feel even more hostile toward “flavored syrups,” which I think are the ruination of every drink they touch. But, I happen to like hazelnut coffee on occasion, which is harder to find these days, now that the syrups have become ubiquitous. It must be more cost-effective to just stock those and regular coffee than brew high quality, flavored ones. Grey Dog has hazelnut coffee, unsweetened, just the way I like it, every day. They even have it iced, which I think is a real coup. Food is also tasty and I like the “New England barn” feeling of the place. Take away and self-serve seating.

Location: 90 University Pl.; 33 Carmine St.
Standard Order: iced hazelnut coffee with plenty of ice and milk (they put it in for you) ($2.75)

To be continued…

Facebook is an amazing invention. I was begrudgingly turned onto it by my ‘tween cousins who insisted that by joining I’d not only reconnect with the myriad of high school classmates I’d been distancing myself from since graduation, but “better” yet, I’d occupy hours of my life with a mindless addiction that involves little more than stalking former friends. Neither option appealed to me. But after mocking all other social networking sites and calling me, “The last loser on MySpace,” the ‘tweens convinced me it was time to grit my teeth, dig in my heels, and surrender to Facebook.

And wouldn’t you know, they were right! Facebook is SO much better than MySpace. My profile has proven a perfect platform to reintroduce myself to old friends and recruit new fans. I post recipes, videos, photos and daily notifications on where my foodie lifestyle is taking me. With a mere 144 friends, I haven’t exactly achieved legendary status just yet, but I’m steadily working my way toward Facebook fame. Just this week, a former classmate got in touch and asked to interview me for her blog, Paper Tiger. Give our conversation a read and check out her amazing online gallery displaying some of her most recent artistic endeavors. And please, friend request me if you haven’t already…I need to bump up my numbers!