Short Orders

My most recent food writing assignment, write 3 100-word paragraphs on a product, restaurant dish, and ingredient of my choosing. Is anyone shocked that gin, french fries, and bacon are heralded?

Spiritual Awakening

Gin is a wonderful spirit. If the desire to actually taste the alcohol in your beverage makes you avoid vodka in favor of something like gin, consider buying a bottle of Hendrick’s. Distilled in Scotland, Hendrick’s Gin is infused with a special blend of greenery including cucumber and rose petals, giving it very unique floral and vegetal notes. Instead of a lime wedge, garnish a Hendrick’s gin and tonic with thinly sliced cucumber. Try one of the unconventional recipes on the Hendrick’s website like the Blueberry Thyme, where the subtle floral flavors of the gin are heightened by the addition of more fruit and herbs. No matter the concoction, you will feel very, very classy.
Available at most liquor stores, www.hendricksgin.com.

Cheese Fries, Reborn

Instead of putting off the inevitable alcohol-induced decision to eat something deliciously deep-fried until evening’s end, make cheese fries an essential part of your night on the town. Head to Deep Ellum in Allston and order the Truffled Gorgonzola French Fries ($6). You will feel more sophisticated than the normal nacho cheese crowd as you indulge in perfectly salted, crisp fries nestled beneath a creamy, white truffle-infused, Gorgonzola sauce. Plenty for two to share, this starter is easy enough on the wallet to guiltlessly enjoy one or two of Deep Ellum’s classic cocktails or a couple beers from their rotating draft menu. Your taste buds and your wallet will not be disappointed.
Deep Ellum Bar, 477 Cambridge Street, Allston, 617-787-BEER, www.deepellum-boston.com.

Smoke It

Oh Bacon. How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. Your porky goodness adds a smoky surprise to stews, pep to pastas, and substance to breakfast. Minnesota-based Prairie Pride Farm provides the discerning pork fan with traditional hickory smoked (in a real smoker!) bacon. For an extra zing, order “The BEST Black Pepper Bacon you have ever had” ($10.95/ lb.). With no MSG and no nitrates, this bacon is easy to reconcile with your newest health kick if you can’t bear to be without the smokiness that gives such a unique flavor to whatever you deem worthy. You don’t need to be too adventurous, though. Just imagine what farmhouse bacon does to a BLT!
Prairie Pride Farm, 59597 185th St., Mankato, MN, 1-866-245-PORK, www.prairiepridemn.com

The Deal

Here's what I'm going to do...I'm going to post my food writing assignments on this here blog therefore updating it while simultaneously getting my work done. Oh, I am a sly one, am I not?

After-School Viewing Pleasure

Of all the cooking shows I used to watch, I most fondly remember the “Great Chefs” series. After elementary and middle school, I would hop on the bus home and spend the ride wondering what each chef would make. I was absolutely thrilled when the cameras would take me to kitchens in France, Spain, Italy, and just about anywhere. My mom, on the other hand, said that watching any given episode of “Great Chefs” was like watching paint dry. Three different, often non-English speaking chefs would wordlessly construct an appetizer, entree, and dessert in his or her restaurant’s kitchen. Pots and pans would clatter in the background and somewhere else unseen, the nondescript hum of an appliance would drone through the entire segment.

I watched the “Great Chefs” series as it moved across the United States and throughout the world. It inspired me to go on journeys in my own kitchen; to cook and to watch my mom cook, to ask her questions like, “is that pasta al dente?” or “did you know that if you deglaze that pan, all that stuff on the bottom will make a great sauce?” I bet she just loved listening to her young daughter’s culinary pointers. From “Great Chefs” I learned words like creme fraiche, ganache, macerate, sear, garnish, ramekin…I could go on and on. I would beg my parents to take me to restaurants where I could procure such strange and novel things. No, the diner was no longer good enough for this budding gourmand.

It was on “Great Chefs” where I first saw creme brulee. I blame it for my longstanding obsession with the stuff. Delicate vanilla custard topped with sugar…and torched! It fascinated me. I wanted to see and taste it myself. I rattled on about it for months and my parents, realizing that I was slightly different than the average “mac and cheese from a box is all I want” child, decided to indulge me on a family trip to Disney World. It is not the Peter Pan ride or my picture with Mickey that I remember from that trip. I remember the creme brulee. Not every eight-year-old walks into Disney’s Bocuse-owned French restaurant, shuns the kids’ menu and orders such stuff as dreams are made on. I, however, was not every eight-year-old.

I began with a poached salmon mousse, scented with dill, topped with wafer-thin cucumber slices, presented on a fresh baguette. My parents laughed, the waiter looked on in disbelief, and I devoured the entire thing. The dessert menu arrived and even though I read it several times, marveling at all the things I had seen only on television, I knew what I wanted. I ordered my creme brulee and a decaf coffee. This was followed by more stares by our bewildered French waiter, first at me, then at my parents to make sure that I was in my right mind. When all was settled, it arrived. A pristine ramekin, the caramelized sugar coating, the custard just beneath. A single spoon lay next to it. I knew what to do. Crack the sugary glaze; scoop it and some custard into a single spoonful, taste and savor. I still remember how it felt when it reached my tongue. A burnt, sugary crunch. A cool, creamy custard. Oh, that custard. How the pure white was flecked with vanilla bean. How the layer nearest to the sugar was still warm from the torch. How it all combined to become the greatest sensation of my short life. My eyes widened, I smiled uncontrollably, the French waiter patted me on the head and said, “she must be French.” My parents smiled, too, now convinced that I was not going to be a lawyer. As we left, the taste lingering in my mouth, I could not help but hum the theme of “Great Chefs.”