Rickey Reviews Odd Food Left in the Second Floor Staff Kitchen

Every now and then, someone at Rickey’s office will leave food in the staff kitchen with the intention of giving it away gratis. Generally, this food is either: bizarre, rotten, unhealthy, or all of the above. Rickey, being the curious individual that he is, will often take aforementioned food back to his office and examine it to see if it qualifies as a suitable mid-afternoon snack. Yesterday, a tiny plastic cup in the second floor staff kitchen caught Rickey’s eye. Colored red and labeled only “JELLY,” Rickey deemed this gelatinous oddity to be worth a closer look. Below are Rickey’s field notes on the matter.

Interesting: neither the product’s manufacturer nor distributor are listed on the jelly cup. Alarm bells are stating to jingle in Rickey’s mind.

The label does however clearly state: CONTAINS NO KONJAC. What exactly is this konjac they speak of? A Saturday morning cartoon supervillan? Is it good that Rickey is not ingesting any, or bad that he’s getting enough in his daily diet?

A Wiki search reveals that Asians use this konjac ingredient frequently in cooking. And the FDA issued a full-blown ban on it in 2002. Uh oh. Evidently there was a show on this on Oprah a while ago involving paramedics trying to save children that had choked on konjac. The paramedics would use an instrument that sort of vacuums the konjac out of the wind pipe. Sometimes however, the konjac sticks to the walls of the windpipe and so there is nothing paramedics can do to save a choking child once they ingest it. Klaxon sirens are now sounding in Rickey’s head.

But hey, at least the folks manufacturing this product wised up and removed the konjac from their product. So everything’s hunky-dory, right? Not quite. The ingredients in this highly suspect snack only heighten Rickey’s concerns. The contents are:

1) R.O. Pure Water (sholy shit, just how bad does water need to be to require reverse osmosis?)
2) Fructose (mmm, healthy!)
3) Sugar (what, the fructose wasn’t enough?)
4) Coconut (well hey, at least that’s a natural ingredient)
5) Seaweed Extract (ewwwww, what the fuck?)
6) Acidulants (hooray for additives!)
7) Natural Lychee Flavor (sorry, but there’s nothing natural about a fruit that comes from the soapberry family)

Feeling just barely brave enough to sample this seemingly lethal children’s snack, Rickey peels off the plastic top and gingerly licks it. Hm, tastes kind of like mop water. Sickly sweet, and there’s something else in there too… …a slight after-taste of what Rickey imagines horse semen must taste like. Awesome.

Now convinced that the experience cannot possibly get any worse, Rickey pinches the bottom of the cup, and tilts his head back to force the gelatinous mop water into his mouth. Oh god. If Beelzebub were to mandate that the damned take jello shots in the fiery abyss, we imagine this is kind of what they’d taste like. An entire afternoon of work productivity has been lost and Rickey must now unleash hell in the first floor men’s bathroom.

Rickey’s not entirely sure precisely which Asian country this awful food hails from (to prevent a full-scale nuclear strike, the label wisely doesn’t identify that information). But once Rickey finds out, he’ll definitely be writing a few letters to his congressman. And a big shout out to the sadistic bastard in his office who tried to poison Rickey today. It’ll take more than that to keep Rickey down.

REVIEW: The Oyster Bar

On a Tuesday night jaunt into NYC, Rickey decided to stop off for a bite to eat at the Oyster Bar in Grand Central Station. Be warned: those who are squeamish about eating raw shellfish should avert their eyes at this point. Indeed, it takes a special kind of person to enjoy the sensation of oyster brine trickling down your chin (or man-beard in Rickey’s case). Now Rickey knows very little about the various classifications of raw oysters, but armed with a vocabulary consisting primarily of words such as “awesome” and “scrumtulescent” we think we’ll get the job done just fine.

The Oyster bar features sit down tables, but half the fun of eating there is sitting at the bar and watching the shellfish get shucked right in front of you. So Rickey sidled up to the bar and ordered himself a financially unsound amount of raw shellfish as well as a pint of the local lager. Now, some people might try and tell you that white wine, not beer is a better accompaniment to raw oysters. These people are jackasses, pay them no mind. Rickey sampled a bunch of oysters bearing titles like “Blue Point,” “Wellfleet,” and other names we can’t recall at the moment, and found the Wellfleets to be far and away the best. They’re briny, meaty and sweet—everything that Rickey had hoped for (they’d goddamn well better be at $2.85 a piece). A quick Wiki search on these wondrous mollusks informed Rickey that the salt marshes of Wellfleet, Cape Cod are the perfect environment for raising oysters due to the fact that they are fed by springs. Okey-dokey then. Rickey finished slurping his oysters and took a peek at the entrees.

The main course selections really aren’t the Oyster Bar’s forte, but Rickey figured he’d sample a few things anyway. Ignoring the fact that he wasn’t dining in New England, Rickey thought he’d give the Ipswich fried clams a shot. Predictably, these were not the luscious, plump-bellied beauties you might remember from your Nantucket Red clad yachting expeditions to the Vineyard. Rickey paused while eating these sad little diner fried clams to shed a tear for his suddenly all too distant childhood. The fried oysters on the other hand, were a goddamned revelation, because well, this is the Oyster Bar after all. Crispy, large and juicy, these magnificent fried bastards wiped the preceding travesty from Rickey’s mind. Rickey finished up his meal by feasting upon a dish of oysters rockefeller, which were also exceptional. Reeling from a severe overdose of fried seafood, and badly in need of an antacid, Rickey paused briefly to admire his surroundings.

The decor of the Oyster Bar perfectly matches the rest of Grand Central Station’s majesty. The lighting and mood at the Oyster bar are warm and cozy, yet simultaneously grandiose. For the record, it’s a damn shame no one creates buildings like Grand Central Station anymore. Examining the colorful cloth napkins, Rickey could swear that they were identical to the ones his family used when he was a child—a suspicion that was later corroborated by his mother, who admitted to pilfering the Oyster Bar’s napkins on a regular basis. Lovely.

In summation, for all you seafood perverts out there, Rickey strongly recommends a pit stop at the Oyster Bar while passing through Grand Central. While quite pricey, it’s a worthwhile (albeit waspy) experience for those in search of the freshest shellfish available on the market.

SCORE: Out of a possible five ribs:
4.5

Wild Boar Redux

Hello Eaters! I’m back from a long weekend with the family in Vermont, ready with tales of lightning storms and faked pregnancy and farm stands (oh my!). I love farm stands and Dutton’s is a jewel – if you’re ever near Manchester Center, VT stop in.

But let’s address that second item -- you've all seen the now ubiquitous style of loose, flowing women’s shirts with empire waists, which suggest a certain “with childness,” yes? Well, they’re everywhere and I own one, to my sainted mum’s great chagrin. I guess she doesn’t want anybody thinking she could be a grandma yet, fake or otherwise. So, of course I wore one out to dinner on Friday night to Ye Olde Tavern, and was having a really lovely time rubbing my belly with one hand while I gestured with my cocktail in the other, remarking on how much “Baby enjoys a nice martini.” Cue our waitress appearing as if from nowhere. At least when I go to hell I know I won’t go alone because my relatives have never laughed so hard.

Hijinks aside, I had a wonderful dinner of wild boar chops (Ricky – I knew you wouldn’t steer me wrong!). I think wild boar tastes more like lamb than pork, but in any case it was awesome.

Now then, lightning storms. Southern Vermont saw a doozey on Saturday night, and while the weak-hearted hid under their covers (Aunt Kathy I’m talking to you!) the rest of us watched one hell of a light show over the Green Mountains, drinking and idly wondering what would happen if the cabin was struck.

But then I’m ahead of myself. Earlier that evening we began to see some ominous clouds roll in – not good since we had just built a fire to grill steaks. And that lead to some high-heat, crazy grilling that should only be attempted if there’s just no other way. While the rest of us ran around like loons trying to get everything done before dinner, at least one of us could not be bothered.

Amazingly, the steaks came out of their trial-by-fire quite nicely, and we had a stormy dinner of steak, goat cheese stuffed tomatoes, fresh baked bread and salad, topped off with a local organic beer. Nothing brings a family together like inappropriate humor, Mother Nature’s rage, and fine food and booze. Can’t wait for next year!

REVIEW: Yvonne's

This past weekend Rickey, Ms. Henderson, and Rickey’s folks took a drive up to the Catskill Mountains (aka, the Jewish Alps) looking for just precisely where the gnomes from “Rip Van Winkle” go candlepin bowling. Sadly the gnome hunt proved fruitless, but they did visit a fantastic restaurant which we’d like to share with you. Located roughly 25 miles west of Kingston, NY on the bank of the Esopus river lies Yvonne’s, a small red shack which houses some of the finest French cuisine you’ll ever sample this side of the Atlantic Ocean. Once upon a time, the Catskills were awash in French restaurants run by expatriate NYC chefs. Now? Not so much, and the only remaining joint is Yvonne’s. (The Mapquest inclined can click on the link for directions).

This little haunt is owned and operated by a French octogenarian with a creepy penchant for stuffed dolls (seriously, there are freaking dolls everywhere) and the ceiling is covered in quilts. For lack of better words, we’d call the décor “French Country Style, a la Mickey Mouse.” But once you get past the fact that you’re sitting in a total dive, the food proves exemplary. Yvonne still does all the cooking herself and it shows. The food offerings range from your normal run of the mill French cuisine such as escarole soup and escargots, to your more exotic fare such as rabbit, and brie soup. For an appetizer, Rickey had the duck liver pate which was too good to be described by mere words. Other crowd pleasers included a creamy nectarine soup, the rillette, various pates, and the escarole soup.

For an entrée Rickey feasted upon wild roast boar covered in a lemon garlic sauce. Having never tasted wild boar before, Rickey can definitely recommend it to you folks. Imagine a meat that’s port pork, part chicken, and part unabashed awesomeness and you’re on the right track. It was amazingly tender too. Also highly recommended are the crispy duck confit, and a beef bourguignon stew that was wonderfully tender and flavorful. And to wrap things up, Yvonne’s crème brulee for desert is a must have. Eating the food, we guarantee that you’ll completely forget that you’re situated in the Borscht Belt, in the very un-French-sounding village of Shandaken.

Be warned however, the prices are steep and a dinner for two easily tops $100. And we guarantee that you’ve never spent this much money while dining in a room surrounded by stuffed dolls. A table for four is a cramped affair which is odd considering the fact that on a good night, this restaurant serves no more than 15 people. Also, Yvonne seems to have been effected by the Vichy regime and strictly enforces rules such as ONE TRIP ONLY to the salad bar, an additional charge for French butter (which we imagine is like regular butter, but smarmier), as well as an exorbitant corking fee (the joint is BYOB). Rickey would’ve taken pictures, but that might have resulted in screams of “verboten!” and his camera being confiscated. Indeed, dining at Yvonne’s is essentially a “sit down, shut up, and eat your excellent French cuisine” kind of affair. But trust us, the food redeems everything.

The best part of the experience? Walking out to the parking lot and seeing a large black bear strolling casually into the woods. You better believe he’ll be on the menu next weekend. Yup, welcome to The Catskills. Rickey highly recommends stopping off at Yvonne’s after a day of fishing, hiking, camping, or tubing in the Catskills. This review has been brought to you by the Catskill Mountains Chamber of Commerce.

SCORE: Out of a possible five ribs:
4.7

Like your weekends are so exciting?

Sometimes a gardener gets busy. And sometimes said gardener forgets to harvest nature's bounty. And then nature's bounty grows out of control like a creature from some low budget horror movie. What is said gardener's daughter to do but save her sainted mum from these monstrous creatures? And if she happens to enjoy the visceral delight of digging out zucchini guts with her bare hands, then so be it.

Guess which one disapproves of this blatant waste of food? I think it's Grouchy McFrowny hiding in the back there... the drunken horizontal one couldn't care less.

I also discovered that scotch tape will stick to a zucchini just long enough to fashion a handsome replica of Ricky's impressive beard growth. The likeness is staggering, don't you think?

By the way, does anyone remember when Dom Deluise had a cooking show? I was but a wee kitten at the time, but I distinctly remember him brandishing giant zucchinis and yelling about these "Gugutz" or maybe "Gagouts"...? This ringing a bell for anybody cause I would A) Love to know the proper spelling and etymology of the "G" word and B) Just know that I'm not recovering phony childhood memories starring Dom Deluise.

RECIPE: Chicken Saltimbocca for the Rest of Us (and Haley’s first foray into food styling…

When I was living the grad student lifestyle up in Boston, my favorite little Italian restaurant was Antonia’s in Davis Square, Somerville. They made a chicken saltimbocca that was obscenely good…up until they got a new chef who made his own version of the dish – a tasty but much heavier version, not the lemony, sagey light offering I craved.

So I decided to recreate my favorite dish, and make it a bit more everyday, normal person, left-over friendly. Rather than wrapping the chicken breasts in prosciutto, I cut up the chicken and slice the prosciutto into thin strips so as to stretch it (that's some expensive ham, yo). I have made this many, many times, and it is consistently a crowd pleaser. Plus, it’s pretty easy…

I guess I should admit that I am not someone who believes in recipes. Trying to quantify the bits and pieces that go into this dish was a bit tricky, but let’s just remember that this ain’t rocket science, folks. Nor is it baking (much harder than rocket science). So, take these amounts as a loose guideline and adjust as you see fit.

2 large chicken breasts
16 ounces white button mushrooms
4-5 thin slices of prosciutto
1 cup chicken stock
1 cup white wine
Handful of sage leaves
Handful of Italian flat leaf parsley
1 Lemon
1 cup flour
Salt and pepper
Butter
Olive Oil
Pasta of your choice to serve over (penne works well)

Cut your chicken into bite-sized pieces and dredge them in flour seasoned with salt and pepper (if you have dried sage, throw a teaspoon or so in as well). Sauté the chicken in a Tablespoon of butter and a glug (yes, a glug) of olive oil. Remove chicken from pan and set aside (you don’t have to cook the chicken all the way through at this point – just get the pieces nice and golden brown).

Next, throw some mushrooms in the pan. Now, if you are cooking for your boss, your mother, or someone you are lusting after, I suggest you sauté the mushrooms one small handful at a time. That way they get nicely brown and crispy on the edges and look and taste amazing.

However, if it’s a Tuesday night and you’re hungry and you’ve already drank half the bottle of white wine that you bought to make this dish, just dump ‘em in. They won’t be miraculous, but they’ll still be good.

Once the mushrooms are browned, add the chicken back in along with the prosciutto and the sage leaves, both of which you have expertly cut into fine strips (but leave out a tablespoon of the sage to thrown in at the very end). Follow with the chicken stock, white wine, and the juice of half a lemon. Let it simmer while you put on a pot of water to cook your pasta, and enjoy the ingredient that just keeps on giving.

Side note: If you don’t have a vacuum wine-sealer thingamajig, go out and get one now. Go. Really, we’ll wait for you to come back. And don’t bother with that expensive rabbit thing – unnecessary. The cheap-o, white plastic thing with the rubber stoppers I bought years ago is still one of my most frequently used kitchen items, and works like gangbusters. Sure, I only have one of the six stoppers left, but I make do.

Once the sauce has simmered down to a nice spoon-coating consistency and your kitchen smells like Heaven (if Heaven is a hole-in-the-wall Italian joint) turn off the heat, sprinkle with your chopped up parsley, remaining sage, and the juice of the other half of your lemon. Serve over penne, with a glass of our aforementioned favorite ingredient alongside, and I promise that your mom will forget that you don’t call her as much as you should, your boss will give you the promotion that you thought would go to that ass-kissing Joan person, and the object of your affection will strip in your kitchen.

It’s really that good.

Rickey Reviews "Ratatouille"

Rickey is going on record as saying that “Ratatouille” may actually be the best film he’s seen so far this year. Rickey has seen a fair few, but this one takes the cake. He was really floored by it. It's flawless. Rickey liked the fact that the film’s protagonist develops a disdain for the status quo garbage that his fellow rats eat. Yep, “Ratatouille” centers around Remy, a rat who hates eating garbage. Not a bad conceit for a children’s film, eh? While his family members indiscriminately nibble away at moldy pieces of what (they think) used to be food, it disgusts Remy. He makes daily trips to an old woman's kitchen in search of finer dining, grabbing cheeses and fruits before racing away in the hopes of going unnoticed.

Naturally, hijinks ensue and Remy ends separated from his family and pursuing a cooking career in Paris in a formerly well-renowned kitchen. So why are we discussing this on this blog? Well, in case you haven’t seen it already, "Ratatouille" is a movie completely in love with food. Appreciation of flavors is a recurring theme, and in an early scene Remy compares cooks to artists and craftsmen. Even better is how the film’s cooking scenes capture the calamity and chaos that make a professional kitchen so much of a joy to witness. It may sound gross, but trust us, nothing in recent animated films can really compare to watching an army of rats frantically working together to concoct a dish in a kitchen.

The film’s most moving moment occurs when a notoriously harsh food critic samples a dish prepared by Remy which is so damned good that it triggers a memory rush to his childhood. And the villainous critic is left speechless and in tears. This is one of the best movie moments in recent memory. We found it inspiring, not just to an amateur cook such as Rickey, but for any profession or trade to see a film so eloquently state how powerful a well crafted piece of work can truly be. It’s terrific to finally see a movie that values striving for excellence over settling for the banal. And as the movie’s multiples jabs directed at the frozen dinner industry suggest, mediocrity simply will not do. Remember this when weighing the pros and cons of taking the kids to see Larry the Cable Guy in “Shrek 8.”

See, Rickey’s a bit of a snob in his tastes, and even more so when it comes to dining out. And this ties in nicely with that whole mission statement thingy that Adam discussed in a previous post. We’d like to strive for excellence in our reviews and recommendations on this blog. Of course Adam went and screwed everything up by reviewing a ribs joint in his first write up. Just kidding buddy—those ribs were terrific. Indeed, Rickey is not so much a “Foodie” (a trite little neologism drives Rickey up the freaking wall) as much as a “Gourmand.” But if you really are looking for a more accurate classification for Rickey, just go with “Food Pervert.” That works nicely too. And if you’re looking for a recipe for Ratatouille’s titular dish, proceed hither and give things a shot. Just don’t blame Rickey if you blow your damned eyebrows off.

REVIEW: Ribs on the Run

The wheel. Sliced bread. The Internet. These are all miracles of invention, things that have changed our lives inexorably. Well, I think it is reasonable to add barbecue to that list. The genius of smoked meats is something I will never take for granted. Nor will I ever tire of its flavor. With that in mind, what better way to kick off this food blog than to do a review of my favorite local barbecue joint, Ribs on the Run. Located in Yonkers, NY, this take-out restaurant is (unfortunately) one of the best-kept secrets in the area. I have spent many an occasion introducing newbies to this place. "Good BBQ in Westchester?" people say with skepticism. Ah, the joy of disproving people's doubts!

Tonight, I ventured to Ribs on the Run with Haley and Rickey Henderson, both of whom are contributors to this blog. I wisely dragged Haley to this place years ago, amounting to a "barbecue mitzvah" on my part. But this was, excitingly enough, Rickey's first time-- and while I'll let him speak for himself, I think he enjoyed the food quite a bit.

As I said above, Ribs on the Run is a take-out restaurant. This means that while there are tables inside, it is by no means a legit sit-down restaurant. This is a place where you get your food and either go home and eat it, or eat it at a table off of a plastic tray and out of Styrofoam boxes. What, you got a problem with that?

So, let's get down to the food. If you're going to a place called "Ribs on the Run," you are legally obligated to order their house specialty-- the barbecue ribs. Something magical happens in whatever rib-smoking/cooking contraption these guys have back in the kitchen, because since I've started eating there (going back to early 1990s), the ribs have been nothing less than excellent. We're talking tender pork ribs that fall off the bone-- juicy and meaty all the way through. And the sauce? Not too sweet, not too bitter, but balanced and a perfect companion to the ridiculously tasty ribs.

What else do they serve at Ribs on the Run? Well, if you must veer away from the ribs, they do offer a full menu of deep-fried goodness (fried mozzarella, fried zucchini, fried ravioli, fried clam strips, fried corn fritters, etc.). No, I don't believe they offer salads. But they do offer rib combo platters (pair these succulent ribs with some fried shrimp, BBQ chicken or whatever the heck else you feel like). And the dinner platters come with a generous supply of French fries, cornbread and cole slaw (the slaw is nothing short of awesome as well). But really, the main attraction is in the restaurant's name-- just go there and eat the ribs. You will not be disappointed.

SCORE: Out of a possible five ribs:
4.5

P.S. If you're ordering for a large group (four or more) do yourself a favor and go with the Party Pack-- you get two racks of ribs, several large pieces of BBQ chicken, cole slaw, fries, macaroni salad, potato salad and a nice-sized cut of cornbread. And if you have leftovers, consider yourself lucky. The fries are nice re-heated in the frying pan with some scrambled eggs the next morning.

"Food first, then morality"

Welcome to my food blog.

I am not a gourmet chef, I haven't traveled nearly as much as I would like and I don't want this to be an exercise in "foodie pretension." I am putting this blog together to share in the journey of finding and enjoying good food. What constitutes "good," you ask? Food that makes you happy. It can be a plate of truffle risotto or a donut, I really don't discriminate. My food stories will mostly cover my geographical area, which is a few miles north of New York City. And while the city is obviously a garden-spot for all types of cuisine, there are worthy establishments throughout my immediate area that deserve some attention. Trust me, I've been to a lot of unheralded places over the years. And I want to share those experiences with you.

I want to know about your food experiences as well. I always find myself gently interrogating people about where they like to eat. Everyone has a secret dive or a neighborhood greasy spoon that they want to brag about. Let's help one another find that most excellent pizza pie and that amazing soul food joint. And I suppose we can talk about the occasional high-class place... but I'm not about paying for someone's rent, ya dig? Let the food lead the discussion. I couldn't care less if some celebrity chef made his bones at a trendy place. I'm too hungry to get caught up in that nonsense!

So, pull up a seat and join the feast.

-Adam