Smoked Salmon, Goat Brie and Other Treats (With More Catan)

Another day with more floating, sunning, reading and playing. For another outdoor game I put together a little smoked salmon plate with goat brie, cornichons, capers and red onions. A perfect accompaniment to the game and location.

BBQ and Bourbon c/o Philly's Fette Sau

It has been been more than a year since C., K. and I got together at Fette Sau for a taste of barbeque and bourbon in Brooklyn. Each time I've been back to New York since, I always have Fette Sau on the short list of places I'd like to go again...but I never end up there. So when I heard about Stephen Starr's collaborative plan to bring a Fette Sau to Philly I was excited. And then it opened and I was too busy to ever make it up to try it out. This went on longer than I'd like. So when Mr. Ass. asked me about the place at some point earlier this month, I told him what I knew and then a few days later suggested we go there for some grub and spirits. The evening was a Friday, and we went on the early bird side of things. Unlike my experience in Brooklyn, there was no line or wait whatsoever. The establishment itself is actually bigger, by quite a bit, than the Williamsburg original, but has very much the same decor and overall vibe. Initially the place felt a little empty, but over the course of our time there, things picked up.

So what did we order? We ordered pulled pork, brisket, ribs, pickles, sauerkraut and baked beans. The dude behind the counter was friendly and quite helpful. Totally willing to express his own opinion about which version of ribs he preferred, and to give us a sense of whether we were ordering too much or too little.

I believe Mr. Ass ended up favoring the ribs the most out of all the options, while I went back and forth between the meltingly fatty brisket and the ribs. All the sauces were good, but the meat on its own had a depth of smoky flavor that didn't even need the extra help.

I decided to have a Templeton Rye, as it makes me feel like I know something and reminds me of my Chicagoist days. It was a rainy night and I had been a tad bit stressed that week, so it was great to touch base with Mr. Ass and finally cross Fette Sau off my Philly new restaurant list. Big thanks to Mr. Ass for driving me to and fro even though it was out of his way, and for listening to me rant about this thing or that thing for a good majority of the meal.

Welcome Pickles and Beer c/o Gowanus Yacht Club

I returned from my journey south and did the regular 9-5 thing for the next few days, but came into work early that following Friday in order to leave reasonably early. I hoped that I could make a jump on traffic for my drive to Brooklyn to visit with the likes of L. and Fat T. but that didn't go quite as planned. Just as I was about to get on to 95, traffic totally stalled and I counted at least 10 cop cars and a few ambulances driving on the highway overpass above, which suggested a pretty massive accident that would probably make my getting to the NJ Turnpike the 'back way' unfeasible. So I ended up going south and then across the Franklin Bridge....uh I was about to outline every step of my drive, but no one needs that. The point is that between an accident on 95, stupid crazy traffic on the turnpike and then again on 78, my estimated arrival time of 3 was off by a good hour and a half.  L. was still at work but my thoughts of having lunch before meeting up with her didn't make quite as much sense, as we had dinner plans for which I wanted a full appetite. So I took up residence at Gowanus Yacht Club to await her arrival back to the 'hood. I asked for a kolsch and a side of pickles and enjoyed both while reading the fifth Game of Thrones book (at this moment I am 78% done with it and I both want to read it super fast and super slow because I want to know what happens, but I also know there isn't another book to satiate all the unanswered questions I have no doubt will arise in the concluding chapters). The pickles were good. Not too sweet or mushy. Definitely rather freshly brined with a good crunch. And who doesn't love a kolsch? The crowd at 4:30 was relatively non-existent, just a few tables of tatooed white people with sunglasses, slouchy skirts and plaid shirts. I almost fit in, except for the lack of tattoos.

Fried Pickles c/o The Red Hook Diner

Once shearing was complete I hustled on over to the Red Hook Diner for a quick bite or four of their fried pickles. They were just as hot and tangy as they ever were, though the sauce was different than the one I remember enjoying the first ever time I tried the dish as a 17 year old. The place with hopping and awash in St. Patrick's Day decorations and food specials. I sat at the funny half booth right behind the cash register and enjoyed every moment of it.

Charcuterie and Pickles c/o Farmer's Cabinet

On the first while I was hanging out with M. and A. et al, Mr. Ass gave me a ring and inquired as to whether I might like to grab a dinner-type meal in Philly later on. I thought that was a good idea and then we spent far longer than necessary deciding where we might go. In the end we met up at Farmer's Cabinet. The drunken dredges of the Mummers' Parade were still hanging about that area of the city; Mr. Ass mentioned that while he was waiting for me a man, standing outside just like him, asked Mr. Ass whether it was raining. It was. In any case, Farmer's Cabinet's interior really is pleasing to the eye with high ceilings, the walls of which are punctuated by what seems to be real lit candles. The bar starts with what seems to be the cheese station before morphing into quite an impressive number of drafts. We were seated at the long communal table in the back of what appeared to be the main space.
On Sundays they continue their brunch menu into the evening, which was quite a temptation, but in the end I made choices independently of the breakfast offers. I am a sucker for pickled things, so I jumped at the chance to order their Kirby Cucumber Quarters. Good, but maybe a tad too sweet for me. I like my pickles to have a bite.
Then I ordered the tasting menu of their house cured meats, which included duck prosciutto, salami gentil, pate de campagne, toscana and finocchiona. As is often the case, I should have written down my thoughts to really give any true direction as to what stood out the most. I believe the pate was a clear winner, as was the salami. The whole grain mustard was good as well. Mr. Ass ordered the Lancaster Roasted Chicken with Yukon gold puree, caramelized pearl onions and turnips, black kale, and blood orange bitter jus. He was kind enough to let me have a bit, and it was quite good. Mr. Ass made the observation that sometimes the chicken on a restaurant's menu is the secret start, but we're all too bothered chasing down foie gras or rabbit to realize it. I added the foie and rabbit references. I often try, when going to a restaurant, to think of what I cannot or do not make for myself, and order accordingly. And while I can make a decent chicken, I may have to give it a better shot when I'm out...in order to further inspire my own chicken making abilities.
There was a little weirdness with the bill. On the menu I had looked at, the tasting plate was $17, but the bill made it $19, and Mr. Ass had ordered the smaller sized beer but was charged for the larger one. When we pointed out these inconsistencies to our server, she was quick to bring a different menu over to show me that I was wrong...but I pointed out that that wasn't the menu I looked at so... And then she basically told Mr. Ass that he had ordered a large one, and that's why he was charged the large price...though I had clearly heard him ask for the smaller size. I know that being a server can suck, and that people complaining about things is annoying. But I guess I still felt like her response, which was to sort of blame us and then reluctantly go talk to her manager without ever once apologizing for the confusion, could have been more diplomatic or something. It's not a cheap place, but I'd probably go back for drinks and snacks.

Last Minute Plan Brigade c/o Tria and Varga

Some time in December I was at home, all cozy with a new hair cut and plans to make chocolate chip peanutbutter cookies while watching Vampire Diaries, when my phone rang. It was BC, who recently moved to Philly and whom I have veritably stalked with suggestions for last minute things she might enjoy doing. She was calling to throw a LMP my way, as another high schoolian was going to be in town and they were planning on meeting up. Though the cookie/vampire plan was still very appealing, I thought it might be good for me not to sink so softly into that kind of comfy when conversation and new places beckoned. In the end I met up with BC and LS at Tria, where I enjoyed a glass of '06 Nebbiolo Blend and '09 Malevolent Kaiken Malbec. We then decamped to Varga Bar, where beer was enjoyed and we tried three of their snackies: fried pickles, fried calamari and the sliders.
The calamari was above average in its breading flavor and tender crispiness.
The sliders, which I had once before so long ago, held up pretty well to my memory of them.
This was a blackout stout I enjoyed. I managed not to blackout. Though I did end up going to the Bards and meeting up with LW.
And looking like this.
And this: Drunky McSquinty Face. I got a new hair cut that afternoon, and was reasonably pleased with the impact it had on, um, me?

Cocktails c/o Franklin Mortgage and Trust

I hadn't seen A.S. in a bit, so we made plans last week to meet up for cocktails at Franklin Mortgage and Trust. I'd heard about this place from time to time over the last couple of years, but never quite got myself down to the establishment. Down literally because it's in a lower level space, basically unmarked unless you know what you're looking for. Trying to put a slightly speakeasy feel on the whole place, I believe is the point. I met up with A.S. by her work place and we got to the bar by 6, which meant that the process of being 'bounced' was not an issue because it was too early for there to be any critical mass of folks waiting to be let in. There was a special set of happy hour drinks featuring a certain bourbon I cannot remember and a bartender from Chicago whom I similarly can not tell you much about. But this cocktail, whatever it was, was a potent tasty thing.
We stayed for two drinks. My second was the Coal Cracker Cocktail, which consisted of Wild Turkey rye, Galliano, house blackberry syrup, angostura bitters, and sarsparilla tincture "served on a rock." Of the two, this was my favorite. I had expected it to be sweet due to the blackberry/sarsparilla aspects, but it wasn't really. But it wasn't really sweet in a good way. An interesting way. A pleasing way. And the zest of lemon did something magic with my olfactory to tongue connections.

We noticed that others were getting small plates brought out to their tables, so we investigated. Turns out they have a small number of cold food items supplied by Supper. I decided to try their pickled vegetables thinking that it would be similar in tastiness to Village Whiskey's offerings. But, like my long ago snack meal with Mr. Ass at Supper, while it sounded really, really good, I found the actual product only ok.
It was lovely to catch up with A.S. while trying a new place and cocktails of a slightly higher standard (and the price tags to match) level of quality than I typically sip. By the time we left the place was a bit more busy. I'm not sure I'd wait around for seats if none were to be had when I arrived, but on off-peak times, definitely a spot to check out.

No Fanfare Hoagie

After a while even the most satisfying of food gets kind of shruggable. That's how I felt about this particular sandwich from Primo's. It had all the things I loved about sandwiches, but I didn't really get all that excited.

Berryville Sunset and Chicken

After my river walk I returned to the house and sat with H. and Dad on the porch for a while. Then H.'s friends M. and P. arrived and also sat outside for some time. I again meandered away and talked with some friends/employees of the farmer, who pointed out that the baby cows (also known as calves) I noted in a pen near the house were all from the same mother. Triplets! This was, according to them, nearly unheard of. I wish that I had managed to get a good photograph, but I didn't. So instead you'll just have to deal with sunset photos.

I think sepia toning many of these images is the right move.
This is not sepia toned. It's just sunset.

This, however, is sepia toned.
Eventually H.'s brother and his wife arrived after a long journey from Athens, Georgia. We ate in the Spanish style. Ie. late. Here is H.'s brother doing an excellent job of carving up a roasted chicken that I had nothing to do with making.
The finished product.
And scene. It was a nice evening full of laughter and stories of muggings and kidnappings and robberies and quick engagements and flights to Kenya and the like. I guess most all of us eventually have them.

Another One

Lunch on the fourth. The valderon, the goat brie, and a raw sheep's milk cheese - the name of which escapes me at the moment - along with more radishes, juicy tomato, cucumbers and jalepeno pickles I bought at a farm stand. Plates like this really are happy-inducing for me. I keep missing the farmer's market in Philly because I'm always somewhere else, or about to be somewhere else, so it seems wrong to buy produce I won't have time to eat. But I'm missing the best eating of the year, and that's beginning to wear on me.

Burger, Story Slam and Pants

That Friday I met up with L. for a little talk time at PYT. I had long heard of PYT and the Piazza at Schmidt's but hadn't ventured into the piazza proper nor PYT, so i t was nice to meet up somewhere new. L. and I often end up getting coffee at Starbucks and then walking or sitting somewhere, which is definitely enjoyable ... but I kind of wanted a beer. So we met up. I ordered the Baby PYT Burgers, which only came cooked medium. I guess this made sense? The waitress explained that because they were so small they cooked really quickly. But using that argument/point, wouldn't it be relatively easy to cook them medium rare? Maybe I'm missing the fine art of burger cooking. Anyways, they were delicious. I didn't so much dig the healthy-ish chips that came in lieu of fries. They have fries. Why chips? The pickle, on the other hand, was to my liking.
After talking a few things out with L. I met up with G. and went to the First Person Arts Story Slam (Philly vs Boston) at the Free Library of Philadelphia. I have long wanted to go to First Person Arts events, as I think that they may be a potential venue for my own penchant for telling stories from my own life, so I was glad to finally make this latent desire a reality. The event started with a guest storyteller who was also one of the judges for the event: Mary Roach. She told a funny story about having sex with her husband while being observed by a doctor. I enjoyed the event. Some storytellers weren't as engaging or compelling as others, but on the whole it was all good.
And then we saw this pair of pants.

Veggie Burger and Veggie Quesadillas c/o Bishop's Collar

On St. Patricks Day my new friend G. came over and we split a Bishop's Collar veggie burger and veggie quesadilla. The burger was astoundingly boring. It lacked any kick or verve, and I didn't have more than a few bites because it felt like such a mushy waste of my belly space. The quesadilla, on the other hand, was well packed with cheese and veggies. The pickle that accompanied the burger was tasty. I didn't share it.

A Meal With No Proof

So at some point in January, I watched I Like Killing Flies on Netflix Insta. Mr. Ass and his family have long praised Shopsins (the subject of the film) as an interesting eating experience, and seeing the movie I finally had a better sense of why that might be. So, when my New York weekend was shaping up, I expressed a firm interest in going there. L. is excellent at humoring me; it's one of the things I like about her. So even though the idea of standing in line for an hour wasn't overly pleasing to her, and she didn't exactly understand why I was so nervous about the whole thing (the restaurant's proprietor is a notorious grump who won't hesitate to kick out a customer if he feels they are rude or overly entitled) L. gamely accompanied me to Essex Street Market for brunch. After a quick tour around the market, which is a pretty nice looking one -- though I actually think Philadelphia's Reading Terminal Market has it beat hands down -- we took our place in line. The thing about the spot is it's small. There are tables for a combined total of about 20 people, and the restaurant has a firm rule that you can be a party of no more than four (which I kind of find funny, because the family that runs it is a family of 6 ... so they wouldn't be served at their own spot). Anyways. The line wasn't too long, but because of the number of tables, the wait was (long). Eventually we were seated. And it turned out we were seated right next to Kenny Shopsin, the top dog and chef of the place. This made me even more nervous. In the end I ordered the poutine with three poached eggs, fried pickles and a horchata. Seriously, look at the menu and try to decide what you would do. My brain almost exploded.

Long story short. I was too intimidated to take photographs, because I wasn't sure if that would be accepted or frowned upon and I didn't want to be thrown out before I had the opportunity to dig in. The pickles were fried as slices, not spears, and were nice and hot. Very dilly. The poutine was a mess of gravy, french fries and cheese. I don't think I really needed three eggs, but that was how it was served (no substitutions or changes are allowed for any menu item) and so that's how it arrived. The horchata was good. L. took a sip and decided she wanted one for herself, but when she asked our server about it, he said she was too late, that she should have asked when she first ordered. L. had a lamb curry sandwich with something magical and weird. The prices are decent for the amount of food you get. I would definitely go back and try any number of things. Though I probably would remain uneasy about documenting the experience.

Brunch c/o Buttermilk Channel

Once L. and Fat T. awoke we had coffee and futzed a bit before L. and I braved the insistent rain to meet up with C. for brunch at Buttermilk Channel. We went early so we wouldn't wait for a place to sit, and that certainly worked to our advantage, but the downside was that alcohol wasn't served til noon. This meant that the Bloody Mary I ordered was sans alcohol, but I didn't really mind. I never do with Bloody Marys, it's the horseradish kick that I'm after. The pickle as garnish was a nice change, and delightfully spicy.
L. ordered the scrambled eggs with spinach, mushrooms and goat cheese. Tasty.
C. and I both ordered the eggs benedict, though they came under a slightly different name. Regardless of their name, the eggs were wonderfully poached, the sauce was nice in both taste and texture, and the ham was good to boot.
It was good to see C. After our meal we stood around under an awning for a bit before going in our separate directions. I had considered meeting up with a few other folks during my visit, but the rain really put a damper on that. Figuratively. And literally.

Burger c/o Village Whiskey

My return to Philadelphia was short, as I headed back out of town for the Thanksgiving holiday. That said, I did manage to get a dinner with L. into my abbreviated week back. We went to Village Whiskey early enough that seating wasn't too terribly hard to get. I already knew that I love their De Rigeur cocktail and didn't want to really explore, so I didn't.
I did try their pickled cherry tomatoes as an exploration and they were like magic crack in jar form. Not as vinegary as I thought they might be, they were just fresh little explosions of surprise in every bite. Now I want to go back and eat them right now, and try their other pickled options.
For my meal there was also very little to decide, as the burger was the name of my game. Though I did go in a different direction with toppings. This time I went with the fried egg and cheddar cheese. This was still a fantastic burger but I actually didn't enjoy the egg element as much as I thought I might. While often I feel disappointed when a fried egg is cooked so its yolk doesn't run at all, in this situation the opposite was true. Simply putting the top of my bun on the burger and gently pressing the meat, tomato, cheese, egg package together led to a mess, and forget about actually picking the sandwich up without getting yolk all over your fingers. This is not a complaint of any sort of epic or grumpy proportion, just that the taste of the egg and cheese with the burger wasn't worth the hassle. Next time I think I'll go back to the mushrooms but maybe add goat cheese.

This was L.'s first visit to the establishment. I worried that I had over hyped the burger and she wouldn't be all that impressed. My worries were unncessary; she was impressed. I threw back a couple of De Rigeurs while L. went with beer and we ended our dinner in good spirits and full bellies. We went on and had one more drink elsewhere but I didn't take photographs to prove it. Thanks to L. for a lovely dinner!

Country Life

When I left Tennessee I broke up the trip in Ohio then drove on to Pennsylvania. I wasn't quite ready to integrate back into an office atmosphere or deal with my cat, roommate, or disaster of a bedroom, so I took M.'s Mom's earlier offer of a place to stay (made back in the summer) in the country outside Bethlehem. I had such a fantastic few days with M. and A. over the summer, that I knew that this was the perfect place for me to regroup. While the house has any number of pleasant rooms, I spent the majority of my time in the kitchen, stoking this wood stove.
I went to a local fancy grocery store and stocked up on non-essentials like mousse paté, Humbodlt fog cheese and cornichons. I also bought a lot of Bordeaux wine. Well, not such copious amounts as to be completely embarassed, but enough that to say 'a little' would be an utter falsehood.


If I could just tend other people's fires for a living, I really and truly would. Seriously. It was this great ever-present task to keep in mind as I went about my work day. This was, of course, made easier by S.'s excellent wood pile and my employer's flexibility with my location. These photographs were taken when I took a little too long to put a new log on top of the old coals...so I had to coax it a bit, which was part of the fun. I like to smell like wood smoke and curl up like a dog at the base of a wood stove. Things to know about me, I guess.