A Peasant Dining Experience

Many months ago word began to spread amongst my girlfriends of a tiny tapas place in Riverside that had really good food and only 7 tables. We all agreed we needed to check it out but found scheduling conflicts perpetually detaining us.

Finally last week I put the word out that Tuesday night would be girls's night out and who was in. Five of the coolest chicks in the city responded that it was a go. And so I made our reservation at 13 Gypsies off Stockton in Riverside.

13 Gypsies is a peasant kitchen specializing in Meditarrean food. The menu features salads, sandwiches and tapas. They also offer really interesting wines.

A tiny bistro with old world decor, I felt like I was invited into a cozy club in someone's home. We all settled in and perused the menu. With half of our group in various stages of pregnancy it fell to myself and another gal to check out the wine list.
After looking at the intriguing tapas options I proposed letting Chef make the decision for us. Everyone was onboard and we advised the server that we would very much appreciate it if Chef would select his six favorite dishes for our dinner that evening.
I had studied the website for this place and read Chef's blog prior to ever coming in. For some odd reason I had it in my head that he was one of those egocentric, cocky chefs that thinks his food is the most amazing thing ever created and most diners are stupid. Well as it turns out he seemed really interested in sending us amazing, thoughtful food and downright shy.
He started us out with the warm artichoke heart salad, a field of greens with poached chick peas in a spicy dressing. He also sent out the risotto of the day. This was a pancetta and parmesan dream. I've never enjoyed risotto this good. The arborio rice was perfectly al dente and creamy perfect. It was the hands down favorite of the table. We also had the garlic honey hummus. This was a smooth homemade hummus with a swirl of not overly sweet honey over it. It was also delicious. The bruschetta for the day was completely non-traditional. It was a white bean and pork puree served with crostini. Really tasty combination. The final two dishes were the coconut curry mango chicken and shrimp piri piri. The curry was a mildly spicy sauce with chunks of chicken and raisins. Finally, the shrimp were in a spicy portuguese ginger-lemon sauce. These were absolutely delicious.
What was so endearing is I could see Chef come into the dining room and talk to his usual diners, friends and servers. He seemed to be observing our table of boisterous girl eaters to ensure we were enjoying it. Every dish he sent out was thoughtfully presented with enough for everyone to have a fair share. We didn't disappoint and every dish went back cleaned off.
We were given the option for dessert and selected all of it, naturally! There was flan, bread pudding and tres leches cake. Now I've seen tres leches cake and maybe even tasted it somewhere. I'm telling you now that nothing compares to 13 G's tres leches cake. It is creamy, moist and delicious. We actually ordered a second one for the table because we couldn't quite get enough.
It was great fun to be out at the coolest, tiniest and maybe most unique dining establishments in the city. I was with girls I count myself fortunate to know. We talked about ambition, work, travel and love of great food. Opportunities like this don't come around often. Women lead lives of constant motion. Women work, support families emotionally and financially, and dream of things that will be accomplished. My girlfriends are smart, sexy, professionals and getting together with them at a place like 13 G's makes my life much richer for it.

It's the small things

After what seems like several weeks where my mind is caught up in a vortex of confusion over work and personal stresses, I decided to finish off my weekend with something that would be comforting and indulging. I purchased a fresh baguette from the Riverside Arts and Farmer's Market on Saturday morning from JC's Heavenly Breads. I also bought an almond croissant which he generously gave me a second one of. Unfortunately they were burnt on the outside and pretty much inedible. Thank goodness the baguette was in good shape! On to the Fresh Market where I inspected the decadent cheese case. A tiny round of fresh chevre was perfect for the evening I was quickly putting together. I had some caramelized onions at home that were beckoning as well.
I truly love the Fresh Market off Atlantic Blvd. because it always seems as though they have a wine vendor there with tastings. I selected a dry California white by Menage a Trois.
Once I made it home I chilled my wine prior to pouring myself a glass. I sliced my baguette, spread a layer of creamy goat cheese on and a spoonful of the caramelized onions. All of this went under the broiler for less than a minute.
Sitting on the couch with a great book, a simply elegant homemade appetizer and a crisp glass of wine felt completely decadent. When funds get tight or you don't feel like getting dressed up to go out- treat yourself in. Who says it has to be TV dinners or ramen noodles? Splurge at home!

Vegetarian-ish

Ever since I was a teenager- we're talking many years ago- I identified myself as a vegetarian. It wasn't because I had an unabashed love for animals or became disgusted at the sight of raw chicken. I was healthy, thin and smart and I intended to stay that way. I saw swearing off meat as a way to be healthy. No meat=less carbs, right? Well not exactly. I went thru various stages including no meat, easing back in fish and chicken, then easing chicken back out. I could never give up dairy products. Oh delightfully pungent scent of Camembert- I will never forsake you! As I got older and cooked more I would prepare carnivorous dishes for friends or family and simply eat around the protein.
So a few weeks ago I went to visit my brother in Montana, "the land of the effortlessly cool" as he calls it. I've been to the trendy parts of California where sprouts are vogue and everyone is just getting back from a beach run. I've walked around South Beach and ogled the lithe bodies that subsist on skinny girl margaritas and nicotine. But I was unprepared for this Midwestern eating experience. The people are real. They genuinely want to get to know visitors and share what they have. And most exciting of all- everyone loved to eat. So as it turns out almost everyone hunts for their protein. There's no going to a grocery store and buying an anonymous, cellophane wrapped piece of cow. These people go out every year and hunt for game. In both households I was invited into, the folks had taken down an entire elk, dressed it into usable parts and put it in the family freezer. So when thinking about dinner tomorrow the cook of the house goes and pulls out that elk loin to smoke with juniper berries and rosemary. Now this presented quite a dilemma for me. I was graciously invited into people's homes that wanted to prepare a delicious, local meal for me. I'll be damned if I would insult them or insist on a "meat-free" dish.
And so I ended up eating fantastic elk sausage stuffed cabbage rolls. Lucky for me that meal ended with an amazing homemade apple pastry with caramel sauce. That dinner involved an exciting conversation about the many varieties of salt. We concluded with an improptu grinding of a coarse variety to get just the right grain for tasting.
Another delicious meal consisted of a vegetable and ground elk lasagna. I sat around that table with my family and friends aged 2 to 42 and scraped my plate clean. There was a killer local beer to go with that dinner. This experience provoked a fantastic conversation around religion for kids and what responsibility parents had to teach them.
All this exotic meat eating led me to question my own commitment to animal free meals. Why did I still abstain from the beast? I realized that I avoid most meat now because I don't trust where it comes from. I can't fathom the conditions the "products" are produced in at the factories. Not only do I believe that evil, unhealthy things are circulating in the food source in the way of bacteria and disease, but the bad energy that these poor creatures have been imbued with should not be passed on to humans at consumption. And so I found that eating an animal that had been killed in a humane manner, broken down at the source and brought back for a family to use for nourishment made a lot of sense. The hunter knew that this animal lived off the land. The mighty elk wasn't pumped full of chemicals to bulk up too quickly. Ultimately I respected this way of providing for one's family.
And now I'm back in Florida. It's back to smoked tofu stroganoff and tempeh reubens. I still can't bring myself to order a steak. Perhaps someday soon I'll pack my bags and move to the mountains. Then I'll buy a bow and arrow, hike up into the mountains and see if I have what it takes to be a real foodie. Until then, I'll just eat around it.

One of my favorite Saturday activites

Now that I have the freedom to do what I please on the weekends, I have become a regular at my local Beaches Farmer's Market. It is open every Saturday from 2pm-5pm next to Jarboe Park on A1A in Neptune Beach. It's a very small little market with a lot of heart. The gal that started it took great pains to invite the local farmers that grow their food naturally or organically. There's typically less than six actual food booths but they have beautiful, fresh produce.

A couple weeks ago when it was drizzly, gray and miserable to be outside, I made a decision to go out and support my farmers. I stepped under one of the white tents to meet a farmer that introduced himself as Francisco. He is talkative, lively and turns out he has a farm out in a rural suburb of Jacksonville called Switzerland. I had bought some amazing citrus from him in the recent past. I asked him what he had today and he showed me what I've put in the picture above. It's called romanesco. It's very similar to cauliflower but milder. It can be eaten raw or steamed. He only grows it once per year. It's a fantastic lime green color and reminds me of a spiky cauliflower pine cone. This is one of my favorite things about local markets. Do most people have any idea how many varieties of vegetables are out there? How many people know that carrots come in colors besides orange? Do people know there are thousands of potato varieties? This is one of the reasons I love local markets. They are reviving- or helping to survive- heirloom and unusual foods.

So back to the romanesco. I purchased it to experiment with. It was a little sandy so I cut into the lovely pyramid shape and soaked it in cold water to let the grit fall to the bottom of the sink. It was delicious raw. I tried to make a penne pasta dish by steaming it and tossing it with some sun dried tomatoes and onions, but it didn't really come together. Next year I'll try it again though.

Last week I stopped by for my shopping and was looking over the bounty of another farmer when he handed me a spinach leaf and told me I had to taste it. Just picked that morning, it was sweet and crunchy. I bought a bag of it and went back today to look for more. I sauteed the last bunch with some olive oil, garlic and lemon juice. It was simple and absolutely great.

I'm proud of my community for putting so much effort into growing food right here. I love knowing that it wasn't accosted by pesticides, picked weeks ago and trucked across the country before it got to my plate. It makes me happy to see the people that are contributing to a better way of eating. I hope that more of my neighbors will learn to appreciate how important it is to spend your grocery money wisely by supporting our local farmers. I'll be spreading the word every chance I get.

Lunch for One

I normally work Monday through Friday these days. So when I had the chance to take a mid-week day off I decided to splurge and treat myself to a good lunch. After spending entirely too long hunting the largest thrift shop in town for interesting finds (and clothes that made me laugh out loud) it was past the usual lunch hour. I have been wanting to try a tiny tapas bistro in the Riverside area that promises a unique Spanish style tapas experience for Jacksonville. I walked in 15 minutes prior to close to see if it was too late. The gal greeting me cheerfully informed me the kitchen would close in 4 minutes. I decided to come back another time when they wouldn't feel compelled to count down the minutes till they could turn off the burners. I'll give it another shot another day because it does look extraordinarily quaint.
My next choice took me to Taverna in San Marco. Formerly Cafe Carmon held this location which retains the warm low lighting, interesting art on the wall and white linens. I opted to sit outside facing San Marco on the covered patio. I realize there's a certain stigma associated with eating alone. It seems most people, especially women, will avoid it at any cost. Personally I enjoy it periodically. I like to pretend I have my own mysterious story for being solo. It's a time to reflect quietly, savor my own company, indulge in a good book while eating something especially good. A really good drink is essential to eating alone. I started this lunch with an Italian red wine. My server, Felipe, recommended a glass of Forte Canto Negroamaro Salento Rosso. I'm definitely no wine connoisseur, but it was delicious. He also brought a plate of warm, crusty bread with olive oil for dipping. The specials were duck confit wood-fired pizza or caprese salad.
Now I'm a sucker for all types of cheese. The caprese salad was comprised of the in-house made mozzarella cheese so I had to try it. I also ordered the gambas al ajillo which on the menu is described as prawns with garlic and chili. Maybe I should have asked Felipe about that before I ordered it.
The caprese salad came on a long, narrow platter with little towers of the homemade mozzarella, tomato, basil leaves and a heavenly balsamic reduction and olive oil drizzle. Chef had also sprinkled some coarse salt over the dish which enhanced the flavor of the almost bland tomato. The "prawns" came in a tapas size cast iron skillet on a bed of chili oil with slivers of garlic. They were definitely shrimp- not monster size prawns- and they were a little soft. The shrimp were a little oily but the slight heat from the garlic and chili flakes was good. I would definitely try a different tapas plate next time like the herbed ricotta with fig compote and grilled peasant bread or a wood-fired pizza.
Felipe brought me a dessert menu and I told him I wasn't interested until I saw the chocolate torte. Another highlight of eating alone is splurging. Nobody can judge you and your server always encourages you to try something. It's pretty fun. So I ordered the chocolate torte with whipped mascarpone cheese, caramel and candied pistachios. It was spectacular. The small chocolate torte was creamy and rich. The pistachios were candied, crushed and a little salty. A delicious complement to the honey caramel that lined the torte. The plate was visually alluring with the pure, whipped mascarpone next to the dark chocolate and a swirl of golden caramel. A delightful dessert experience.
This day I was reading a book about a woman that lives a nomadic, single life after an ugly divorce. It's a true story and she inspires me with her sense of adventure and unquenchable drive to travel and learn new cultures. While I savored my lunch for one I imagined the adventures I will be creating in my future. I realized today I'm fortunate to be in a loving relationship where my partner supports my desire to go to faraway places. He understands that there are more grandiose reasons to eat a meal these days. To enjoy food and ingredients means my soul can be nourished.

Take time to stop and smell the falafel.

For what seems like many years now I have driven down Mayport Road going to or coming from the beach. I've always glanced over to make sure the lights are still on and the blue and white flags are still waving in the wind at Nick the Greek.

This tiny corner restaurant is a walk-up window where you place your order to go. The traditional greek lettering spells out 'Nick the Greek' and there is an awning proclaiming numerous greek delights- souvlaki, hummus, falafel, gyro, baklava. It's on the edge of a sketchy looking neighborhood in the tired part of Mayport Rd and his signs all look home-made. Maybe that's why I've been kicking myself every time I drive by and don't stop. Could home-made signs mean truly homemade greek food?

Today, again, I passed Nick the Greek and stared a little too long at the waving pendants. His sidewalk chalkboard was out ready to draw me in. I made a snap judgment to pull a u-turn and give it a try. It was a blustery day when I parked and stood in front of the order window. A kind lady slid open the glass and before she could hand me a menu I said, a bit too excitedly, "I'd like to order the falafel". She smiled, handed me a list of greek delights on a take-out menu and said she'd be happy to take my order. Then she asks if I'd like to also try something sweet like the homemade NY style cheesecake or baklava. "I'd better try the cheesecake" I tell her. She tells me how much I'm going to love it. Behind her is a man working the tiny cooking space she's relaying my order to. He turns to greet me as well. I ask them if everything is made right there on the spot. "Oh yes, this is Nick" she says, pointing to the guy cooking. He tells me in his wonderful accent that he makes everything right where I'm peering into, except the baking he does next door. I tell him how many times I've passed by and always meant to stop. "This is your first time?", Nick asks me. I tell him it is. And then Nick wins me over. He pinches his fingers together, brings them to his lips, makes a fantastic MUAH smacking sound and tells me it is so delicious I'll be back again soon. His assistant is smiling. She's been won over by the passion he has for his food, too.

My ride home with a small brown bag on my floor board has never taken so long. I'm hungry, my adrenaline is pumping. I can't wait to see if it's as fantastic as he thinks it is. I'm pretty sure it will be, though.

When I finally arrive home I open the foil and find my falafel wrap. For just a moment I absorb the beauty of what Nick created for me. Wrapped in a warm, soft, chewy pita is my falafel. It is topped with shredded lettuce, tomato, cucumber and tzatziki sauce. I can tell he was generous with that creamy wonder of a spread because it's lingering just on the edges of the wrap ready to fall off onto my fingertips. The taste of ground chickpeas and enough garlic to keep away my dearest friends is balanced with the cool cucumber. I'm pretty sure I licked the drops of sauce off the wrapper when I was done. This was definitely a falafel wrap composed by someone who takes pride in his creations.

My dining epiphany is simple this time. My mom told me not to judge a book by it's cover. While it would be easy to judge the odd little walk up counter that is Nick the Greek, my community would be doing itself a huge disservice not to share in the passion that Nick puts out of that window in the form of his greek specialties. Nick was right- I will be back. Maybe next time he'll share a little more of the magic with me.

Where I'm coming from

Almost as long as I can remember food and eating have been important to me. When I was five years old my parents had an Italian restaurant. I would play dolls downstairs in the kitchen with my sister while savoring the aromas of a simmering red sauce. When I grew up a little bit I would sit with my great-grandmother before she died. I'm embarrassed to admit I don't remember much about my Baba, but I do remember being allowed to make her simple meal of steamed carrots, celery and potatoes with some melted butter. I remember the first time I made scrambled eggs as a kid. My sister and I wanted to surprise our mom with breakfast. It didn't matter that it had tiny fragments of paper thin egg shell for a little extra crunch. We had cooked!
With a narrow part of my DNA coming from my Sicilian grandfather, I was destined to be passionate about something. Food seems so natural. I grew up around passionate Italians. I'm not talking Sopranos-esque Italian American. I'm talking american italian where family gatherings are loud and full of energy. We ate, we joked, we laughed. There were always family vacations where 20 of us would go into a restaurant and ask for a table all together. Before dinner was over the servers were guessing which kids belong to which parent for fun. Through it all ran a common love of eating good food and the bond it created.
So I've tried to refine this passion for food I have. I've nurtured it by creating my own recipes and experimenting in the kitchen. I walk the aisles of gourmet markets like most girls shop department stores. We touch everything, imagine how we can fit it into our repertoire and then justify the cost after the credit card comes out.
What really lights my fire, though, is a perfect meal out. I absorb menus for the titillating effect reading plate descriptions causes in me. I savor the delivery from the server and then sit back to critique what art has been laid before me. Then- and only then- I eat.
All of this to share with you my great passion for eating amazing food. I want to know where my food is coming from and what's been done to it. I want to share with you the epiphanies I experience at the hands of passionate chefs and cooks.