Writing With My Mouth Full

Tsuki

1410 First Avenue between 74th and 75th Streets
212/517.6860
$105 for two, with drinks, with tip
♥ ♥

I have to be honest with you here: I’m not one hundred per cent sure I was at Tsuki. I’m pretty sure it was Tsuki because it’s one of the restaurants I have noted on my iPhone, but I have so many pending reviews I think I might have some of them mixed up. It wasn’t that the food was forgettable–as far as omakase sushi goes that won’t break the bank, the selection was pretty fresh and pretty good. There was nothing stunning about the interior because there was hardly any decor, and really, only this photo survived that night:

I’m a little embarrassed that I’m showing my age here, but I’ve racked my brain and I still can’t confirm that it’s Tsuki I’m supposed to be reviewing. Help me out and I’ll edit later, but let me continue and tell you about the place anyway.

We walked in around 930pm on a weeknight. Everyone else decided to stay indoors because it was cold out, but we were hungry after attending a retail store party with free sparkling wine. There were already two couples and a single diner sitting at the short bar, and because we always prefer to sit by the chef, we waited for our turn to sit there. Everyone left at the same time and we were able to move after only ten minutes. For the rest of the night, there were only three people with us inside: the chef, who also doubled as the dishwasher; the waitress, who could have been the chef’s wife and who also answered the phone; and a white guy in chef’s whites who returned from a food delivery but settled behind the bar after he had removed his coat.

It certainly looked like a family business with, perhaps, the white guy as an apprentice, but they seemed like they needed an extra hand or two to make things run smoothly. We ordered our sushi piece by piece from the chef because he looked like he couldn’t handle more than two orders at once. He fulfilled orders that were called in and he ran back and forth from the kitchen to get clean serving plates. Meanwhile, the waitress picked up the phone, cleared the tables and packed deliveries while also refilling our water glasses.

It took us two hours to go through a dozen sushi pieces each but we killed time by drinking Sapporo and cold sake. Although some of them fell apart while I tried to eat them, the restaurant had a varied selection that included hokigai, or red clam. The mackerel was great and the uni was fresh. After a while, eating there felt like we were in the Japanese couple’s dining room: we waited to be served; they waited for our feedback. We spoke in hushed tones and bowed every time plates were exchanged. We were comfortable and an inconvenience at the same time, staying after every guest had already left. I’m not sure if the frail couple reminded me of my parents but I felt very melancholy the whole time I was there; watching them work so hard to keep the night, and their business, alive. Sadness and sushi don’t make a good combination and maybe that’s why I’ve blocked the restaurant name out of my head.

Tuna Sandwich

Call it pan-bagnat or Niçoise salad in a bun–I’m calling it a tuna sandwich.

The weather turned over the weekend and we scrambled for last-minute plans on Saturday morning. I woke the Dr. from a deep slumber to see if he wanted to get out of the city and hike. He wasn’t very happy when I found out that the last available Zip Car was parked in the garage five blocks from my apartment. He was grumbling when I fed him congee with preserved duck egg for breakfast; he was still grumbling when he drove almost an hour up to Cold Spring; and I swear he was still grumbling as we struggled up big rocks on Breakneck Ridge.

I had prepared these tuna sandwiches while waiting for him to pick me up. He was expecting a packed lunch in return after being disturbed from his otherwise uneventful Saturday, but I don’t think he knew he was going to get a very good one. I was glad when he couldn’t stop complimenting me about them. They not only woke him up; he didn’t mind having someone push him into having a good weekend after that.

Ingredients:
1 can of good tuna in olive oil
3 bread rolls, halved
2 eggs, hard-boiled, sliced
1 tomato, sliced
several pieces of olives, pitted
1 small red onion, sliced
a handful of maché or arugula

For the dressing:
2 anchovy fillets, minced
2 garlic cloves, minced
1 tsp red wine vinegar
1/2 tsp Dijon mustard
oil, salt, pepper

1. In a small bowl, mix together the dressing ingredients except for the oil. Slowly drizzle in oil, whisking constantly.
2. Spread some of the dressing on one half of the bread. Top with tomato and onion slices, then with tuna, olives, greens and egg slices. Drizzle the remaining dressing. Cover with second bread half and firmly press sandwich together.
3. Wrap sandwich tightly in foil, waxed paper or plastic wrap, then place in a plastic bag. Put sandwich under a weight such as a heavy book. Unwrap, slice and serve immediately.

Keens Steakhouse

72 West 36th Street between Fifth and Sixth Avenues
212/947.3636
$130 for two, with drinks, with tip
♥ ♥ ♥

To celebrate my getting a new job during these harsh economic times, the Dr. took me to Keens Steakhouse for their legendary mutton chops. I think I might have to keep him around for a while.

The meat from a sheep less than twelve months old is called lamb, and as we all know, is usually tender and mild in flavor. The meat from an older sheep is called mutton, and for reasons I can’t find on the Web, is not as popular on New York City menus as lamb. Someone please explain why I can’t enjoy mutton much more often! We ordered it medium-rare and it was perfectly bloody and hefty. Keens wouldn’t be the only Herald Square Theater District survivor today if they haven’t been this consistent since 1885.

For lack of better wording, mutton is more manly. I felt stronger and more carnivorous when I was eating it even though we were sharing one $45 chop. There is no lack of male reminders at Keens–the collection of churchwarden pipes from old customers cover the ceiling, from Teddy Roosevelt’s to General Douglas MacArthur’s. Walking in, you’d think you’ve entered a museum rather than a restaurant. If it wasn’t for Lillie Langtry, actress and paramour of King Edward of England, taking Keens to court in 1905 for having denied her access to its gentlemen-only premises, it will still be a rendezvous of the men’s club today. She won her case, swept into Keens in her feathered boa and ordered like a man.

Where to eat in Big Sur, California: Deetjens Big Sur Inn

I imagined the healthy and organic produce we will be eating while in Big Sur when I was planning our trip there a week before I started my new job. I knew it was against the ocean and very far from Berkeley, but I didn’t predict a shortage of fresh vegetables and good home cooking. I’m still not sure of what I was imagining Big Sur food to be like, but I really thought it would lean towards the hippie and the more natural. In fact, we had a difficult time finding anything agreeable to eat during our two-night stay in Big Sur.

We drove 45 minutes away from our lodging and we must have stopped at all the restaurants up north short of Carmel. We walked in a few of them and checked out the menus but nothing was worth spending more than $20, much less sitting for more than an hour when we had to drive back on a dark winding road along the coast.

We had driven by Deetjen’s on our way up and I reminded the Dr. of it before we gave up our search for a nice dinner. It was nestled among tall redwoods and looked as charming and cozy as it probably did back in the 1930s. We walked in squinting to adjust our vision because low lights barely illuminated the wooden space. The maitre d’ tsktsked at us when we told him we didn’t have reservations, but he quickly seated us in the Bar Room anyway.

Our waitress told us that the soup special of the night was made of chanterelle mushrooms. I excitedly ordered a bowl of it thinking we had finally found organic Big Sur home-cooking. Unfortunately, I only tasted a mild shiitake flavor in the soup. A few minutes later, when the same waitress recited the specials to the next guests, we overheard her say shiitake soup, not chanterelles. She probably couldn’t correct herself after she saw our reaction to the mere mention of chanterelles, but I wouldn’t have ordered a $10 bowl if she had.

The frisée salad with poached egg fared much better and so did the cumin-crusted lamb chops and the seafood paella. Those three dishes made me less sour; a bottle of 2005 Fiddlehead Pinot Noir also helped put me in a better mood. I realized later that getting produce to that part of the coast was difficult and that alone added to the price of the food, but there’s no reason to break a girl’s heart by mistaking chanterelles from shiitake.

Helmuth Deetjen (pronounced dÄtâ€²yÄ•n), a Norwegian who settled in Big Sur before it became the hot spot of Old Hollywood trysts for its seclusion and privacy, bought several acres of land in Castro Canyon with his wife Helen in the 1930s. The couple welcomed intrepid travelers to their barn and built more rooms as the years passed. After their deaths, the Inn was added on the National Register of Historic Places by the U.S. Department of the Interior, and today is operated on a non-profit basis by the Deetjens Big Sur Inn Preservation Foundation.

Deetjens Big Sur Inn is located on the Big Sur Coast of California, between San Luis Obispo and Monterey, off of Highway 1 and just 30 miles south of Carmel. It’s 300 miles north of Los Angeles and 150 miles south of San Francisco. The sign in front of Deetjens reads Big Sur Inn.

Carrot Top Soup

The last bunch of carrots I bought from the market came with very fresh tops. Usually, they’re too wet and limp from over-spritzing, but this time I couldn’t just chop and throw them away.

I remember a time when I was growing up in Manila and cooking. My Uncle Tony was quietly watching me slice some tomatoes. I sliced off the top, where the stem was, and then the bottom and discarded those parts. He asked me if they had gone bad and I said no. Why did you throw them out then? he retorted. Why did I throw them out? I think just because they were “ends”. From that day on, I have used an entire tomato as long as no part of it was too bruised to eat. I also string fresh beans diligently to avoid just chopping off the ends and wasting some flesh and I roast Brussels sprouts whole to keep all the leaves intact, leaving guests to remove the hard ends themselves while eating.

Eat the tops with the carrot and you won’t just get your dose of beta carotene: carrot tops are a great source of chlorophyll that contain cleansing properties to purify the blood, lymph nodes and adrenal glands and in turn clear tumors from our bodies. See? There was always a good reason why Bugs Bunny ate the entire thing.

Ingredients:
1 bunch of carrots, including the green tops, chopped
1/2 cup cooked rice
3 cups chicken stock or vegetable stock
a few sprigs of thyme
1 small red onion, chopped
2 garlic cloves, crushed
oil, salt, pepper

1. In a small saucepan, heat some oil and sauté garlic until brown and onions until soft. Add the carrots and cook for about 5 minutes. Add the carrot tops with the thyme and cook until tops are wilted. Season with salt and pepper.
2. Add stock and let simmer, halfway covered, for up to 20 minutes or until carrots are tender. During the last 3 minutes, stir in cooked rice. Adjust taste with a few more sprinkles of salt and pepper.