American
Food porn of the day: Ten Tables Cambridge
I had some photos knocking around on my ever-trendy (and broken) Macbook, unshared, so here they are – the remnants of a meal from several months ago at Ten Tables, on the fringes of Harvard Square. I already posted the dessert portion – chocolate terrine with thai basil ice cream – which was my favorite course of the night. It combined the silkiness and unexpected flavor of the ice cream with the edifying crunch of sea salt sprinkled on the terrine. I found the grilled octopus too heavy on the vinegar, but the housemade sausages were juicily gratifying. I didn’t see stars (after all, this post is coming way too late), but was glad I gave it a try.
Find it!
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5 Craigie Circle
Cambridge, MA 02138
(617) 576-5444
What does America taste like? [Burger King $1 Jr. Whopper]
I used to lust after the compartmentalization and brutal efficiency of a fast food meal. I’d calculate a kind of formula to maximize my pleasure in consuming a set meal: this had more sides than that, this had chicken (which I really liked), extra points for apple turnovers or coleslaw. There was a certain American-ness still foreign to my childhood that placed fast food in a special nook of my heart. Especially when my parents would always pick the closest Panda Express over a Wendy’s.
Now that I have complete control over where I dine out, I usually would opt for something cool and ethnic, or if I’m going to burgers, it’d be cult-hit family joint adored by the Yelping masses. But I saw the Burger King by Fenway on Bolyston Street was doing $1 Junior Whoppers, so I knew that I couldn’t resist a low risk, high return on feeling American.
It came wrapped in wax paper and placed in a printed brown paper bag. The roll was slightly sweet and soft, yielding to iceberg lettuce crunch, a tangy bite of pickle, and thin patty that played second fiddle to its toppings. The ketchup/mayo flavor was key in maximizing the pretty unremarkable ingredients, including a pale, anemic tomato slice.
Amazingly, they added up to more than the sum of its parts. One flavor never overpowered the other, and I happily finished the last bite in a Whopper-induced haze. Not bad for one dollar.
unhinged.
Charlie’s Kitchen, Quincy DHall, Cambridge Snow
Listen up, young Padawans: if you want free food, you gotta have game. And by game, I mean some really clever A-game up your Juicy Couture sleeve. There are a couple of ways, but I’ll reveal one way to get meals for next to nothing (and it doesn’t even involve standing on a street corner).
Check out Restaurant.com, where you can buy gift certificates to places for less than face value, plus usually a bunch of minimum purchase strings attached. Still, it saves you a good amount.
That’s how I ended up at this Harvard Square institution known as Charlie’s Kitchen – known for their burgers and ungodly combinations of seafood slathered in oozing cheese. Anyway, here are some pics, plus a few extra on my camera for good measure.
By the way, I am GOING TO ICELAND next week! I am looking forward to eating hakarl, their national dish of rotten shark. And puffin.
Oh dedicated readers of my blog, I promise you pictures of the aurora borealis (hopefully), geothermal springs, and whatever culinary adventures I go on. I hope I will not become extremely depressed from the 2 hours of sunlight a day.
And the reportedly ammonia aftertaste of rotten shark.
Be-tee-dubs, I edited the Iceland chapter of Let’s Go: Europe 2009, so it will be hilarious finally pronouncing those crazy Icelandic names to Icelandic people and having them laugh at me. Cross cultural exchanges!
Charlie's Kitchen, sort of like a divier version of your traditional neighborhood diner. They play too-loud indie rock music and the condiments come in a cardboard six pack container on each table, which looks, at first and second glance, a lot like they left a pile of trash and forgot to clean it up. Would be an attractive option if inebriated, or want to skip the pseudo-good-for-you-ness of B.Good and just want an unapologetically greasy plate of food.
Charlie's Kitchen: I thought I had ordered a platter of cheesy lobster goodness, but it turned out to be a more mild lobster salad stuffed with shredded iceberg into hot dog rolls, served up with decent fries. Not too much flavor to be found here, but hey, it's free lobster...?
Charlie's Kitchen: A Guinness-soaked double cheeseburger for my devoutly sober, Catholic friend. "It gives it an interesting taste," he said. I couldn't really detect much of a difference, and definitely no beer flavor, although I only had a tiny bite and made off with a bunch of his french fries.
Charlie's Kitchen: A salmon salad, fish a bit overcooked, mostly to assuage my guilt about sharing a lobster roll with my friend. Look, green things!
I love Crema Cafe's quiche... a light-as-air leek quiche, with creamy bits of goat cheese embedded.
An unfortunate thing that I witnessed being eaten. That's onion dip on wonderbread.
Snoow!
Walking out of Mather House.
Excess, Delicious Excess: 5 Course Meal at Crabtree’s Kittle House Inn, Chappaqua, NY
I arrive a half-hour early for my interview with Glenn Vogt, who manages Crabtree’s Kittle House Inn, a high end restaurant in Chappaqua. (Bill Clinton and his family dine here on a regular basis, including this past Christmas. His secret service team usually stands in the lobby, but this Christmas, they dined along the Clintons.)
Glenn arrives at the bar as I was taking some notes in my moleskine on the decor. He is tall and gray haired, one of those rare people who immediately puts you at ease, so much so that you forget this very fact. He has that rare brand of immediate affability and unassuming friendliness that condenses the usual ten minutes of finding a conversational rhythm into no time at all. I reveal my secret ambition to try lamb brains, and he tells me about an old dish involving eating the brains of a live, restrained monkey. He shares a story about alcohol infused with cobra snake. After asking him the usual questions about local foods, I ask if I can have a tour of their famed wine cellar, rated as one of the best in the world. “I was going to suggest it,” he says, and leads me downstairs, through the banquet hall and unlocks a glass door. (Along the way, he says he doesn’t believe in reading online reviews from diners. He is oblivious to Yelp.com. When I tell him the reviews are good, he is congenially indifferent.)
It’s kept at a chilly 50 F. I hug my bare arms as he leads me through wines arranged by region and grape. He points out wines from Alsace, the Rhone, wines from Spain, Australia, and California. The entire cellar is maybe the size of two master bedrooms. And then there’s the famous wine rack, full of bottles signed by their makers.
In the middle is the holy grail of wine: a bottle of 1988 Romanée Conti, in a black glass container perhaps the side of a toddler.
“One guy offered us 75 thousand for that,” he says, with a bit of a laugh. It’s not for sale. “There are only five bottles in the entire world. This is number 4,” he says, pointing to a serial number on the label.
All the wines are arranged in wooden partitions, each labeled with a number. They have a computer program to locate wines, thankfully, since the wine list is the size of two phonebooks. He points out a few more bottles of Romanée Conti. 1990 was an even better year – he approximates the price of this normal size bottle of wine, perhaps 4 glasses, at $5,000.
We chat a bit about restaurant reviewing. He’s also read former NY Times restaurant reviewer Ruth Reichl‘s biographies (“Tender at the Bone!” he exclaims, laughing again) and remarks that she was very generous in her reviews. We debate her double review of Le Cirque, one incognito, the other as herself. He’s met Gael Greene, former critic for New York magazine, and notes one time she dined at a restaurant he was working for with the manager from a competing establishment.
He used to be a wine purveyor, and he tells me about his trips across the world in search of great wines – a good Pinot Grigio was in particularly high demand. Now, Kittle House Inn focuses on buying from winemakers around the world who really know their product, their grape, and who are environmentally conscious.
After escaping the chilly wine cellar, I end up staying for dinner and inviting my long-suffering father along. My mom had already gone home and turned down the offer.
I could not have anticipated what happened next.
Glenn hands us the menus. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you try what you should,” he tells us. I pick out two appetizers and a salad that uses local eggs and greens. My dad picks out the Chilean sea bass.
We sit back. The food arrives, and arrives, and arrives, and arrives. We stay for over two hours.
FIRST COURSE
After he puts down our dishes, “I don’t know if Ruth included this in the review of Le Cirque or not,” Glenn muses, “but…”
I know exactly what he referring to – the line in the review that goes, “The King of Spain is waiting in the bar, but your table is ready.”
Oysters on the half shell, with salt and pepper granite, beet and horseradish, and tabasco jelly accompaniments
Really nice oysters, very fresh.
Seared sashimi and spicy tartare of yellowfin tuna, served in a block of sea salt
The tuna tartare and sashimi are presented on a block pink sea salt, which they take and shave down after each presentation. Those are taro chips and a lovely citrus salsa on the size.
SECOND COURSE
“We’re calling this the pork course,” Glenn says, putting down the pork belly in front of my dad and the salad I ordered in front of me. He helps me figure out to construct the salad.
“We’re feeding you a lot of food, so don’t feel like you have to eat it all,” he adds as he leaves.
Bacon and egg, baby arugula and fresh herbs, panko cursted farm egg and prosciutto
The idea here was that you’re supposed to cut the egg open, which oozes warm, yellow yoke into the avocado underneath. Then you mix it all into the salad with the lemon dressing and it makes a kind of super dressing. I’m still not really sure that the freshness and locally produced egg makes all that much of a difference – it was a fine egg, to be sure.
Braised Hudson Valley Berkshire pork belly, anjou pear puree, caramelized onions
My first time having proper pork belly – the top is deliciously crisped, the meat on the bottom falls into hefty strips, moist with fat. I particularly like the pear puree, which had a silky, unplaceable sweetness.
THIRD COURSE
The pasta course.
Not on the menu - braised oxtail and handmade pasta, if I recall correctly
Potato parmesan gnocchi, oven dried cherry tomatoes, nicoise olives, pea shoots
Superb gnocchi, your teeth bite into it and it just slides right through the velvety smooth texture. The thing with gnocchi, a potato pasta, is that you have to get the proportion of ingredients just right – too much potato and it falls apart, too much flour and it’s hard to chew.
FOURTH COURSE
Trio of Hudson Valley Foie gras, three ways: torchon of vanilla scented pear, brulee and green apple, brochette and grilled stone fruit
Oh my god, how do I even explain this… For the uninitiated, foie gras is made by force feeding a duck or goose until its liver becomes engorged. So it’s essentially a big of hunk of decadent, PETA-hated fat.
At the bottom right, we have the brochette (skewer) of foie gras. It comes a delicate, slippery, and piping hot. When you put it in your mouth, it immediately melts and commands every last taste bud’s attention: umistakeabley fatty, rich, and mouth-filling flavor.
The creme brulee was also made with foie gras, lending it the same, though muted, flavor, suspended in a creamy texture with a burnt sugar crust. The torchon (foie gras poached in a towel, then refrigerated) had the hardness of swiss cheese, and was incredible on the bread with the pear – a complexity of pleasure.
I found it impossible to eat the creme brulee and torchon purely on their own, however. The flavor was just too strong.
Chilean sea bass, roasted pumpkin, spaghetti squash, bacon apple cider sauce
A perfectly cooked fish, with a nice brown on top. The pumpkin was great.
DESSERT
The waitress brought us dessert menus. I was hideously full by this time. Glenn comes over and asks us what we want, or should he surprise us? I decide on surprise. I figure he’ll choose two signature desserts.
Lo and behold, the grand finale is a sampling of four their most popular desserts. My dad and I look at each other in shock. And awe.
Warm valrhona chocolate ‘gift’, crème anglaise
Their signature dessert, open it up and out pours a lava of valrhona chocolate. We packed it up and brought it home to mom. (I am actually not the biggest fan of chocolate. I am a vanilla girl.)
Pecan pie, caramel sauce, crème chantilly
A dense, rich pecan pie, on their menu since the early 80′s.
Classic crème brûlee
A nice version of this classic – a lighter flavor in the creme, which I liked.
Alsatian style cheesecake
My favorite of the bunch! A truly outstanding cheesecake, the best I’ve ever had, with an airy, creamy texture, and lighter flavor. The sauce was an incredible accompaniment. What every cheesecake should aspire to.
And that, my friends, that is how one winter afternoon somehow morphed into a magical culinary journey. My father and I walked out of there, dazed, full, and deeply at ease with the world.
