Rendangit!

There are times when I need a break from my constant diet of pork fat and beer. Times when I think, maybe cookies are a sometimes food.

Usually, I wash my deep-fried oreos down with some soy milk and feel a little better about myself, but recently, I've been trying to incorporate some actual nutrients into my diet. I've long been curious about cooking with tempeh, and when I saw this recipe for Tempeh Rendang in the March issue of Cooking Light, I was downright intrigued.

I took a quick trip to the Bangkok Center Grocery on Mosco Street in Chinatown to pick up some fresh lemongrass, galangal, thai chiles, and kaffir lime leaves. If you've never been to this tiny store, I highly recommend it for fresh and packaged Thai ingredients. It is pretty small, but jam packed with food, just like me.

Now, this was my first time working with tempeh, so I wasn't really sure which one I should purchase. I thought tempeh was tempeh; I didn't realize there were so many different varieties out there. Being overwhelmed and slightly panicked that I was not fact in the comforting candy aisle, I grabbed the Garden Veggie variety and ran for my life, before the vegetarians in the aisle smelled the pork in my blood. Next time I make this recipe, I definitely will not use the veggie tempeh. The carrot and celery seed flavor was a bit too overwhelming for the curry. I recommend using plain ol' soy tempeh so the flavors don't compete.

This dish smells insane. Every single ingredient is fragrant on its own, but together they form Voltron in your nose. The coconut milk reduces, so you're left with more of a stir-fry than a stew. Add a little jasmine rice, some cilantro for garnish, and voila.



The one unexpected downside to tempeh is that it apparently makes me burp. A lot. Fermented soybean burps. I felt like Charlie in Willy Wonka after drinking Fizzy Lifting Drinks and having to release gas in order to prevent being chopped to little pieces (the fuel for so many of my nightmares as a wee krys).

Again, I won't use the garden veggie tempeh next time, but this was a very good basic rendang recipe. I would definitely try it with soy tempeh or maybe some chicken. Mmmm. The plus side is that after two hours of burping, you're ready for more delicious curry action.

I'm Back and I'm Here to Stay

The last few months have been a bit work-heavy to say the least. Months of spreadsheets, emails, and business trips have a way of making you forget that the computer can be your friend, and not just a conduit for frustration and a test of patience. While I still eat out (a lot), cook (a lot), and take pictures (not as often, but still, kinda a lot), I just haven’t had the desire to put words to my experiences.

Work has been taking a lot out of me. To make a long story short, my department is relocating to a different city, and I was offered a position there. My hard work was being recognized, and it was an opportunity that I should have seriously considered, especially in this shaky economy. I was being asked to either give up my job or give up my home. I really love my job. I truly do. I take pride in the feeling that I am making a difference in the work that I do, and a great deal of my self-worth is based on this sense of accomplishment.

I’m not ready to leave yet.

I love my Brooklyn kitchen.



I don’t think there is any color in the color spectrum that is more comforting than the maroon of my kitchen walls.

I love Chinatown. I love reading descriptions of dishes like “Shrimp in Pumping Sauce.”



I love that a liquor store can claim to be AS OLD AS HILLS.



I love that you can get your candy, and then eat it inside Fat Baby.



I love that no matter what my day is like, there is always something here that makes me smile.

So my last day at my company is a few months away. I have no idea what I’m going to do next, and that doesn’t freak me out. I’ll figure it out. I’m just happy that I’m staying in New York.

An Elegy for Pies and Thighs

You can rest, your weary kitchen ever-giving
Delectable biscuits , chicken, and pies
Oh so tender, once you walked among the living
And now, your time has passed, My Pies and Thighs



Your biscuits and gravy where matched by no other
Your key-lime pie, mac & cheese, and your beans
were so good they made me want to slap my mother
And then go back for seconds for your collard greens



The line wrapped around the block, people came so far
To say goodbye, auf wiedersehen, adieu,
But cry not, oh hungry hipsters, cry not
For you will rise once more, serving chicken anew

People Who Live in Gingerbread Houses Should Not Throw Stones

I admit I grew up with some geeky tendencies. You are reading the blog of a girl who had near-complete sets of Marvel trading cards (1992-1994). Collecting all of the holograms was a bitch. Phoenix and the Scarlet Witch were my best friends, and not only could I gaze upon their expertly rendered visages, but I could also read interesting facts about them on the reverse sides. On a weird tangential note, I was always bothered that the cards measured not only speed and strength, but also intelligence. It bummed me out to know that Daredevil was less intelligent than the Silver Surfer. I mean come on! Daredevil went to law school! The Silver Surfer catches rad space waves! That just doesn't seem fair. Anyhoo, I would use these cards to enact make-believe scenarios while most girls were playing house with their Barbies. The only house I'm interested in playing with is Hugh Laurie. ME-OW.

One geeky thing I could never get into was model-building. I just couldn't see the point of spending so much time expertly replicating the Millennium Falcon and not even get to play with it afterwards. While I couldn't understand the motivation, I was always in awe of the dedication and craftsmanship. Because of this long-standing admiration to the craft of model-building, I ventured out this last holiday season to see the many gingerbread houses that New York had to offer.

One particularly cold and snowy weekend, I dragged Cue up to the New York Botanical Gardens in the Bronx for their Gingerbread Adventures exhibit. Five New York pastry chefs became honorary geeks for the holidays.

Ruth Seidler of JollyBe Bakery in Park Slope, Brooklyn scrapped the house idea altogether, and created a bird-themed stained glass bell.



Complete with a silver handle and (marzipan?) ribbon.



Mark Tasker of Balthazar created a true New York-style gingerbread house by replicating the Empire State Building.



I especially dig the use of props.



I wish I could get a better shot of the offering from Jill Adams of The Cake Studio, but alas, I lack the height. I just couldn't capture all of the animals and fairies that studded her gingerbread forest in one frame. Just check out the detail on that snake. That kind of steady hand can truly come in handy when putting the finishing touch on your Starship Enterprise replica.



Kate Sullivan of LovinSullivanCakes made a little something for all the sci-fi fans out there: a gingerbread house on the moon. The peppermint details were... out of this world? Heh....heh....heh. Yup. Sorry.



My personal favorite was the gingerbread castle from Kaye Hansen and Liv Hansen of Riveria Bakehouse.



Both mother and daughter share a crazy attention to detail. Just check out the shingles! Minty fresh!



Unfortunately, I couldn't spot too many gingerbread houses around the rest of the city, but I did see this gem over at the Chelsea Market.



Aw yeah.

As I previously mentioned, I lack the patience and motivation to make one of these confectionary creations, but I seeing all of those edible habitats made me crave that spicy gingerbread flavor. So, I went home and baked up a true New York classic: Claudia Fleming's Gingerbread from the Gramercy Tavern.



Instead of Guinness, I used McGovern's Oatmeal Stout, which added a lovely background note. This cake was insanely moist, and really spicy, but not all that great when eaten right out of the oven. It takes a day for the cake to really get its act together. While I may not make elaborate sculptures, I can dig gingerbread, the unofficial sweet treat of geeks everywhere, with the rest of them.

Totonnos: A Girl by Any Other Name Would Smell.

As a young Krys, I had many a nickname. Krystopheles. Krystotle. Kryskadekaphobia. But no nickname was more enduring than the name bestowed upon me by mother: Pizza.
 
If you couldn’t already guess, I was dubbed Pizza because of my insatiable lust for carb and cheese-laden pie. I didn’t mind this nickname so much before puberty, but with my adolescent skin, it took on a new cruelty-filled connotation.
 
Surprisingly, even with the trauma of being reminded daily of my less than flawless face, I have always had a soft spot for the pizza pie. While my choices in Florida were mainly between Papa John’s and Domino’s, my residence in Brooklyn definitely has its pizza perks. September 2nd marked my 1 year anniversary in my Brooklyn apartment, and Q and I decided to celebrate by trekking out to Coney Island, to feast upon some old-school pizza.
 

 
The line outside Totonno’s Pizzeria on Neptune Ave. wasn’t nearly as daunting as the line for Grimaldi’s, and infinitely more organized than Di Fara’s. You merely stand outside the door and patiently wait with the other patrons for a seat to free up inside. Be forewearned, Totonno’s does not offer pizza by the slice so you must order a whole pie. Luckily, I only eat pizza by the pie, so this was no problem for me.
 

 
The charming interior transports you to the pizza parlors of yore. The service is friendly and they have a nice selection of Brooklyn Brewery beers to wash down your meal. We ordered our usual combo of pepperoni and garlic, and the results were tremendous.
 

 
The sauce was sweeter than most pizza sauces, and it reminded me of my favorite Italian place in Florida (Pizza Time in Coral Springs. SHOUTOUT!), which used a very sweet marinara for their pizza and pasta. The crust had a beautiful char courtesy of their impressive coal-burning oven.
 

Overall, I have to say that I prefer the pie at Di Fara’s, but I definitely prefer the atmosphere at Totonno’s. I guess I’ll just have to go back to both of them to be sure. Sigh. Even though my face has cleared up, I don’t think that Pizza is a nickname that I’ll ever outgrow.

Doughnut Plant: Peanut Butter Jelly and a Baseball Bat

A few weekends ago, Q and I headed into Manhattan (a rare weekend event) to try out Shopsin’s new location in the Essex Market. However, much to our dismay, the Essex Market is not open on Sundays--information that was lurking somewhere in my Krys-brain, but which failed to make itself known. That’s what you get for not using Google before you walk out the door.

So, we found ourselves, locked outside of the market, screaming and clawing on the doors, and then we realized that tastiness was just steps away at ye old Doughnut Plant, a magical destination which doubles as Homer Simpson's dream workplace. Yes, yes, you can get Doughnut Plant donuts at many purveyors in New York, but they really are best when fresh from the source.



I dug into a sunflower seed doughnut, their seasonal offering de jour. I have to admit, I felt a little crunchy and in touch with Mother Earth. The sweet, nutty flavor haunted my dreams, and now my breakfast choice happens to be sunflower seed butter on toast. I also now use canvas bags when shopping at the farmer's market. I'm so impressionable.

Q chose a peanut butter and jelly doughnut, an unusual choice for him, as he normally avoids jelly-filled goods.



I really enjoyed how even the jelly-filled doughnuts had holes. I always get sad when filled doughnuts looked so bloated and sad next to the sexy yeast doughnuts with their perfect holes. They were always the outcasts of the fried dough world.

Ooh, and they peanut butter doughnut was filled with blueberry jelly.



The only downside of the day was the fact that The Buckwheat Boyz' hit single became lodged in my brain. This wasn't so much a downside as the best thing to happen to me in weeks.

ITSPEANUTBUTTERJELLYTIMEPEANUTBUTTERJELLYTIMEPEANUTBUTTERJELLYTIMEPEANUTBUTTERJELLYTIME.

They also had a follow up singled called "Ice Cream and Cake." At least they knew what formula worked for them. Really, what else do you need on a summer's day but awesome tunes and tasty confectionery?

Warming Up to Hill Country

I admit it. I had preconceived notions about Hill Country before I walked in the door. As you may remember, I had the opportunity to try some of their beef ribs at The Big Apple BBQ aka The Happiest Day of Krys’s Year. Mih. They just weren’t that good. All bone and little squishy meat. As with any new restaurant on the scene, the hype started to build, and I was more and more turned off and confused.

Hill Country was like Jessica Simpson: Texan, loud, seemingly untalented, but considered hot to everyone but me.

So, I had pretty much made up my mind about the place before I walked in. I sidled up to the meat counter and grudgingly ordered 1/2 pound of the moist brisket (the deckle), 1/4 pound of the market chicken, and 1 ring of Kreuz Market Sausage, shipped from Texas. Just in case this wasn't enough to sate my ever-growing appetite, I ordered a small portion of Texas Black-Eyed Caviar on the side.



It was a charming set-up, I admit. Everyone was super-friendly, and it was pretty much a cafeteria-style process. You ordered your meat at one counter, your sides at another, and a waiter will make sure you have a refreshing beverage to wash down your cholesterol. I wanted to hate it, but I was starting to become seduced.



The brisket was a bit fat-ladden, but you couldn't accuse it of being dry. That sucker was moist. Moist and flavorful. I think it may be the best brisket that I've had in NYC, and that's including Katz's. Admitedly, brisket isn't my favorite cut of meat, but this was damn tasty.



Never having been to Texas, I had never tasted a Kreuz Market Sausage. Yum. It was impossible to take a semi-appetizing photo, because the butcher's paper became increasingly more grease-stained. I take that as a sign of quality.



A true standout of the meal turned out to be the market chicken. Even the white meat was moist and tender, and the smoky-sweet skin didn't need any additional sauce.

Okay, fine. It's a good restaurant. Are you happy? I tried to find fault, and I just couldn't. My only complaint it that the black-eyed pea caviar was a little dry and not all that noteworthy, but that is really being nit-picky. I really, really enjoyed Hill Country. That doesn't mean that I have to put Ms. Simpson on my ipod.

And finally, to clear up any doubts I had, the wetnaps proved that everything is indeed bigger in Texas.

New York Snackshot: Guaranteed So Hot

It'll burn your face off.

Palo Santo: My Aquatic Fantasy

Sometimes I view my life like an outsider watching a movie. In it, there's a sassy guardian angel, dispensing sage advice with a kicky attitude, kind of like Queen Latifah. While the Queen boosts my confidence while teaching me the importance of keeping it real, I also have a personal cupid of sorts. Chef Jacques Gautier of Palo Santo has been creating my most romantic meals since his days at La Brunette, a fantastic French-Carribean restaurant in Williamsburg.

Whenever I ate there, I felt like Gautier was personally ensuring that Q would fall madly in love with me as he had another oyster amuse bouche. Gautier was my own personal Sebastian the Crab, crooning "Kiss De Girl."



When La Brunette closed it's doors, I had no choice but to teach myself how to cook (actually, Queen Latifah may have pushed me in that direction), but I kept my eyes peeled as to what Gautier was doing next. Because the whole world revolves around me, Chef Gautier opened a new restaurant, Palo Santo in a brownstone in nearby Park Slope. It has quickly become a favorite.

On a recent visit, we started with a green gazpacho with toasted pinenuts.



The gazpacho had a tang of watermelon, and the pinenuts and drizzle of olive oil provided a wonderful textural contrast. The soup was cool and refreshing, especially when eaten in their sunny back room overlooking a soothing fountain.

Because Chef Gautier is Sebastian the Crab in my head, I subconsciously adhered to an aquatic menu. I can't remember the name of our next dish, but our waitress explained it was a peruvian street food. I love street food, and I'm willing to try all types, including skewered duck hearts.



These were delicious. Again, the addition of yukon gold potatoes and green onions made the texture so much more interesting. You can tell that texture is a big thing with me. For his main dish, Q ordered a coconut clam stew.



I can't speak to the flavor of the dish, but isn't it pretty?!? The presentation of the stew blew me away. Q certainly seemed to love it. Personally, I decided upon the seared tuna.



I wish that I was able to photograph more of the accompanying veggies, because they were as much the star as the tuna. Blue potatoes, radishes, and string beans were all tossed in a light, lemony vinegar, the perfect crunchy side to the tuna. While my dish may have appeared a little light in flavor compared to Q's hearty stew, I thought it was perfect.

Palo Santo has a bar alongside the kitchen, where patrons can submit to the will of Chef Gautier and eat his tasting menu, consisting of whatever he wants to make for you. While I am incredibly tempted to do so, I don't want to ruin the fantasy that a tiny crab is back there, orchestrating my romantic evening. Sigh. I guess I'm willing to sacrifice that fantasy for an amazing meal. At least I'll always have Queen Latifah.

New York Snackshot: Blue Cheese

My favorite form of transportation.

Atlantic ChipShop: Comfort Food 2.0

Deep frying is an extreme sport—it shouldn't be attempted by the faint of heart. That's why I'm more than happy to leave the hard work to the nice folks at the Atlantic Avenue Chip Shop. They will happily batter and fry anything your imagination can muster. There's even a place on their website where you can suggest things to fry. I've had their fish and chips (the haddock is amazing), and I've dreamt about their deep fried pizza, but they always seem to be out when I'm there. They just don't want me to be happy.

I was perusing the sides a few weeks ago, and I have no idea how I missed it before... fried macaroni and cheese. The next generation of comfort food. Those words are a challenge, a dare to test your capacity for unhealthy food. I'm not one to back down from a dare. I like mac and cheese, and I like deep fried things. Bring it on. ("Is a great movie" was the end of that sentence.)



I happen to be a fan of crunchy breadcrumb topping on my mac and cheese. The deep-fried exterior had the flavor and the crunch of the traditional breadcrumb topping, but made exponentially more deadly and delicious. The ball shape took me back to my days of elementary school cafeterias, where the mac and cheese was always lovingly served with an ice cream scoop.

Speaking of serving food with an ice cream scoop, Q swears that tuna salad was not only served with a scoop in his elementary school, it was served in a cone. I don't believe him. Was this anyone else's experience? Is our public school food that awesome in our country?

I love that they served it on a bed of lettuce. I was able to convince myself that this was actually a crunchy, gooey salad. The capacity for delusion is very important when eating with me. I shared this orb of deliciousity with two other people, but I definitely recommend ending an Atlantic Avenue bar crawl with a mac and cheese ball of your very own. I just don't recommend finishing your deep-fried meal with a fried reese's peanut butter cup. Oh, what am I saying. Of course I do.

New York Snackshot: Pies Don't Get Fired

pies, originally uploaded by tokyohanna.

They get burned.

Hello Moto

There are so many restaurants in New York, but so few hidden gems. Some of the greatest eating experiences in the city have been blogged about so many times, and by the time you go, you feel like you've already been.

Q and I have been interested in Moto, a small cafe under the elevated J and M trains, ever since we walked by on our way to Pies and Thighs, months ago. Apparently, the cafe was featured in the documentary, Eat This New York, which is going on my Netflix queue riiiight... now.

Excellent. Position 55. I really need to watch my dvds in a timely fashion. Anyhoo, besides its prominence in this documentary, I really haven't read too much about Moto. Stepping inside, I couldn't help but really feel like I'd stumbled on a true hidden destination. There isn't a sign on the door, and the inside makes you feel like you're in another country in another time. It's kind of like a French cafe mashed up with an automotive repair shop.

The brunch menu was a bit small, mostly consisting of eggs and paninis, but there were some standouts, ranging from grilled doughnuts to the date cake. There doesn't seem to be a consistent cuisine, just as there doesn't seem to be a consistent music genre for the live acts that play during the week. Turkey, Italy, and France seemed to all be represented, but I had already settled on the apple pancake with creme fraiche.



Mmmm. The pancake was thick without being too dense, and every bite was packed with apples. Its size is deceptively small, but I was mighty full afterwards. There was a bit too much creme fraiche, but that was easily remedied by the power of my spoon.

Just to give you an idea of the sandwiches that dominated the menu, Q had the prosciutto and brie panini with pesto. He thought that the bread was nice and crusty, and the buttery, grassy melted brie paired nicely with the not-too-salty bit o' Parma ham. Pity the pesto was vying for all the attention, but that's by no means a deal breaker. Still a tasty sammich.



Ooh, their coffee was good too. I'm a conflicted Krys. I want people to flock to this restaurant and eat yummy food, but I also want it to remain hidden so I can always get a table. I guess you can't have everything. Sigh. Well, when you do go, be sure to save me a seat.

Momofuku Noodle Bar: FUK YEAH!!!

Ah, Ramen-- that inexpensive staple of every college student's diet. My greatest victories back in my college years were when I scored an A in Calculus and when I would find a deal for 10 packs of ramen for $1. The latter happened more often than the former, unfortunately. Momofuku Noodle Bar wasn't around back in my NYU days. If it had been, my idea of ramen would have been vastly different.

Even at 10pm, there's a 20 minute wait on a Saturday night to sadle up to the small bar and slurp some noodles. We started with an order of pork buns.



These are like grown-up, delicious sliders from White Castle. The pork belly is extremely fatty and delectably tender. Next time, I may just skip the ramen altogether and have a feast of pork buns.

I decided that an all-pork meal was a bit much, even for me (I'm up to 1.5 pigs total this year methinks), so I decided upon the Chicken Ramen.



I may as well have ordered it with pork. The chicken was cooked under a press on the griddle, and the pressure made the skin crisp and strangely pork-like. I'm a huge fan of chicken cooked under a press (or a brick). While the skin crisps up, the meat remains sooo tender. The broth, made from chicken and pork bones, including some other pork products, was salty and flavorful. The noodles were accompanied with vibrantly green peas and scallions, as well as some bamboo shoots and a thin piece of seaweed. I usually like my noodles a little less soft, but I thought the consistency definitely melded well with the chicken and peas. Afterwards I could feel the pork broth escaping through my pores, but in the best possible way. Like a reverse pork facial.

My only problem with ramen is that I just can't eat it in a semi-attractive manner. I'm the type of girl who twirls her spaghetti with a spoon. It's so hard for me to shove noodles in my mouth with chopsticks and not look like I'm a cow going after some grass. At least with the bar setup, I was just facing the cooks, so it's not like another patron had to watch my glorious, slurping display.

That 25 cent package of ramen in my cupboard used to be a very guilty pleasure, but now, thanks to the popularity of New York ramen joints, I can finally voice my love of ramen with pride. I just need to doctor it up with a little more than an egg, soy sauce, and some peanut butter (hey, don't knock it til you've tried it).

What a Jerk (Chicken)!

Wow. Sorry I haven't updated in ages. It's been a busy, hot month, and I haven't felt like heating up my already hot kitchen with some cooking action.

Plus, I've been reaaaaally lazy.

However, about a week ago, we had one gorgeous day, and my kitchen was actually a normal temperature. I knew that wouldn't do, so I flipped on the oven to roast something. I usually associate roasting with the fall, but I had my sights set on a recipe for Jerk Chicken from The Soul of a New Cuisine. Mmmmm. The mixture of chiles, cinnamon, and cayenne mixed with roasted vegetables and fruit. Perfect summer fare.

I really don't think there is a more passive-agressive food than Jerk Chicken. Witness the following conversation between Q and me.

Krys: Hey Q. Did you clean the floors today?
Q: No. I'll get to it.
Krys: Eh, that's okay. I'm going to be in the kitchen anyway. I'll just do it while I'm in there.
Q: Whatcha cookin'?
Krys: Jerk chicken.
Q: I'll get the mop.

Even if the name implies resentment, it only has the best intentions-- to love your tongue.



Roasting a chicken is sooo simple, but it has such a big payoff... as long as you can deal with a warm kitchen. But since it was a coolish day, it wasn't a big deal. I rubbed the 4-pound chicken with the jerk spice mix (a blend of garlic, jalapenos, allspice, cinnamon, cayenne, brown sugar, white pepper, thyme, salt, ginger, scallions, lime juice, red wine vinegar, and the blood of a virgin goat). I also spread some of the jerk mix over some cubed veggies like yukon gold potatoes, sweet potatoes, and parsnip, along with some cubed fruits. The recipe calls for quince, but since they're not in season, I just used some pears and apples. The result was both sweet and spicy, just like my most favorite jerk in all the land-- Q.

I could use some help cleaning the bathroom... maybe I'll make up a batch of bastard stew.

More Than Meets the Fry

There was another major event on July 4th besides the Nathan's Hot Dog Eating Competition. I'm talking, of course, about Michael Bay's opus, Transformers.

Am I the only one getting a little weary of all of the 80s remakes lately? Although, I cannot WAIT for the inevitable CSI: Duckburg from Jerry Bruckheimer. For reals. I can just hear the scary trailer voice now. "IN A WORLD... WHERE LIFE IS LIKE A HURRICANE." Maybe Haley Joel Osment can play Huey, Dewey, and Louie.




I have too much time on my hands.

I've been hesitant to pony up nearly $11 for it, only because I don't really want to see another piece of childhood nostalgia raped by Michael Bay.

However, I had no problem ponying up cash for the most genius piece of cross-promotional merchandise I have ever seen.



Meet Optimash Prime. Oh, how I love puns.

Unfancy Feast: Dispatches from the 2007 Unfancy Food Show

Yesterday, I ventured into ye olde Williamsburg to East River Bar for the First Annual (I hope) Unfancy Food Show. While it was a little small, I thought it was a great idea and a great way to meet food purveyors who may not travel on the Greenmarket circuit.



Personally, I can't think of a better way to spend a hot summer's day than to hang out in a backyard, sip a beer, and taste wonderful products that I may not usually get to sample. The definite highlight was the amazing smell emanating from the grill. The bratwurst and burgers from Fleisher's Meats not only smelled great, but they were probably the most flavorful meat that I've sampled for home use. At $6/lb for the ground beef, it is a little more expensive than my local butcher, but it's definitely an affordable splurge.



The bratwurst was nice and spicy, and the burgers apparently didn't have any additional seasoning, but they were paired with some blue cheese from the nearby stand occupied by Jasper Hill Farm.



I know this is going to sound crazy, but burgers and cheese are an amazing combination. I know! Who knew? The Bayley Hazen blue cheese was so creamy and tangy and surprisingly mild for a blue cheese. I'm personally not a huge fan of blue cheese but this was delicious.

Both Fleisher's and Jasper Hill products can be found at Marlow & Sons. I popped into their market afterwards and it is really quite wonderful. I can't wait to eat at the actual restaurant. It's on my list. Oh yes. It's on my list. I can only hope that next year's show remains as down to earth as this one, where you actually get to chat with the wonderful folks who shove things in your mouth. After you chew and swallow, of course. I may be unfancy, but I'm still classy.