So this weekend, J was home from Alabama and I took some time off to be with him. We did lots of fun things, but one thing we did in abundance. The weekend was pretty much a four-day food orgy. What would you call that? A foorgy?
Sadly, I was so buy shoveling yummies into my face that I didn't even once pull out my camera. How about that? It remains true that I am a lover of food first and a photographer 47th. (That's ok, I leave that to the professionals like Stacey Doyle and David Dadekian.) The lack of photos accompanying this post just means I'll have to be extra-special verbose for you... after the jump, that is.
J and I spent the day shopping and running errands, so we relied on the charms of fast food. But good fast food! For lunch we had yummy steak burritos from Chipotle. Whole Foods sushi for dinner.
Vacation day. I went with a pal to get manicures on Hope Street, so of course I had to bring home Seven Stars sandwiches. My personal favorite is the vegetarian: Crisp / chewy baguette, mozzarella cheese, roasted red peppers, arugula and olive tapenade.
But then there was dinner. Oh, there was amazing dinner. We went to LaLaiterie in Wayland Square. It was Friday night and the place was jamming. Recession? What recession? We were told that the wait would be one hour, but were invited to sit at the beautiful cheese counter on the Farmstead side and enjoy a cheese plate and drinks. The benefit to sitting in front of the cheese mongers is that if they're very willing to let you have a little taste of the myriad options in front of you. We devoured a 5-cheese plate, and the mole salami while we chatted with the very friendly staff and waited for our table.
Quick side story. Lately, I've been enjoying scotch quite a lot, much to J's consternation. See, he hasn't drank for the last few years, but back when he was a drinker, scotch was his poison. And back then, he would try to get me to try it and I wouldn't hear it. But some time last year, I saw the error of my ways and began a love affair with the stuff. So when I order a scotch in J's presense, I have to do two things: let him pick it, and let him smell it. This particular evening at LaLaiterie, he chose a Macallan 18 year. One ice cube. Perfect.
Ahem. I digress. We were seated in the window in the dining room to enjoy the view of Wayland Ave while we ate. Here's what we had:
Macaroni and cheese for the table (Superb: crisp on top, hot and cheesy inside.)
J: Burger with polenta fries (The burger was juicy and flavorful and the polenta fries were fat and tasty, seasoned with herbs and parmesean cheese.)
Me: Pork chop with sweetbreads (The pork chop was tender, juicy and perfectly cooked. The sweetbreads, my first experience with cow's hypothalamus, had a chewy texture and a savory sauce that I very much enjoyed.)
Winter Farmer's Market at Hope Artist Village. J and I met Stacey Doyle at her studio in the Artist Village and hit the market. It seemed like miles of vendors selling everything from produce, to ice cream, to coffee to shell fish. It was an amazing assortment. But I've found that I have to go into farmers' markets with a specific recipe or agenda in mind, otherwise I got paralyzed with choice and end up not buying anything.
Luckily, J shook me out of my overload and we met up with more friends to hit the Chez Pascal lunch truck, parked outside of the market. If you live in Rhode Island and haven't been to the truck yet, you are insane. Or a communist. Truly. Go now.