Chocolate Matzoh Butter-Crunch

When Passover is around the corner, I beg my friend at work SuDokuGal to bring in her famous chocolate matzoh. She only really eats it around the Passover holiday, but I could eat it all year round. And so, I asked her for the recipe, and if she minded me posting it on my blog. It's a perfect sweet snack, when you're dragging at work and need that chocolate pick-me-up. These chocolate crisps will pick you up, anytime and anywhere.



Chocolate Matzoh Butter-Crunch

1 pound box of matzoh (will make around 5 batches)
1 ¼ sticks of butter or margarine
½ cup sugar *(supposed to be 3/4 cup but SDG always uses 1/2 cup)*
12 oz chocolate chips (will cover several batches)
½ cup ground nuts (pecans, walnuts or almonds)
cinnamon & sugar (optional for variation)

· Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
· Line a cookie sheet with foil.
· Bring margarine or butter to a boil.
· Add sugar and stir.
· Pour sugar/butter mixture over matzoh and spread all the way to the edges of the matzoh.
· Bake in oven for twelve minutes
· Take pan out of oven, and sprinkle with chocolate chips. Spread the melting chocolate to the ends of the matzoh, covering completely.

* If desired, sprinkle with nuts.
* For a non-chocolate variation, sprinkle chopped nuts directly on baked butter/sugar mixture and refrigerate.
* Another non-chocolate variation: leave out the nuts and sprinkle with cinnamon and sugar.

· Refrigerate pan until cold and break up butter-crunch into pieces. Pieces will be uneven.
· Store in tightly covered container in refrigerator. Freeze if desired.

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Sarabeth's III

picture courtesy of sarabeth's.com

The Friday before Easter, Swimster and I were craving some serious breakfast delights. We hadn't been to Norma's in a while and had our stomachs set on eating there. Silly us. With the city as crowded as it was during the Christmas season, and various European accents heard throughout midtown's Rockefeller Center and Times Square, how did I think we'd ever get a table? When we rolled into Norma's, me the working bag lady and Swimster with his schoolboy backpack, and saw the lobby crowded with patient diners, I knew we were doomed. With an "It'll be a half hour wait," we were out the door.

There aren't many breakfast places in the midtown area, that aren't crowded with swarming tourists. I was about to give up and hop on the diner train when it hit me. I blurted out to Swimster, "Sarabeth's!" Why hadn't we thought of it sooner? Swimster and I have eaten at the Sarabeth's on Amsterdam and the Sarabeth's on Madison, but we had yet to try the Central Park South location. It's hard to find "chains" that stand up to each other in the city. A lot of times one location is stronger than another. After eating in two Sarabeth's, it solidified my theory that Sarabeth is doing something right. Their formula for great food is impeccable and works in each restaurant.

I got nervous because Sarabeth's seemed crowded as well. But when Swimster asked for a table for two, the hostess said it would only be a couple of minutes. The interior of Sarabeth's seemed odd to me. It felt like I was in a hair salon, more than a restaurant. There was a rather large waiting area with zebra-printed couches that seemed to spill over into the actual dining area. The floor plan is somewhat awkward and the restaurant is split up into several smaller rooms. Our table was right off of a small glass-enclosed courtyard in the middle of the restaurant. Even from our seats towards the back, we still couldn't see how far Sarabeth's tables actually went.

When I sat down, I sank into the banquette, and I mean really sank. The table's edge was now between my chin and my bustline. It made me feel like I had just drank from the "Drink Me" bottle Alice drank to shrink on her Wonderland adventures. I was a mini person and everything around me seemed giant. I'm going to ask my readers a question. Do I say something to them in an email about how awkward the seating was? I mean, having the table at your chin pretty much guaranteed you wouldn't spill any flying sauces on your clothes, but I really wanted to ask for a booster seat.

Seating aside, our waitress was very friendly and attentive, never letting our water glasses go empty, and always checking to see if we had everything we needed. Swimster chose the red omelette with tomatoes, red peppers, cheddar and a dollop of sour cream with chives; I chose the farmer's omelette with leaks, minced potatoes and ham, and Gruyere. In addition, since the omelettes didn't come with them, we ordered a side of potatoes. These were some of the best breakfast potatoes I've ever had. They were piping hot, even for a good ten minutes after they had been sitting on the table. They were small, quartered potatoes with red and green peppers and onions. They had a subtle crisp on the outside and were soft and mushy on the inside. The omelettes were about three inches high and packed with goodies. They were cooked perfect, no underdone eggs inside but no burnt edges on the outside. All eggs are served with your choice of muffin (corn, bran, banana or pumpkin), scone, English muffin or croissant with preserves. How could we choose between any of these accompaniments, knowing that Sarabeth's forte is her breads? I went with my favorite, the scone, and Swimster tried the croissant. My scone was soft and warm and sprinkled with currants. I caught Swimster's croissant just to make out it came right out of the oven, but that was the last I saw of it.

Sarabeth's is a solid New York City restaurant, and I have yet to be disappointed at any of the locations. I will not give this specific location apples yet, however, because we did really only have two similar items off the menu. I will definitely return with friends and family and hope this has encouraged you to try it out as well.

Mona's note: I just recently bought, for the first time, a jar of Sarabeth's strawberry and raspberry jam. It is incredible: sweet and tangy and I don't know how I can go back to Smucker's. This is actually how Sarabeth got her start. Her and her husband first opened a small store to sell preserves and baked goods. See what happens when you start small and dream big?

Click here to see all their locations.

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Newport Diary

Can you keep a secret?

The bed and breakfast we stayed at in Newport, the Francis Malbone House, now joins the ranks of my all-time favorite hotel experiences. Maybe someday I'll do a list of Mona's Top 10 Hotels, inspired by the book my Mom-bo bought me for Easter. (For any wanderlust, I highly recommend a copy of National Geographic's The Ten Best of Everything: An Ultimate Guide for Travelers.)

Newport is a quick two and a half hour drive from Fairfield County. Its proximity to my home in New Canaan was part of the reason we chose the seaside destination. Upon exiting the highway, we learned there was no need to fear getting lost in Newport; the town has only one main drag, make that two: America's Cup Avenue and Thames Street. The Thames is a smaller Duval Street (that I vaguely recall from a spring break in Key West), riddled with bars, surf shops, hotels and restaurants. And we learned the hard way-it is a one way street. Swimster and I felt like we were in National Lampoon's European Vacation. We made several loops and kept passing the street where the hotel parking lot was located. "Look kids, there's the Malbone House. There's Brewer Street. Look kids, there's the Malbone House. There's Brewer Street."

When I pulled into the gravel parking lot of our hotel, I was a little worried. The back of the building, where all guest unloading vehicles must enter, seemed drab, not anything like I pictured a bed and breakfast to be. I expected a quaint, old New England Salt Box, or something to that effect, and the Malbone House looked like a heap of white cement blocks.

When we walked inside to creaking wooden floors, a beautifully kept courtyard, and the smiling, welcoming staff I was relieved. The cold of the inn's exterior was a huge departure from the warmth I felt on the inside. The innkeeper Darryl greeted us with a jovial smile and gave us a thorough tour. I was bedazzled by the living rooms on the ground level with each having its own distinct sense of charm. All were equipped with coffee tables loaded with mile-high piles of newspapers and magazines free for us to take. In addition, each room had bookshelves of obscure book titles for your reading pleasure. Darryl pointed out anything we saw was ours to hold, borrow, or take up to our room, and that included the games I spied with my big eyes underneath a coffee table in the bar room. He also pointed out the glass cabinets filled with highball glasses, old fashioned glasses, and wine glasses to go along with my favorite Malbone amenity-the honor bar. They have a giant mini bar fridge in one room and it is on the honor of guests to sign off on what they drink. And he made sure to mention afternoon tea is served daily from 3 p.m. to 5 p.m., compliments of Francis Malbone. Say no more. This is a picture, courtesy of their website, of the room we hung out in for tea time (more on that later). I knew our one night stay in the Malbone house was not going to last long enough.

Darryl continued to walk us upstairs, showing us several of the other guest rooms on our way to ours. Each had its own personality and feel. One room's golden fleece was its luxurious cherry canopy bed, while another room's was its elegant bathroom with sauna. I knew we wouldn't have minded staying in any of them. Once we reached the top floor, Darryl noted he switched us to a nicer room. This was an unexpected surprise and gave me more glowing ammo and one more reason to write about the Malbone House once I left.

After sitting with Darryl for a few minutes, as he painted the town (map) red with the marker highlighting all the hot spots, we realized a few options of things to do that day: take a walk on the Cliff Walk, head to the mansions and get a tour of some of the biggest houses in the world, or barhop a la real spring break. We chose all of the above, just not in that order. There was nothing in the sky that day, except blue and the sun, but it was on the deceptively, breath-stealing cold side. So much for a beach trip. I knew I wasn't going to Newport to get a Palm Desert tan, but I did expect it to be slightly warmer than it was. And I have an embarrassing confession to make. When we unpacked the car, I realized I left my winter coat hanging on a hook in our mudroom. Oops. I had a wool blazer on, but it wasn't enough to block the harbor windchills.

We headed to the mansions first and per Darryl's request, we headed off in search of the Elms, the Astors', and finally the Breakers, in that order, saving the best for last. I may have been to Newport when I was a kid some twenty years ago, but I did not recall the grandeur and opulence of the palaces. I've been to several chateaux in France, and that's the only thing I can compare these homes to. Most of the mansions were closed to public tours on Tuesday, which was a slight disappointment, but the Breakers was open and for $15 each, we got a tour of the largest home I've ever been to in my life. The largest home, that is, that was not owned by Louis XVI.

I won't give you the room by room account of the house with its eye-popping, mouth-dropping dining rooms, the staircase designed after the one in the Opera Garnier in Paris, the Greek terraces, rich libraries and bedrooms. But, I will mention the Breakers was owned by the Vanderbilts, to my incredulity they spent a couple months out of the year in this mansion of all mansions, the kitchen was my favorite room in the house, and it is listed in the brochure as a "cottage." Oh, and the bathrooms had small tubs in them used for cleaning off your behind after a day of riding, kind of like the French bidet but for your derriere. This mansion reminded me of the fictional world of The Great Gatsby, but it made the residents of West Egg look like peasants.

photo courtesy of Mona's and Swimster's sneakiness (no photos were supposed to be taken)

After our visit to the "summer cottage," Swimster and I took a drive along the water with the intention of going on the Cliff Walk. Once I got out of the car and got swallowed up by the icy wind, the Cliff Walk became the Cliff Skip.

We opted for a warmer environment and pulled up to 22 Bowen's . We knew we had dinner reservations later that night but figured a mid-afternoon cocktail would be fun. It was around four o'clock and the place was empty. We had the bar to ourselves and found they weren't offering a full menu at that hour, but they do always serve New England clam chowder. Swimster ordered a Laphroaig, I ordered a dirty martini, and we both ordered cups of the clam chowder. The waitress was friendly, despite her loud bickering and flirting with one of her fellow servers over a ski trip. "Just go and shut up about it," I yelled. Well, not really, but that's what I felt like yelling. The scotch Swimster sipped, ever so neatly, was very peaty and my martini had the perfect blend of olive and Grey Goose. The cup of chowder, while it warmed my stomach, did not blow me away with its bland flavor.

We continued our afternoon snacktime at the Malbone House for tea. I know, who goes from drinking martinis to drinking tea, but thank goodness we did. The dining room table on the ground floor was neatly set with cucumber toasts, cheese and crackers, salami, homemade cookies, and a strawberry on strawberry cake. How could all this food be complimentary? There must be a jar somewhere for tea collections. The highlight of tea time was by far the strawberry cake (not for the sweet shy). Strawberry juices were bursting out of the moist cake and the thick frosting had the perfect sweetness (it didn't cause me to shut my eyes and cringe from sugar shock).



After all this food, it was time for an afternoon nap. Swimster passed out within seconds of hitting the pillow, while I stayed up and read magazines and watched the news, or so I thought. The next thing I knew I spring up, realize with confusion it's pitch dark outside, shout some illegible gibberish at Swimster, look at my clock and realize our dinner reservations are in 45 minutes and I haven't even showered, shaved, or dried my hair. In a frenzy, I do all of this in record time with Swimster laughing uncontrollably at my on-the-verge-of-being-late-induced insanity.

We arrive at the White Horse Tavern a little bit late for our reservation, but from the lack of cars in the parking lot, it didn't seem we disrupted their seating chart. I picked the White Horse Tavern because I have a love for historic sights, and if a restaurant, building, or in this case, tavern, is still standing after 300 years, I feel it's important to go and immerse myself in its history. The White Horse Tavern was established in 1673 and I'm sure it looks roughly the same now as it did back then. The walls are dark brown, almost black, with thick beams of wood and the dim lighting is augmented by candles and the active fireplace. The floor was uneven and the ceiling too felt low and lopsided, adding to its rustic feel. Dinner that night at the tavern was like taking a giant leap back in time. I imagined men in their white wigs like Samuel Adams and Ben Franklin toasting their overflowing, foamy steins of beer over the tables at White Horse Tavern, talking and planning the American revolution.

Our server was gracious and friendly. He took exceptional care of us, though that wasn't a challenge because we were one of just three tables in the dining room the entire night. I liked it not being crowded, but it did feel awkward when keeping conversation. The emptiness posed a problem for an older couple in their fifties or sixties, who were conducting an in depth relationship analysis over dinner. It seemed the woman was talking at painfully loud decibels, so everyone in the restaurant could hear how she had this pitiful suitor doting on her. Man likes woman. Man goes after, then dates woman. Woman gets bored with courtship and seeks out more thrilling relationship. Man jealous of other men. I am not an eavesdropper but we couldn't help but be involved in this distracting situation. Somebody call Dr. Phil, please. At one point, Swimster went to the bathroom and left me to fend for myself with their mess. I started laughing uncontrollably. It was the kind of laughter you get when you're twelve and sitting in church listening to the homily. The kind you have to sit there crying with, covering your nose and mouth, afraid something will come out, as you turn red with your stomach in knots, holding in the laughter bomb.

The food at White Horse Tavern was very good, but not worth the steep prices. Swimster and I each tried appetizers and entrees, and skipped dessert. The lobster and crab dumplings I started with had way too much soy sauce poured over them. The soy drowned out the flavor in the dumplings. Swimster's lobster risotto (yes, it's an entree but he got it as an appetizer and the waiter triple-checked that's what he meant when he ordered it) was too heavy on the cream. It also drowned out the richness of the lobster. My beef tenderloin was cooked to a medium rare, and packed with a soft tender punch. Swimster's beef Wellington had a layer of pate in between the dough and the meat, and we both liked this combination. Both entrees were served with a roasted tomato with breadcrumbs, that seemed too tired to please, and a small bunch of asparagus and carrots held together by a potato ring cut out from a baked potato.

We chose to skip dessert because we wanted to stop in at the Castle Hill Inn for an after-dinner drink. The Castle Hill Inn is a couple miles outside of downtown Newport. It's a massive Victorian house with wrap-around porches and sits on an open patch of land right up from the ocean. It was a starless, windy night and had there not been cars in the parking lot, I would have turned around. In the pitch dark, from the side we came in on, the Castle Hill Inn looked like a bigger version of the Bates Motel. After a couple of glasses of port, and watching Korea play Japan in the World Baseball Classic, we decided to call it a night. The bartender at Castle Hill said two words to us and made it clear she was not going to hang around and let us prolong our evening.

The rest of the evening was spent stumbling through Trivial Pursuit questions, drinking wine, and watching television at our inn. I wish we had seven more days of this mini-weekend. After breakfast the next day, I really wanted to extend our stay through the next morning's breakfast. Breakfast was also, to my disbelief, complimentary. In addition to fruit salad, homemade corn bread, banana bread and muffins, cereals, and yogurt, we were offered a choice of two hot items: apple pancakes or eggs Florentine. When our friendly waitress heard us discussing this dining dilemma, she offered us a side of the apple pancake if we both wanted the eggs. And voila, our problems were solved. The pancake was light and fluffy with powdered sugar sprinkled on top and warm chunks of apple concentrated in the middle of the pancake. The eggs Florentine were a delicious blend of egg white, yolk and spinach. We licked all our plates clean. We were waited on hand and foot by the two women working breakfast that morning. It felt like they were mother hens, checking up on each chick, or guest, every couple of minutes to make sure we had everything we needed that could fit in our stomachs.

Newport promises to be a pleasant stay to any curious soul in need of some fresh air and harbor beauty. By car, Newport is off of Interstate 95. By Amtrak, it is 34 miles from the Providence station. I was excited to visit this beach town in the off- season, and was slightly disappointed that most of the mansions were closed to the public during the week, and a lot of the stores were closed as well. But I understand, that's why it's called an off-season. I lived in Aspen for a year, I know all about it. Next year, I would go a little later, when spring is really in the air. I'm sure late summer months or early fall is beautiful in Newport as well. Note: I know I'm avoiding summer because I'm sure it's a madhouse then. I hope you enjoyed this virtual journey and don't forget, the Francis Malbone House is our little secret.

The Francis Malbone House
392 Thames Street
401-846-0392 or 800-846-0392

The Breakers
44 Ochre Point Avenue

22 Bowen's
22 Bowen's Wharf
401-841-8884

White Horse Tavern
26 Malborough Street
401-849-3600

Castle Hill Inn
590 Ocean Drive
888-466-1355 or 401-849-3800

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Happy Easter

I look at my watch and am surprised to find that Easter is already here.
Happy Easter to all those who celebrate it.
I just arrived in Connecticut after having a fabulous dinner in the city with Swimster and my parents.
I luckily got Easter Sunday off because my friend and co-worker SuDokuGal was generous enough to work in my place. So tomorrow (or should I say today) I spend my first Sunday at home in a while, relaxing and enjoying the goods my parents bought from Arthur Avenue on Friday.
I don't think there will be any Easter egg hunts involved, but if anyone wants to send me a Cadbury creme egg, feel free.
And I'm not sure what's on the Easter day menu, if we'll be doing brunch or lunch or dinner, but you will be hearing about it eventually, I promise.
I do know Mom tells me mimosas will be in order, to celebrate something exciting that's happened to me in my professional life this week.
Happy Easter!

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Burger Joint

picture courtesy of Blackbeard's camera phone

Months ago, my friend from work, SuDokuGal, mentioned getting a group to eat at Le Parker Meridien's Burger Joint. Somehow, none of us motivated to actually pick a day until she finally declared, "Next Wednesday, be there or be square." This is on par with my New York City experience. I'm always "wishin', and hopin', and thinkin', and prayin'" to meet up with certain people, and often it's a matter of mustering up the motivation to pick a date and just do it. After a few months of talking about it (and seeing the enormous picture of the burger on their website), we finally got our act together and made it happen. Needless to say, my stomach was excited all day long. Sayonara diet! Let the extra long weekend of gluttony begin. I figured the wedding weekend would be lots of drinking and eating, so why not get started on Wednesday night?

You walk into the hotel lobby and there's really no telling where BJ is. And they don't help you with signs either. Le Parker Meridien is the type of scene where you'd rather shave the left side of your head than ask someone for directions like a tourist. The bad news is, if you've never been, and nobody else in your party has either, you may just be forced to. My advice to you if you're all clueless, is follow the trail of suits. They're all headed to BJ. Thankfully, SuDokuGal had been before and knew where to go. Phew!

From the looks of the little shanty at 8:30pm, which I wrongly assumed was well past most people's dinnertime, it must not matter what time you get there. The line was out the door and the small cube of a room was packed to the hilt. You have to wait in line, like a fast-food place, and order from the counter. Unlike the Shake Shack, the food came up really fast. SlingerlandMan pointed out once we sat down how awkward the line situation was. It felt like we were being dissected by everyone's eyes. One girl in particular looked me up and down several times, as she chomped away at her burger with her date. I wanted to say some choice words to her, but chose to bite my tongue.

SuDokuGal eventually snagged a two-top with hopes another table would open next to it, and it did. Victory! The three of us who hadn't been to BJ were in constant bewilderment. Who thought of this place? Who thought to put it here? Was the person stoned when they decided to save this corner of the hotel for a shanty burger stop? Who decided, "Oh, let's build a burger shack, write on the walls, cover it with old posters and celebrity pictures, throw some leather booths in there, and call it a day." We discussed this mystery at the dinner table until we left. Norma's, my favorite brunch place on the planet, is also in Le Parker Meridien, but has a completely different feel of opulence in its food and elegance in its surroundings.

The message on Burger Joint's website says it all, "If you don't see it, we don't have it!" They're not trying to be In 'n Out Burger in California, where they have secret passwords to get you special sides and toppings, that only the uber hip surfer kids know. "Animal style," "3x3," "Flying Dutchman," the "Wish Burger," etc. are just a few of the wild and wacky things you can order at In 'n Out. Burger Joint is strictly burger, no secret codes. And that was fine with me.

Now, for the burgers. To me, a burger is the entire package, and not just the meat, that includes the toppings, the bun, and the sauce or dressing, if there is any. They have the meat part down at BJ. But as far as the whole package goes, I was a little disappointed. The bun dissolved in the meat grease, and I had to work hard to hold the burger ($6) together with my hands, without the entire thing collapsing in my lap. It wasn't because of the size of the burger either. The picture on the website is very misleading. The patty itself is not nearly as big as the one they show on the website. The fries ($3) were excellent and came in a little brown bag. They were thin, crispy and just the right saltiness. If the line had died down, I would have gone up for a second bag. SuDokuGal ordered a milkshake ($4.50- they have vanilla, strawberry or chocolate) and the consistency was dead on-not too thick but not too blended. There was a sweaty bin of brownies with a paper sign that read "Don't forget your brownies." From the looks of the container they were in, I chose to forget them.

Don't get me wrong. I love dives and I love grease. And I see myself going back to Burger Joint. It is, however, not at the top of my list of great burger places. I had one that night, but it didn't fill me up. Blackbeard made a good point, you have to get two to make it worth the wait and to really fill your stomach. So head to Burger Joint with a patient, but not ravenous, stomach and an open mind. The atmosphere is enough to make anyone smile.

picture also courtesy of Blackbeard's camera phone

*cash only*
118 W 57th St, between 6th & 7th Ave

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Dylan Prime

Winette celebrated her birthday a couple of Fridays ago. And the spot she picked for it was Dylan Prime.

It didn't occur to me until a couple of days before the birthday evening that I had actually heard of Dylan Prime. And from none other than my Dad. He left me with a small black business card several months ago with the word Dylan on it. He said, "You have to try this place." I mentioned this to Winette at work, and in hilarious fashion, she responded, "Your Dad told you about Dylan Prime? What's up with that? He must be a total hipster!" Hipster indeed. I already shared this comment with both of my parents on the phone and I could hear them push the phone away because they were laughing so hard. Dad, a hipster? Come on. I mean, he did take me to go see Les Paul about a month ago at a jazz club in midtown, but besides that, that's about as hip as my dad gets. (I can't get away with not mentioning that I did not know who Les Paul was. A friend at work asked me what I did the night before, and for some reason the whole area went silent when I said, "My dad took me to go see some guy, Les Paul, play guitar." Immediately a guy at work snarfed his soda and said, "What?!?! Some guy? You might as well have said some guy Elvis Presley!!!!!" and the whole evil band of them continued in wheezing, loud cacophonous laughter. I'm sorry to all those guitarist aficionados out there, I swear I am not completely musically illiterate. I did play the violin for several years and was in choirs at my church and in high school. I had just never heard of Les Paul. If my readership goes down because of this embarrassing admittance, I will understand).

After work Friday, Winette and I bolted out of the office like two horses out of the gate at the Derby. We were thirsty for some cold beverages as work had been exceptionally tortuous that day.

Dylan Prime is in Tribeca, or should I say it is Tribeca. It takes up a massive block. When you walk in, the restaurant is to your right (make note of this because several guests messed this up) and the bar (only the bar) is to your left. I can't imagine, after spending the whole night in the bar, why anyone would want to eat in the dining room. The large wooden bar went all the way from one end of the room to the other, and with its tall ceilings and immense windows, not to mention the perfect dark faded lighting, it made it the perfect setting for any occasion. And ladies, there are TVs to satisfy any sports fanatic. March Madness games were on that night and yes, I was watching. This year I entered in my office bracket. My picks seeded me first (ahead of a bunch of males I work with) for the first and second rounds, and then I took a violent turn for the worse. Such is the game of brackets I now know. Swimster said he would never allow me to do brackets again because come gametime I became a raving lunatic.

Winette, her husband, and I were the first to arrive at Dylan, and we did not hesitate to order appetizers. We went with Winette's favorite: fondue and macaroni and cheese. The fondue dish was a generous serving of bread, cheese, apples, and fresh crispy bacon bits and fried onion slivers. It took up our entire bar table. The macaroni and cheese was in a giant ramakin and well cooked on top-my favorite.

The highlight of Dylan's, however, was not the food in my opinion, but rather the cocktails I drank all night. Here are some of their names. I think I had one of each. I'm not shy with the cocktail menu. I'll try it all.

Dylan Blue: Zyr vodka with house stuffed blue cheese olives (does it get any better than this?)
Bellini Martini: Finlandia vodka with white peach puree
Mojito Martini: mint infused Bacardi Limon served chilled with fresh lime juice
and finally the Rio-Rita: Beleza Pura Cachaca and Cointreau with fresh lemon and lime juices.

These cocktails were a pretty penny at $11 each, but if that was the price of merriment that night I didn't care.

62 Laight Street
212-334-4783

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"Leavin' on a..." Vamoose?

I'm leavin' everybody.
I'm packing up my bags, I've had it with this place.
Well, not really.
I'm hopping on a Vamoose bus (my favorite NY-DC transport) in an hour and a half and heading South. South to Washington, DC for the day and night, then heading down to Charlottesville, VA tomorrow morning for a wedding.
I've been looking forward to this weekend for a long time. There's something about a three day weekend spent with good friends that really gets me going. I think we should adopt the four day work week, don't you?
I will be back before you know it, but until then, have a wonderful weekend and I hope you get a laugh out of what I found while looking for pictures of someone getting on a bus.
See you Monday!

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A Dinner Party

K.Adler and her husband invited us over for a dinner party last weekend and it was a huge treat. I guess I'm in the "in- between" phase of life where some friends are married, some are not, but most don't think to have dinner parties. A hint to any of my friends reading this, a la "Field of Dreams," organize it and I will come. If I had a big enough apartment with a full-sized dining room table, I would be hosting dinner parties once a week.

Dinner started with a refreshing and much needed cocktail, made by LeMec, with his signature liqueur Chambord. To accompany the cocktails, we had crisps and cheese. I think one couple brought a couple varieties and Swimster brought some as well (we decided to do the wine and cheese duo, he brought cheese from Murray's Cheese shop and I brought a South African red wine from Morrell's). I'm not sure who to thank for this, but there was a small square of quince on the cheeseboard. I had never had it before and found it a sweet topping with the cheese and crackers. I will now be in search of quince in each and every grocery store, maybe they even have it at FreshDirect.

After the cocktails and cheese we moseyed to the dining room table. Here we enjoyed a colorful salad with strawberries and onions and Blue Ribbon Bakery vinaigrette, green beans, roasted potatoes, blue cheese-crusted steaks (the steaks were from FreshDirect I should add), and to end the evening, an incredible apple and blackberry crumble.

Click here for the recipe. It was one of the best crumbles I've ever had, and may have even topped my mom's version of Ina Garten's apple crumble. I hope Mom's not reading this. Instead of oatmeal, the crumble in this dessert is simply flour, butter and sugar. It is amazing and I highly recommend this for anyone looking for a sweet treat. Make it for yourself, which I fully intend on doing, or bring it to your next party.

(K.Adler's note: double the butter in any cooking light recipe:)

Enjoy! And thanks so much to K.Adler and LeMec for such a special evening!

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Holy Basil

Swimster's friend from school Mr.T was celebrating his birthday last Wednesday and a big group of us went out to celebrate. For the occasion, he picked one of his favorite Thai places, Holy Basil, in the East Village.

Wednesday was my Sunday and I finally made my mind up to spend a good portion of the day writing. I've been meaning to start a novel for some time now. It's a matter of me sitting down and banging it out, in addition to a lot of other factors, but I will work those out at a much later date. I love writing but sometimes I don't have the discipline to sit in front of a computer on the fleeting moments I'm not at work, since from 11-8pm all day everyday I'm in front of a computer. I will just have to remind myself that what I'm doing on my laptop at home is for my self-fulfillment and will be more gratifying to me in the future then the stuff I'm currently doing at work.

I found a Starbucks on the same corner as the restaurant and sat there for a couple of hours before getting the call. "We just got here, come on up!" Packing up my wires, closing my trusty laptop, tossing the remains of the decaf ice coffee, and freeing up a table for a loud family of five, I was on my way.

Holy Basil is up a small staircase off of Second Avenue. The awning with the big letters "Holy Basil" is the only way you'd think to go up the stairs. It looks like an apartment or brownstone entrance. Silly me, I thought the restaurant's name was supposed to be funny, as in "Holy Smokes!" After some research, I learned that holy basil is actually a type of basil with a slightly peppery taste. The herb's flavor is fully released after cooking so it is generally not eaten raw, but added to stir-fried dishes and some spicy soups. Holy basil is a sacred herb in India where it is frequently planted around Hindu shrines.

The restaurant is one long narrow room, roughly the size of a six-lane swimming pool, and has high ceilings and walls decked in long paintings and mirrors. With its Buddha statues and long wiry plants it feels as if you've stepped off Second Avenue and into a dark wooden temple. The small bar is immediately to your right and I followed the trail of peanuts to the back table, where the Peanut Gallery was already happy and seated.

I spoke with a friend at work who scoured my blog for the first time and she had one recommendation, posting pricetags on the meals I eat, so readers have an idea of how expensive a place is. Holy Basil's prices were really reasonable and I figured this would be a perfect place to start with prices.

For appetizers Swimster ordered a few dishes for the table: satay-strips of grilled marinated chicken with peanut sauce and cucumber salad($6.50) , duck spring rolls served with tomato chili sauce ($6.50), steamed dumplings filled with minced pork, shrimp, and shiitake mushrooms with a tangy soy sauce ($6.50), and thanks to Mr. T's recommendation, we ordered the papaya salad which was shredded green papaya, dried shrimp, peanuts, palm sugar, tomatoes, and chili pepper in a mortar with lime juice ($6). Did you get all that? The grilled chicken was soft and tender, and not too overcooked. The peanut sauce was a little bland, but the tiny cucumber salad (more of a light vinaigrette than a salad) made up for it. The steamed dumplings were neat little mushy boxes of goodness. The duck spring rolls were a perfect thin size and the best appetizer on the table. They reminded me of Mexican flautas. They were sliced in halves and the tender slivers of duck were oozing out, ready to be grabbed up by eager fingers around the table. The papaya salad was like a Thai cole slaw. I didn't get a lot of it since it was such a hot item, but the spoonful I did snag was fresh and crisp and very pleasing-a perfect light summery snack.

(*Doesn't it look like the sun was sitting right next to Swimster? I apologize for the blinding picture of his entree.)

For the entrees, Swimster tried the shrimp and scallops with panang curry, coconut milk, and string beans ($15). I tried the pra ram long song (I'd like to hear all of you pronounce that out loud) or sliced beef cooked in peanut sauce and red curry with steamed Asian vegetables ($9). CactusLadka next to me ordered pla laad preeg or whole crispy striped bass in Thai red chili sauce with holy basil leaves($16). My sliced beef gets an A for presentation (I tried taking pictures but my camera has seen better days), but the beef was a little bit too chewy and there wasn't enough peanut sauce on it. I should have asked for a side of the peanut sauce, now that I think of it. Swimster likes meals light on the sauce but sadly, I prefer a lot, especially when it comes to peanut sauce. Swimster's shrimp and scallops dish was also excellent in its presentation. Judging by how quickly he shoveled it in, it was clearly a winner in taste as well. I'm not a huge scallop fan but I did try the shrimp and thought the curry was perfect-not too heavy, not too light- and not overly greasy like what you find at some places. CactusLadka's fish was another beautiful dish, if you don't mind having a whole fish with skin and eyes and fangs on your plate. I tried one piece, after he had removed some of the skin, and really liked the light soft fish with the red chili sauce. It was a kind of chili relish and I could have eaten a whole bowl of it. If it weren't for the whole fish, I would order this the next time.

The service was excellent, and as you have just read the food was fun and festive, perfect for a birthday group occasion. And I just gave it away, there will be a next time at Holy Basil.

149 2nd Avenue, between 9th and 10th
212-460-5557

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