Entries Tagged 'Food and Drink' ↓

Check out my super rad birthday present. I’ve wanted a bento lunchpail for a long time. And now I have one, thanks to the boyfriend.

Can’t wait to get started over here.

The boyfriend just took a job at an artisan bakery here in town. He gets a free loaf of bread every day that he works. Confidential to my ass: Shall we just surrender?

Me: Hi, I’d like to order a pizza for delivery.

Roma Guy: Okay. What is your address?

Me: 1234 Berryhill Street (fake address, stalkers)

Roma Guy: 1234 Perilville Street?

Me: No, Berryhill.

Roma Guy: Pleralville?

Me: No, B-E-R-R-Y-H-I-L-L.

Roma Guy: What street is it off of?

Me: We are near the corner of Main and Stratford.

Roma Guy: Hold on, lemme check.

(on hold for approximately two minutes)

Roma Guy: [deep sigh] Now where are you again?

Me: Near the corner of Main and Statford.

Roma Guy: What street are you off of? Because you are not on the map.

Me: You know what? Never mind. I’m afraid my pizza will never make it here.

Roma Guy: [irritated and nasty] Fine, then. [hangs up]

I guess it is peanut butter and jelly tonight, kids.

A New York Times food critic hits the open roads in search of the best fast food in the nation. Fascinating writing that will have you wishing for a Whataburger washed down with a Snickers Blizzard.

Drinks I have loved in the order in which I loved them:

• age 18-vodka and orange juice, tall
• age 19-sea breeze
• age 19 1/2-cape cod, extra lime
• age 20-vodka tonics, extra lime
• age 21-vodka gimlets, straight up
• age 21 1/4-Petron tequila, chilled and straight up
• age 21 3/4-riesling
• age 23-merlot
• age 24-cabernet
• age 25-sake
• age 26-petit sirah
• age 27-sparkling whites and mimosas and cotes du rhones

Yesterday I didn’t have to go in until 6 pm, so I made a big, long list of all the stuff I’d accomplish during the day. I’d do the dishes and put away laundry and work on an article and edit the ad copy and go to the gym and meditate before work. Of course, I only crossed off three of those things: dishes, laundry and editing. I got dressed to go to the gym, got in the car and headed that way only to drive right past it and on to Bread & Company.

I was starving because I’d only had Naked’s Green Machine juice and hard-boiled egg whites. The closer I inched to the gym in traffic the hungrier I got. I couldn’t imagine running on the treadmill or lifting weights without eating something first. I’d never been to the Green Hills Bread & Company before but the parking lot was packed. I found a spot right up front that was encroached upon by two SUVs on either side. The one on the passenger side of my car was much further over her line, but I had no problem getting out on my side, so whatever. I parked there.

Once inside and in line I noticed all the sandwiches had meat except for one, so I got a tuna salad sandwich on multi-grain. I asked the vacuous girl weighed down by her eyeliner if I could get it with no bacon. "Extra what?," she shouted at me from behind the counter. "No BACON," I overemphasized and she just titled her head at me and turned to make my sandwich. Luckily it came without bacon and no extra anything else.

Then I got in line to pay and was caught between some annoying, hipster kids. The pin-wearing ones in front of me wanted the greasy haired guys behind me to join them up front, but the greasy haired kids refused to cut line. "We’re not going to monkey jump," they said, but I noticed the other line was shorter so I moved to that one just so I wouldn’t have to hear them.

There were two middle aged women in the shorter line ahead of me. And it seriously took them seven minutes a piece to finish their transaction at the register. The first woman wanted a dozen cookies wrapped and bagged individually and she wanted to know if she could get fruit tea by the gallon. She paid for half of her purchase with cash, the other with a credit card. I stood holding my tuna salad sandwich, quivering from hunger and waited.

The next woman in line was worse. She kept adding things to her order. She added another danish or truffle FOUR TIMES after being given her final total. Her speech was as lazy. "Hmmmm, let me go ahead and have another croissant. Do you know if there are anymore almond croissants, those are my Billy’s favorite? Can you check?" I lifted my face to the ceiling and breathed deep, calming breaths. Once it was confirmed that no, there were no more almond croissants she paid. WITH A CHECK. And somebody must have taught her just yesterday because she had to start over for some reason. I was beginning to think this Stepford slut was high on something. She got her bags of food and put away her wallet and checkbook, fumbling all the while. She made a movement toward then tables and I thought I was just about to be able to purchase and eat my limp-looking sandwich when she stepped in front of me again to ask for an extra cup of ice. I’m not sure how I didn’t lose it.

Fifteen minutes later I was stuffing my face with tuna fish when I looked outside to see the slow-ass woman in line ahead of me who needed extra ice trying to wedge her fat ass and all her bags into the narrow space between our vehicles. It came as no surprise to me to discover she was the hag who’d taken up one and a half spaces in the limited lot out front. It gave me perhaps too much pleasure to munch my sandwich while watching her struggle to get in the oversized gas guzzler she’d haphazardly parked in my spot. I sat waiting, smiling, plastic  knife drawn, ready if she even thought about slamming her door into my car.

Luckily I didn’t have to cut a bitch up.

(I figure if on occasion I get paid to write film reviews, I can
probably write amateur restaurant reviews then. If "write what you know" is at
all applicable, well, then  restaurants are what I know.)

Restaurant Zola

For Christmas I was lucky enough to win a $50 gift certificate to Zola, a Mediterranean spot named Best Restaurant in Nashville three years running (Nashville Scene’s Readers Poll).  It was a gift from [the place where I work], which is a sister restaurant to Zola.  I’d heard nothing but the most incredible things about the Best Chef winner, but had only ever been in through the backdoor. (As a hostess, sometimes I’d have to pick up creme brulee or Genache chocolate cake from the pastry chef, who supplies [the place where I work] with a couple of our desserts.)  I was thrilled to win the gift certificate in that drawing, mostly because I could never afford to eat there on my own, but also because their menu is well-known as vegetarian friendly, even winning third place for Best Vegetarian Menu.  In fact, a more strict vegetarian co-worker of mine asked if he could trade the certificates we each won.  He won his to Patrick’s, a Cajun restaurant.  But I wasn’t about to give up a meal at Zola (named in Gourmet Magazine’s Top 60 restaurants in America) for a lackluster, fried-up po boy.

Since I love little more than a fancy night out at a new restaurant I could hardly wait to indulge in some fine wine, a provocation or two (their name for appetizers), followed by a rich dessert.  I waited just two weeks before making a reservation for 8 p.m. on a Tuesday night.  It wasn’t difficult, I called the night before and had my choice of slots.

I studied the menu online the night before, thinking in advance about what I might want to devour.  After considering the grilled hot pepper shrimp with pistachio jam filo, mango coulis and a ginger chili drizzle, as well as the pistachio-crusted salmon on ginger grits, with pear carrot coulis & pomegranate apple yogurt I decided I couldn’t decide while looking at a computer monitor.

We arrived promptly at eight for our reserved table and entered to find the lobby spacious for a place that has less than 25 tables.  The host greeted us warmly as if she’d been waiting for us to arrive.  She probably had, there were only six seated tables in the entire room.  But the dining area is divided into two rooms, the one nearest the window was where that night’s patrons were seated, so it didn’t seem so empty. The boyfriend and I were shown to a small table against the wall.  It was an adequate spot, since a window seat would have only afforded us a better view of the Honey baked Ham store next door.

I was impressed with my surroundings, but not overwhelmed.  The decor looked sort of disjointed.  Bland.  Crowded, yet completely empty.  Perhaps it was the lack of bodies.  I did very much like the swaths of sheer, billowy fabric that were draped between ceiling banisters creating a lush, cloud-like covering. 

We were presented with the menu, which was short and reflected almost exactly what I’d seen on the website.  At first glance I was disappointed with the selection.  Aside from two completely vegetarian entrees, everything else (besides the salmon for pesco-vegetarians, like me) contained some land animal that would be difficult or detrimental to the dish to remove.  However, our server saved the day by describing the evening’s seafood specials, which my date and I both ordered.

To begin the meal we decided on the Caprese Katafi, a delectable combination of basil, pine nuts and two cheeses baked into crispy filo threads surrounded by a smoked tomato sauce and herb vinaigrette.  The rich but delicate filo strands were a wonderful contrast to the thick, creamy cheese, but the appetizer was really made exquisite by the most flavorful tomato sauce I’ve ever had the pleasure of putting into my mouth.  I could have eaten that sauce with only a spoon. After consuming every last morsel of the dish I was absolutely sure we’d made the right choice.

With the Caprese Katafi gone too soon, our palates were piqued for more.  Our friendly, yet timid server brought around a large lovely woven basket with two options inside: spinach and cheese stromboli or some fruit raisin twist thing.  Stromboli was the obvious choice to accompany the light olive oil and fresh cracked pepper she’d just presented us. The bread was hot, fresh and moist, but not outstanding in flavor, maybe because it was preceded by the orgasmic Caprese Katafi.

I enjoyed more of the pinot noir I ordered while waiting for our entrees.  Unfortunately the wine list on the Zola site is out of date and I don’t remember which wine I ordered.  It had a lot of As in it.  Perhaps the name didn’t stick with me because I wasn’t overcome by the wine.  I picked something blindly, mid-ranged in price, and while it wasn’t at all bad, it didn’t have a good finish and the ending is my favorite part of wine.

Our entrees arrived and soon began the moaning.  I ordered the porcini-dusted scallops with walnut pesto and sauteed spinach and a light, fluffy puff pastry filled with (yet again) more cheese.  And every bite was a tiny miracle.  I rarely order scallops since they are rarely even who they say they are.  And if they ARE actually scallops, they are rubbery or tough.  But no sir, not these.  The scallops were so good I immediately think of cliches like, "as tender as butter" or "they melt in your mouth," because THEY DID.  They so did. 

The flaky, slightly buttery pastry was airy and its texture was exquisite paired with the Manchego cheese inside it.  The spinach was dressed with a creamy bechamel, I think, which was livened up by the super fresh walnut pesto.

The boyfriend ordered the rare ahi tuna with a barley beef risotto and sauteed snap peas.  I cheated and tried a bite of his and found the heavy, earthy flavors complex and immediately satisfying.  Still, I was glad I got my perfect, sweet scallops.

The entrees were generous in portion, especially for something so well done.  Reducing the plate size by 1/4 would still be adequate, but I was grateful for every mouthful.  I wasn’t about to pass up dessert, so I soldiered on toward the spiced pear upside down cake.  My coffee was brought in a large, hand-painted ceramic mug, the kind often found in coffeehouses.  I complimented the server on them.  The coffee left a little to be desired, but the mug kept it very hot at least.

The cake arrived and was a lovely finale to a fantastic meal.  The pears were ultra-sweet and tender as if they’d been marinated in nectar or juice.  The cake was sumptuous combined with homemade whipped cream, though it wouldn’t be hard to replicate the recipe at home.  I wish now we’d ordered something more complicated.

Including a generous tip our tab for two including only one glass of wine was nearly $100.  It is easy to spend lots of dollars at Zola, but if you plan on splurging this is the place.  In Nashville, for those with epicurious tastes, you’d be hard pressed to find better.  I’ve been thinking about those scallops for days.