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Healthy Eating in Manhattan

June 13th 2011 14:42
When I think of the best cities in the country in which dine out, Chicago and Manhattan come immediately to mind. I live near Manhattan, and until recently had never come across a healthy guide to eating out there.

I was fortunate to run into Jared Koch, or rather, happen by his table at the Fort Lee Arts and Crafts Fair a week ago. He has what is dubbed as "the only nutritionist and food critic approved Manhattan Restaurant Guide" there is, a portable baby blue compendium that is really a must for anyone like me who likes dining out frequently in the tri-state area.

Before you carnivores panic, know the 'best of' list considers you too. The (long) title of this handy little bible is Clean Plates Manhattan, A Guide to the Healthiest, Tastiest and Most Sustainable Restaurants for Vegetarians and Carnivores. Koch, a nutritionist and health coach, co-wrote the book with critic Alex Van Buren, once a food writer for Time Out New York, although several more critics have since come on board to do the judging and selecting. The book, says Koch, can be used to "find healthy and sustainable restaurants in Manhattan, to learn how to change your eating habits when you dine out -- and in, and to transform your life by seeing how eating healthier can be pleasurable and startlingly simple."


I rarely read a book in straight fashion front to back, so soon as I had Clean Plates in hand, I went immediately to see if some of my favorite haunts are listed. Caravan of Dreams, a vegan hippie-friendly eatery we like to frequent at 405 East 6th Street, is. I have eaten at a few vegan joints in the city, and this one is the best. The worst one can say about it is that sometimes the service, however friendly, is uneven, but the quality of food is the best I've ever encountered in the vegan realm. And that includes desserts and espresso.


Caravan of Dreams features performers of every variety and once even a Tarot reader. I indulged, having once been one of those myself. I realize there isn't much I haven't done in my abundant life, save cater to the Mob and shoeshine. And I am serious about that. The Tarot reader was nice enough, and mysterious with her vibrating blue eyes and shockingly red hair, but she was off the mark and pissed off my mate, who didn't like hearing that I was attracted to three different men and trying to decide which one to go with. A word of caution to fortune tellers, 'Think about what you are saying and to whom you are saying it, and keep it simple and broad.'

I was also gratified to see Candle 79 mentioned, where we dined recently with a friend from Florida. You can't miss with salads of just about any variety at either of these two places, but I personally find the clientele at Caravan of Dreams a little more discrete and easier to take. Something about a six foot two father walking in out of the rain with his five year old sitting on his shoulders and expecting to be seated immediately at Candle 79 made me realize that those who eat there are not only hippy-ish and young, as at Caravan of Dreams, but yuppy-ish, older and entitled too.

What I love about Clean Plates is it has a broad, interesting and eclectic selection, from the "solidly American" Gramercy Tavern to the macrobiotic Mana to the Natural Gourmet Institute, the vegetarian cooking school at 48 West 21st Street. I notice Van Buren has a penchant for chocolate, so I now have a nice selection of new places to go for my favorite desserts as well.

Clean Plates is available for a mere $14.95 on Amazon.com and via www.cleanplates.com, and the esteemed Deepak Chopra has this to say about it: "Jared's nutritional advice in Clean Plates has the power to to transform your individual health and our collective well-being." What more could you ask for in a guide for healthy eating?
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France in Fort Lee

April 5th 2011 02:55
A sophisticated, hot spot with a Mediterranean swagger, a lot of cool and culture is just what Fort Lee needs and has in the way of Khloe Bistrot, a French provincial restaurant newly opened on Main Street, in the town that gave birth to the movie industry and is the seguey via the GWB to its savvy sibling, New York City. It's in a hopeful location, across the street from where Borders -- the only other thinking person's hangout I can think of -- was once situated and is now closing. The owner of Khloe's and her co-workers smoke their cigarettes outside the Bistro, staring nervously across the street at the giant-sized posters announcing everything must go, "50-percent off," "75-percent off everything," dangling from the high windows of Borders. It may hardly seem the time to launch anything, but it's spring, and this is a daring and fresh idea, and it's about time French cuisine came to Fort Lee.

To step into Khloe's is to know immediately that you are in a stylish, inviting place, where you can hang out for a while if you are willing to spend a little money. Just as you step in, you can see the busy kitchen beyond a counter to your left. A chandelier hangs opposite. The ceiling is high and the walls are painted black. You will not want to get up at all from the comfortable Louis XIV style chaises distributed around sturdy wooden square and round tables. The music, a blend of European rock and Sirius Chill, emanating from a line of giant speakers, was cool and sexy.

The owner, Nina, who hails from some two places, one of which is French, was elusive, but excited about her new restaurant, which, in a couple of weeks, will stretch its hours until two a.m., and will start offering bite-size dishes on its menu.

"It's for people that don't want to go home early, that want to stay out and have fun," she said.

A long-time insomniac once addicted to all-night partying and dancing, I can relate.

The menu is delightful, but uneven, with possibilities even for vegetarians. While the tri-colored salad was insignificant, although its price -- $11-$12 -- was not, the risotto, cooked al dente to perfection, and combined with shitake and portobello mushrooms and butternut squash, was savory and hot. A dessert shared by three, the Shue Hazelnut creme, an ample puff inside which was a creme to die for, was really superb. The espresso, another must, meaning Must-Be-Perfect, was not. Too intense and oily. The fuel oil variety, which I can live without, especially at the price of $4 per single shot. Our meal for three, sans alcoholic beverages, came to about $170, including tip. You have to BYOB.

Khloe is chock full of possibilities and has the thrill of parties to come hanging in the air. The conversation, ambience and dessert really made it a worthwhile experience. I'm looking forward to checking out what's cooking there -- in the kitchen and elsewhere -- a couple of months from now. I heard its first weekends were packed.
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Getting Into The Great Chef's World

February 5th 2011 20:44
This is the second or third time I've picked up The Reach of A Chef, Professional Cooks in the Age of Celebrity by Michael Ruhlman and it's gripped me as much this time as the others, if not more so. I haven't read anyone who matches Ruhlman's insight, sensitivity and intelligence, describing the art of the chef in today's world. His is simply the best book on the subject I have read to date.

The Reach of A Chef explores the lives of such culinary luminaries as Thomas Keller, Melissa Kelly, Grant Aschatz and Masa Takayama, in amazing, often breath-taking detail. The book reads like a top-notch thriller.The reader is left not only wanting to taste great recipes, but meet the chefs, study and work with them. Ruhlman describes -- the innovative Aschatz, concocting recipes that are more like strange experiments at Alinea in Chicago; Kelly plucking fresh produce from her garden in Maine, demanding the best, proving over and over again that a powerful woman in the kitchen who also happens to be petite, cannot be underestimated; the quiet and intense Keller, managing four four-star restaurants on the east and west coasts -- the fourth being Per Se in New York City; and Masa, who is not interested in evolving a brand, but runs the most expensive restaurant in New York, where for $450 (including tip), a customer can expect to dine on food designed, prepared and served entirely as Masa sees fit.

In the end, one has to wonder, where will Masa, Le Bernardin and Per Se be 10 years from now, from the customer's standpoint? Will they still attract moneyed foodies? Or just clientele willing to relive the thrill of days gone by? It is clear that running a successful restaurant requires a specially driven individual, but developing a brand, as superstars Cat Cora, Bobby Flay, Mario Batali, and most notably, Emeril and Rachael Ray have done, requires a special kind of personality, not only driven, but infused with magical timing, focus, persistence and endurance.

Emeril was always a maniac in the kitchen, cooking fast and furiously, but not always the nice guy. In the early days, he cursed out employees, until, one night, in the middle of service, a restaurant's owner, passed him a piece of paper on which was written a life-changing message: "You're too damn smart to be so damn stupid." Emeril re-read the note when he got home that night and determined he was going to change his attitude and habits and become as supportive and positive as he could be. The first life changer, he claims, was a book he read called, The Magic of Thinking Big. In Emeril's world, anything is possible, and this is the key message of his brand, and perhaps the reason he attracts so many people. His enthusiasm is highly contagious.

Cora's branding name and theme is also the title of her second book, From the Hip. A Culinary Institute of America (CIA) graduate, she is now a celebrity chef, and a regular on Iron Chef America, where I recently saw her beat out a French chef contestant with her extraordinary focus and versatility, working a menu with cherries as a theme.

According to Ruhlman, a great chef must possess "infinite energy and stamina...and massive ambition." It's not just the massive energy and product of great American chefs Ruhlman brings to the reader, it's also their process and art. And this is where both his narrative and its central figures, as well as Ruhlman's skill at depicting them, transcend being merely compelling, and become sublime.

This, fellow foodies, is what it's all about:

"The enduring image I have from my short time in Masa's kitchen was from watching a lunch service.

"At this particular lunch service, there was a single customer, an older woman, seated centrally at the hinoki bar. Masa stood before her unsmiling but looking comfortable in his loose clothing, his round shaved head glowing in the carefully lighted space. He bowed in plying his trade, in cutting fish on his board with his gorgeous knife. He first served the series of nonsushi dishes, ginkgo nuts, the uni risotto for which he's famous, the lobster-and-foie shabu-shabu for which he should be famous, the elaborate blowfish dish, before moving into the sushi performance that included a dozen carefully prepared bites of toro, mackerel, grouper, shima aji, tai, hirame, ken, ika, tako, kanpachi, anago, ebi, eel. He cuts each piece before the woman, forms a small ball of rice and seasons it with a bit of fresh wasabi or one of a few simple sauces, folds the fish over the pillow of rice, and sets it on a dark stone disk in front of her. The woman lifts it with her hand and, with a small dip of her head, like a bow, eats it in a bite.

"The meal lasted more than two hours. Occasionally, Masa would take a break in the kitchen, talk on his cell phone, to have some tea, who knows -- maybe check in with his bookie or reserve a Sunday tee time, or just relax for a moment. But when his customer, the old woman, had been alone for the right amount of time, he would return and resume his work.

"The entire restaurant was empty but for these two people, with fine spots lighting them both up vividly against the black walls of the restaurant, Masa slicing and serving exotic fish and the woman eating what he placed before her, all of it in perfect silence. I stood and stared transfixed from my hideout in the kitchen. They were beautiful to behold. A monk serving a monk." - From The Reach of A Chef, by Michael Ruhlman
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Chickpea Veggie Burgers

January 25th 2011 19:38
The vegetarian burger is a challenge. I've said it before. And, as I've said before, it's about getting the texture right. Not crumbly, solid, and tasty, of course. The following recipe is my take on Mark Bittman's, which is as close as it gets to perfection.

Bittman blogs on food for The New York Times. He has a down-to-earth style, offers solid culinary advice and got his start working for the same Connecticut-based newspaper I did. I got started as a journalist working as an arts writer for The Fairfield County Advocate. Bittman launched his career as a food writer working for its sister paper, The New Haven Advocate.

I like Mark's recipe, but have added a dash of color with the ingredients of carrots and parsley, and an extra zing with Tamari, which always seasons uniquely. It is a favorite ingredient. While you can make the veggie burger with other kinds of beans, chickpeas brown nicely, so try them, and use fresh chickpeas. Rachel Ray would whip them out of a can, but you can do better. And there will be a difference in the quality and taste.

To make four healthy patties, you will need two cups of well cooked chick peas, one medium onion, 1/2 a cup of rolled oats (not the instant variety), 1 egg, 1 carrot, a handful of croutons, 1 tablespoon of chili powder, tamari, pepper, and fresh cut parsley.

Place the ingredients in a food processor and blend them, but not into a puree. Next, moisten your hands and shape the mixture into patties. You can store them in the fridge or place them on a pan and fry them in olive oil. Turn after five minutes, and cook until both sides are nicely browned and firm.

I like my veggie burgers in a bun with plenty of ketchup, and coleslaw on the side.
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Avocado Soup Bowl

January 11th 2011 20:47
I just happened on a super delicious combo that I'd like to tell you about. We're heading for another n'oreaster, and I thought, "What a perfect time to put soup on the stove." And so I did, a bean soup mix in a medium pot of boiling water dashed with sea salt. I then proceeded to mince three cloves of garlic and chop up a large carrot, the ends of a few celery stalks and three strips of ABC bacon. Already Been Cooked. At the end of the hour when the buzzer rang, the soup looked hearty, so I popped in the veggies.

Then I turned and saw a lonely avocado that has been sitting in a basket on my kitchen table for a few days. It was ripe. Perfectly ripe. To eat today, ripe.

Two of us in our household were ready to eat, and so I sliced the avocado open, got rid of the pit, scooped out the veggie portion of the soup, of which there was plenty, and placed it on the natural dish formed by the avocado. Then I placed the avocado topped with beans and veggies in a small bowl.

One scrumptuous avocado soup bowl.
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Winter's Yellow Split Pea Soup

December 27th 2010 06:44
Know that shelling out a recipe is not easy for me. I'd much rather philosophize about food, or relay a culinary read or adventure. But tonight's repast was so right, so perfect for the moment, so apropos, I simply had to pass it on.

Late this afternoon we went out into the blowing snow and frigid temperatures to shoot some pictures and video, and after we returned, in the heels of lightning and thunder-- even as it snowed -- nothing seemed more of a respite, or more perfect to concoct at the stove than old-fashioned pea soup.

Thank god I had some yellow split peas left, which by the way, I prefer to the green variety.

With no time to let the peas soak, I simply tossed what was left of the bag -- about two fistfuls -- in a colander -- and popped them in a quart of sea-salted boiling water. Personally, I prefer a thick soup, so this recipe is about that.

While the split yellow peas in water perked on low, I brought out my trusty cutting board and my big Tramontina chef's cutting knife, what was left of some vegetables in my frig -- the heel of a celery bunch, an organic carrot, a quarter of a sweet onion, a couple of portobello mushrooms and a couple of strips of Fully Cooked frozen Oscar Mayer bacon. I chopped these up and a couple of garlic cloves and threw them into a pan with some olive oil, sauteed the blend, and finally, added a splash of Tamari. I waited until the soup was thick, near ready, then scooped out three or four heaping serving spoons of the sauteed mix and dumped it into the soup, setting the timer for half an hour. I placed the remaining healthy portion of veggies into a container to store after they had cooled -- to add as garnish to scrambled eggs, to a salad, or even to eat solo, rolled into a pita.

The split pea soup served four. You can garnish it with Turkish paprika. It was just what this wickedly cold night called for.
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My Failed Fondue

December 26th 2010 01:07
Very little can make one feel like more of a failure than a foiled recipe. Such was my fate this Christmas day. I failed at making my first fondue. It's not even that complicated. Particular, yes, but not complicated.

On the bright side, I know now what I did wrong. You need real wine. The fake stuff just doesn't do it. You simply can't replace the bright, tart taste of dry white wine with any other ingredients. Not lemon juice, not Fre de-alcoholized white wine. You must use the real thing.

Secondly, not only did I place too much faux wine in the pot; after placing handfuls of shredded Swiss Cheese, Brie and Gouda, I let the mixture boil.

You're not supposed to let the wine with cheese boil.

It was not the cheese I was supposed to use, and because I let it boil, it also clumped. These were my third and fourth mistakes.

I wasn't even sure of the other prescribed touches -- the added nutmeg, pepper and lemon juice. And the two tablespoons of flour. Was it too much nutmeg? Should the flour have been cornstarch?

Fortunately, I have learned a few things. If I can find Ementhaler Cheese, which I never heard of before researching fondue, I must add that to my concoction, along with the Gruyere I also couldn't find at the local A & P during my late night search. Cheese is a delicate substance in its way, as are the best foods, like chocolate, when you start playing with them in extreme temperatures.

I'm simply determined to find this Ementhaler Cheese of which I've never heard.

And determined to include dry white wine. And to find an interesting, yet simple fondue recipe, and try again.

Ca va. Such is life. I turn the page on my foiled faux fondue
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Revisiting the American Relationship to Food

December 25th 2010 21:08
It's just moments past Christmas, and some of us may be asking, what happened? How did our waistbands get so bloated? Our heads so out of sorts? Did we eat and drink that much? Our partners and friends claim we did. And we are looking forward to more. It's the American way. A holiday comes around, Americans get together and chow down. But what happens in the days in-between? What is our independent, sometimes existentialist impulse to opt out of routines, to have our own way with food, whether it's too much or too little or none at all, all about?

A recent article in Newsweek brought home the variety of habits that Americans have acquired over the years where food is concerned, the classist attitudes (some of which I also possess), as well as some disturbing statistics.

For example, while some of us make sure to drink expensive Italian espresso out of our delicate espresso cups every morning, and must partake of special croissants along with our drinks, many others don't have that choice at all, or even grub to eat. More than 50 million Americans go hungry every day. A 2008 study found that poor people tend more toward obesity because they subsist on sugary and fatty foods like those you buy at Walmart, since those foods are also cheap. A recent study found that 14 percent of New York City's kids are obese. America, it turns out, is the fattest country in the world!

How we eat in this country has become, according to one expert, our premier indicator of social distinction. I often share details with friends about where I shop for food and what I buy. I am an unabashed food snob, and until now at least, have been proud of it.

It's no surprise to learn that we Americans have extended our intense individuality to our eating habits. We eat when we want, how we want and what we want and consider it an inalienable right. But we are the only culture to treat eating this way. We don't tend to view eating as a social activity or "shared resource" -- like the French do, for example. Did you know most of the French eat at a set time -- 12:30 p.m. -- every day, and only 9 percent of them are obese.

Were we to eat more like the French, the article contends, we'd be truly liberated from our neurotic food habits. I would tend to agree. We are so paranoid about eating the wrong thing, eating too much, drinking too much. The French sit down together, share a meal, and conversation takes over. The food is enjoyed; the wine, imbibed. Everyone feels high and good. No one feels compelled to go to Overeaters Anonymous or AA the next day.

Maybe some of us are more concerned with food than we should be. We should all have the privilege to eat well. But, while I agree that Americans don't share their meals as much as they should, or converse as they dine as much anymore -- and that because of this we are not as happy and healthy as we could be -- I don't agree that Americans are not generous. We are. We like big portions. We like to see others eat well. We like getting together. We just need to be reminded we are not alone in our need to enjoy the best food there is. We just need to remember to include others in our enterprise of enjoyment.

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Big Christmas Questions

December 16th 2010 06:01
I don't know about you but I develop strange impulses around the holidays. Suddenly, just as everyone seems to be looking cheerful and happy -- even about eating more than twice their weight in food and gaining pounds -- I get the impulse to fast and join a nunnery. It's really how I often feel about the holidays. The "what do I cook?" dilemma sometimes brings me to the point of imagining serving celery stalks, dip and your basic red Hawaiian punch instead of all the usual brouhaha. Of course I won't do that, of course I wouldn't, I tell myself. And yet, I am my mother's daughter, and my mother, one holiday, when dad was expecting a big fat turkey and stuffing yet again, my dear mother, a Latin American, who was obviously -- on that occasion anyway -- fed up with the idea of having to serve up yet again another North American traditional meal, wheeled out a silver tray under which was no turkey, no stuffing, no ma'm, but arroz con pollo, chicken and rice, that savory, familiar South American staple. Woah, you should have seen the fallen expression on my daddy's face, on all our faces. Then a few of us laughed, those few who saw the humor. But not daddy.

So, I have my fantasies. I'm sure it will probably be turkey or ham again this Christmas. Maybe fried turkey. A new friend informed me that he fried an 18-pounder this past Thanksgiving in about an hour and a half! Ladies consider. This man did the frying in a big pot in the backyard. He did the cooking!

The trouble with this fried turkey idea for Christmas is primarily that at the moment we are experiencing temperatures the likes of which would probably prune the dick of a polar bear. My friends or neighbors would probably have me committed if they saw me making a fire in the backyard and placing a bald chicken, turkey or capon in the pot, while nordic winds whisked snow all around.

Ain't gonna happen this year.

Maybe next Thanksgiving.

Which brings me back to the Big Question, the one that has me alternately wanting to fast and wanting to flee -- What will I cook this Christmas?

Maybe I should ask myself, what would I feed hungry multitudes who came to my door, starved, really hungry for lack of having had a proper meal all year? What if once again this holiday, we opt to invite those who have nowhere to go over to our place for a meal? What, I should ask myself, would they want to eat, besides a big, traditional feast -- Turkey, potatoes, squash, gravy, string beans, stuffing, pumpkin pie. Who doesn't like this? Who doesn't dream of the best family moments they ever had or those moments and the family they wished they'd had when eating this stuff.

Of course this is what I'll make and serve this holiday, while the carolers sing and the tree twinkles bright. But you can bet in the back of my mind as I pull the turkey out from the oven, I'll be thinking of my mother and smiling big.



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Holiday Cheating

November 28th 2010 03:15
Vegetarians never win on Thanksgiving and Christmas, so those of us who cook might as well "suck it up," as my brother Bill likes to say, and serve the meat -- in this case, poultry. This year it was capon, not turkey, and we kept our celebration small. A capon is a castrated rooster whose castration process sounds like a religious ceremony -- caponization. In any case, the bird is tender, and, I might add, rather expensive. The bird is considered less aggressive. This may be a consideration if you are faced with feeding bilious friends or family members who generally chow down on the kinds of meat that make you more aggressive or tense.
Capón, as I like to call him (with an accent egu over the o), was an 8-pounder, and the French relative of a famous American gangster -- and less aggressive, of course. I could see he also, like his fellow bird, the turkey, had innards that needed to be removed, and I cast them aside. I slathered Capón with maple syrup and tamari, a concoction that gave his crust a warm, toasty look, and a light, lovely taste -- I was told.
Along with the requisite fowl, we had stuffing, and I am proud of mine. It's hearty, lush and moist. As I am trying to keep cholesterol levels down in our household, after chopping up sweet onion, fresh celery, baby portobello mushrooms and apple bits, I sauteed them not in butter, but olive oil. Once the ingredients were made tender in the pan, I added a splash of tamari.
Into the big pot filled with an inch of water went the Pepperidge Farm stuffing. I stirred until the stuffing was slightly moist, then added my sauteed brew and stirred some more. I would have added golden raisins, but certain people with whom I reside don't like raisins in their stuffing, so, in order to please the masses, I withheld the raisins and gnoshed on them instead.
The two major sins one can commit with stuffing are making it dry and/or tossing everything into it but the kitchen sink. Please resist the temptation to do either.
As Capón reached the end of his cooking cycle -- about two and half hours -- I tossed some fresh stuffing from a box into the pan in which he was cooking and let the stuff simmer in juices for a while, then scooped out a couple of serving spoon's worth to add to the stuffing mix on the stove. Capón higher fat content makes him perfect for basting.
The stuffing was moist and to die for. Did I eat it? -- You bet. As for Capón himself, I'm afraid he is almost gone. I did not partake of him, although I did usurp his juices in the stuffing. Although I am a vegetarian, this Thanksgiving, and only in this way, I cheated.

Note: In my eager quest to get out a piece about Fontana Di Trevi Restaurant earlier this month, and let everyone know how fabulous this Leonia-based restaurant is, I neglected to include all the ingredients in its famous Caesar salad. Let me rectify here: "The anchovies, garlic and crumbs are gently crushed by pestle in a wooden bowl, combined with a raw egg yolk, balsamic dressing, mustard and olive oil, tossed with pepper and fresh grated Parmesan over robust Romaine leaves; add a few more croutons, and presto. What a result!"
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