F is for Friend, H is for Husband

Friends come in all sorts of packages. Some are little “f” friends. You know them, their number is in your cell phone, you might someday randomly call them for a movie. If you won the lottery, eventually you would tell them, but probably not right away. There are friends that are really an “a” (acquaintance) or a “c” (colleague). And then there are big “F” friends.

I am lucky, blessed if you will, because I have a lot of big “F” friends. This includes a friend who was willing to break and enter and trespass just to reenter my wedding reception. It also includes a friend who volunteered to clean my bathroom the day I moved into my condo. Most definitely, in this category, are the friends who I joined in NYC for a quick getaway this past weekend.

I hesitate to call it a tradition for fear it will go away, but for a couple years now, I’ve found myself on a train to NYC the second weekend in December to meet up with some of my friends from DC. Usually, I only go for the day, sometimes only a meal, as I have work and school. By the way, if you’re thinking of entering the hospitality industry, then know this: you will never think of weekends the same way again and you will hardly ever have a traditional weekend.

This year, though, I was able to spend the night, and it was great. It was great because we had a delicious brunch at Norma’s in midtown Manhattan. It was great because after the terrible ice storm last week, the sun was shining on Saturday. It was great because we got to see the Rockefeller Christmas tree. It was great because we found ourselves in Soho Saturday afternoon, far away from the Fifth Avenue crowds. It was great because the friend who doesn’t really like chocolate is the one who suggested we go to Jacques Torres Chocolate.

Jacques Torres Chocolate was an item on my lifetime to do list. The man himself is one of the most accomplished pastry chefs France has ever produced, and that’s saying a lot. His store on Hudson Street in SoHo actually sits in the middle of his chocolate factory. As the store is glass enclosed, there is ample opportunity to press your nose to the window and witness cacao beans being roasted, chocolate molds being prepped, and chocolates being boxed. It is a beautiful sight!

I could have spent the whole day there! Oh, and the friend who does not consider chocolate a food group, she too ordered hot chocolate with everyone else. And all the friends were happy to let me peruse the selections of chocolates and candies, to revel in the wonder of all. Just check out the hot chocolate:


For those of you who have been to Spain, this hot chocolate will be somewhat familiar to you. It is the kind usually paired with churros, almost too thick to drink but perfect for dunking. This hot chocolate has a base of real chocolate, not cocoa powder, which explains the thickness. It is meant to be sipped and consumed in small quantities. I cannot imagine guzzling it. Swiss Miss it is not.

I chose the wicked hot chocolate, which contains both ancho and chipotle chiles ground, plus cinnamon and allspice. I can just feel a few of you wrinkling your noses and thinking “Ewww.” However, single-varietal chile powder (not the mishmash of stuff thrown into a jar that you purchase at the grocery store) is a spice like any other in that it can contribute flavor that is complimentary. In this case, it brightens the hot chocolate, and the spice strikes playful notes on the tongue. Spicy hot chocolate is offered at lots of places. While I enjoyed the version at Jacques Torres, my all-time favorite is found at Slitti, the Italian chocolate house in Tuscany, west of Florence. Slitti also uses pure chocolate as a base so I can assure you it is an apples to apples comparison. In fact, here, see for yourself (photo by K. Magovern, 10/22/05):



There were lots of other great things that happened in the City this past weekend. We saw a Broadway show, my first time since January 1994 when I took my then-boyfriend and now-husband to see Les Miserables. We ate well, walked much, laughed often. And then it was time to return to the Hudson Valley, to homework and home.

This very weekend, one year ago, when I returned home from gallivanting with my girlfriends in the city, Brian was making enchiladas and telling me he had a surprise for me. And I just brushed him off. I told him I did not have his Christmas present ready. He told me the surprise was not my Christmas present. I told him I was grimy from slogging around the city and so I took a shower. I told him I couldn’t possibly embrace my surprise after the shower because I just had to do my piping homework. He was so excited about the surprise, and had made the enchiladas as part of the surprise, and there were flowers on the table (and we never have fresh flowers in the house), and he even came to greet me at my car when I arrived home. I was having none of it.

After dinner, I finally relented on the surprise. He brought out a box that sure looked like a Christmas present, in metallic blue wrapping with a silver bow on it. You just have to know where this is going. I unwrapped the box and opened it: sitting atop a platform inside the box was a small wooden box, secured to its stage with white ribbon, and inside the wooden box, was a ring.

Much has happened since that wonderful Sunday a year ago, including our wedding. When I returned from the city this past Sunday, Brian was in the kitchen prepping ingredients for enchiladas, and that is why big “H” is for husband. Of course, there are no little “h’s.” Just Brian. Brian who was happy to send me off for a weekend in the city with the girls. Brian who makes me coffee every morning. Brian who packs my lunch for work when I am running late. Brian who makes me enchiladas to welcome me home. Brian who hugs me and laughs with me when I am felled by something as simple as tiramisu. Brian. The big H.

Joshua's, Woodstock, NY

One of the great pieces of advice we received on marriage was to remember to go on dates. You must date your spouse. And we've discovered, with school and work and weekend jobs and hobbies and a sometimes very tired wife, that dating your spouse is easier said than done. However, a solution presented itself this past weekend. Instead of trying to start the date in the evening when one of us may already be cat-napping on the couch, start the date in the early afternoon.

With that, we found ourselves heading across the river and into the Catskills to Woodstock. Yes, the town and the infamous concert share the same name. However, here is a bit of cocktail party trivia, the concert did not take place in Woodstock. It took place 50 miles away in a different county. The town, though, if you visit, has plenty of tacky tie-dyed t-shirt shops and various dens of memorabilia. The most interesting one we found was selling a $100 blown glass bong.

Woodstock, though, is delightfully more charming than these shops would suggest. It has well-stocked used bookstores, a great kitchen store, the best shoe store in the Hudson Valley, and it has Joshua's.



Given that we are still relative new-comers to this part of the world, we often consult local magazines and guidebooks for restaurant recommendations whenever exploring the Hudson Valley. The problem with this approach is that all these resources seem to mention the same places. It's fine for the first trip, but won't do for subsequent trips. We've been to Woodstock before so we wanted a new experience. We ventured the length of Tinker Street, the main thoroughfare, read menus, peeked inside. Woodstock does not lack for restaurants.

The menu at Joshua's caught our eye, though. I was happy that they served breakfast until 3:00 p.m. Brian was happy they served Middle Eastern food. We went in. The dining room was full. We were told there would be a wait. Oh well, we could go somewhere else. There were other choices. A wait. At 2:00 p.m. On a Saturday in December, the low season. It then dawned on us, separately and in silence, that actually this was a very good sign. And so we put our name in the hat, walked around for a bit, and returned.

Joshua's has two levels. On the ground floor is the main dining room. It is not large, but it has lots of windows that let in natural light. It is wood tables and wood paneling, the dark tones of these playing off the light somehow creating a peaceful environment in which to enjoy your meal. There are actual pepper grinders on the tables. Upstairs, where we did not venture, are a bar, coffee bar, and tapas lounge.

Brian and I have come to have our own set of standards for a good restaurant. Among these are good service, clean floors (check out the bathroom and the kitchen), and good food. Within minutes, Joshua's met two of the three. The floors were clean. The service, well, was just terrific. From the moment we put our name in the hat to the moment we left, we were well taken care of, and this despite the fact that we were the few people whom the staff did not know by name.

The menu is a happy mix of breakfast items, omelettes, specials, Middle Eastern favorites and continental standards. We found this a bit odd at first, until the waiter told us Joshua was a member of Israeli defense forces, the restaurant has existed for over 30 years, and it is now run by his daughter. Brian and I embraced the ecletic menu by ordering eggs and moussaka.



Eggs are one of those things that should be fairly easy to cook, but often come out tough and overscrambled. I selected eggs scrambled with cream cheese, scallions and tomatoes. The eggs were scrambled slightly dry so that the cheese provided the moisture in the dish and the tang of it played off the bite of the scallions and the sweetness of the tomatoes. It was warm and delicious in that little dining room on a cloudy, cold December afternoon. I paired a Bloody Mary with it, the spice and sweet of which went nicely with the eggs.



Brian ordered the moussaka, a Greek dish often compared to lasagna, containing ground lamb, tomatoes, eggplant, and topped with cheese. It was served over brown rice, our favorite, and accompanied by vegetables. The moussaka made Brian swoon, but the vegetables were a test. We find, too often, that restaurants give vegetables and vegetarian dishes the short shrift. So in addition to the clean floors and the good service, respect for the vegetables is another one of our signs of a good restaurant. Joshua's respects the vegetables. Pieces of steamed cauliflower and zucchini accompanying the moussaka were balanced, still possessing some crunch yet cooked.

In the happy moment after consumption, we sat at our four-top round in the middle of the dining-room, watching the pedestrian traffic outside, holding hands, and willing the moment to last a little longer. Obviously, coffee and dessert would help. And wouldn't you know it, but not be surprised by it, dessert is another test of a great restaurant. We are reasonable people. We know pastry chefs are expensive, restaurant profit margins are tiny, and outside desserts must be brought in. We would prefer it if all desserts were made in-house, but if they are not, they should be of the highest quality.


Even before the menu arrived, we discussed baklava, hoping the restaurant's history would yield it a dessert item. It was the first one. Sure, we looked over all the other choices, but baklava was the only one for us. For those of you who know me, you might consider this surprising given my walnut intolerance/allergy, but we have a system. I have two to four bites of filling and then I focus on the phyllo top and bottom. Brian happily eats everything that remains. We were waiting in anticipation for the baklava. It arrived in an askew wedge shape, the plate drizzled with honey. Clearly, it was made at the restaurant. A tell-tale square or rectangular shape would have hinted that it was brought in from somewhere off-site. Oh, it was so good! The crunch of the top yielded to the softness of the walnut filling, and the honey rosewater soaked sheets of phyllo composing the base.



We enjoyed the baklava with a cappucino and a latte. The only hiccup of the afternoon, a wrong coffee order, was handled quickly and deftly. Otherwise, the foam on each was appropriate to the drink, and the coffee was strong without being bitter or hinting of over-roasted beans. We finished our drinks, plates were cleared, the bill was paid, and then one last sign of a great restaurant was presented: the offer to fill our water glasses as we lingered not quite wanting or ready to leave.

Joshua's
51 Tinker Street
Woodstock, NY
845.679.5533
www.joshuascafe.com

Waffles

So the last few weeks, save for two days, have been a bit cruel, if I do say so. Don't get me wrong. I like cloudy days as much as the next girl. They give you permission to stay inside, to peruse a pile of old magazines, to nap, if you will. They create the perfect setting for getting things done around the house since they kill any desire to be outside. But day after day of cloudy skies, as we have had over the last couple of weeks, well that is just too much to take. It makes me think I need Vitamin D supplements just to get through until April.

That said, there have been some bright spots, here and there. My brother-in-law got married to a woman who is so lovely that she channeled Audrey Hepburn on their wedding day. We had a lovely turkey feast the day after Thanksgiving with friends. And my coworkers gave us a gift card to a terrific local kitchen gadget store that allowed me to buy a waffle maker for us.

Truth be told, I've wanted a waffle maker for some time now. My stepmom and father used to make banana pecan waffles for my brother and I when we were younger. My yearning for them was rekindled when I spied a friend's Winnie-the-Pooh waffle maker sitting idle in her pantry. Ok, I really wanted the Winnie-the -Pooh waffle maker, but compromises must be made. Apparently, when you are an adult, without kids, Disney-themed kitchen appliances are a non va (that's Italian for "won't go").

Thanksgiving morning was our first use of the waffle maker.

Sure, she's a little rough around the edges. We sacrificed in the name of perfection, though, and managed to produce lovely square beauties after three straight mornings of practicing. And no, we did not tire of waffles, morning after morning, despite using the same recipe every time.

In searching for a recipe, we pretended we wanted to be good. We searched for something nutritious so we'd feel better about loading it up with syrup and butter. And, boy oh boy, did we find a great recipe from Eating Well magazine. I've tweaked it a bit. I cut the recipe in half, as it is just the two of us. I left the original amount of oats, which produces an amazing multigrain waffle creating the perfect vessel for local Hudson Valley maple syrup.

MULTI-GRAIN WAFFLES
Adapted from Eating Well magazine
Serves 4, 1-2 waffles each, depending on your waffle maker

1 cup buttermilk
1/2 cup old fashioned rolled oats
1/3 cup whole wheat flour
1/3 cup all-purpose flour
2 T toasted wheat germ
3/4 t baking powder
1/4 t baking soda
1/8 t kosher salt
1/2 t ground cinnamon
1 ea. large egg, lightly beaten
2 T brown sugar
1/2 T canola oil
1 t vanilla extract

Stir the buttermilk and oats together in a small bowl (you'll add more ingredients to this mixture later). Let sit for 15 minutes.

In the meantime, whisk together the flours, wheat germ, baking powder, baking soda, salt and cinnamon in a large bowl.

When the oat mixture is ready, stir in the eggs, sugar, oil and vanilla. Add this wet mixture to the dry ingredients. Mix with spoon or spatula just until blended. You do not want to overwork the batter otherwise you'll have tough waffles.

Preheat your waffle maker. Ours has six "browning" settings. For these waffles, we prefer them on the crisp side which is setting "4" or "5." When the waffle maker is preheated, spray it with nonstick spray, lots and lots of spray, otherwise, you'll be having a "discussion" with your spouse about who gets to clean the waffle maker. Pour enough batter to cover 2/3 to 3/4 of each waffle square, close the lid, and wait a couple of minutes for the sign your waffles are ready for consumption (our machine dings). Repeat as needed with batter.

Serve with butter and maple syrup or your favorite breakfast condiment.