This isn
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01May
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30Apr
There are only two ethnicities present in the 7 am crowd eating breakfast at the Hilton Narita
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06Apr
Aah, Hawaii. This DCFuder just returned from Oahu and she can still picture the azure waves… The gently swaying palm trees… The amazing numbers of Japanese tourists! And there wasn’t an obese one among them. I was so boggled by this lack of body fat that I consumed record amounts of Japanese food while I was in Hawaii just to see what the deal was and wanted to continue eating it FOREVER once I returned home.
Thus inspired, I signed up for the Japanese Sushi class through Arlington’s Continuing Education program. On two consecutive Tuesdays, I huddled in the kitchen classroom at the Clarendon Education Center with a dozen other students. It’s a simple kitchen, but outfitted with all the essential equipment and a long table for the group to sit around. Mary Moore, youthful beyond her years and soon to be a great grandmother, led us through the basics of making sushi, Japanese dining etiquette and shopping. She is of Taiwanese descent, married an American serviceman and learned about Japanese food and culture during Japan’s occupation of Taiwan. Now she teaches people how to make sushi and is a Tupperware consultant (Fate is a funny thing, huh?).
The first Tuesday was devoted to the introduction of ingredients, how to make rice and making our own maki sushi (sushi rolls). She guided us through ingredients (types and brands of rice, vinegar, nori, etc.), how to choose fresh fish, and how to find everything at the grocery store. She was excellent about circulating around the room, giving pointers and answering questions as she went. One caveat: She loves chatting so much that sometimes things got left on the back burner, literally. Luckily some of my classmates were sharp enough to save our sushi seasoning and shepherd the rice to its happy, fluffy conclusion without many hitches. From there we learned the basic techniques of spreading the rice on our nori (the seaweed wrapper), filling it with ingredients, rolling everything up and slicing the roll into correctly proportioned pieces. I made one batch of classic vegetable rolls and one batch of simple tuna rolls, but I could have made more. When you receive your prep list for class and it says to bring a container for leftovers — bring a big one! There were plenty of ingredients to go around and lots of rolls to be made.
But, the second class was where the real fun happened. Don’t miss this class. There were noticeably fewer people in attendance for this class, which meant more sushi for everyone! Don’t be the lazy one that skips this class and misses out on the really good stuff. Everyone pitched in to prep ingredients and we started off with California rolls, which are messy but fun. Then we progressed to nigiri (tuna, salmon, eel, egg, imitation crab, mackerel, shrimp) and tamaki (hand rolls). I made my tamaki with the spicy tuna mixture Mary whipped up and thought I made it look like a spicy tuna ice cream cone, but I can -
28Mar
Some go to California for the sunshine. After experiencing nearly a week of rain, I question their judgment. But if you
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28Mar
Some go to California for the sunshine. After experiencing nearly a week of rain, I question their judgment. But if you
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23Feb
Being newly single and having a tough time slogging through the transition between coupledom to a swingin’ single lifestyle, I decided the best solution would be to self-medicate my romantical wounds. My preferred drug would be potent, provide an instant hit and be readily available. Solution: chocolate. And what could be more deliciously, creamily, dreamily ironic than drowning my sorrows in leftover, cut-priced Valentine’s Day chocolates.
I was talking to an acquaintance whose husband was a native “Baltimoron” (her term, not mine) and she started waxing poetic about Rheb’s, a Baltimore institution that she described as “a little house where little old ladies make chocolate all day.” What could be more comforting than little old ladies making chocolate all day? It sounded like Willy Wonka minus the kids drowning in chocolate rivers and moralism. I had to go.
Following my meticulous directions, I traveled I-95 to exit 50B, took a left on Wilkens Avenue and promptly drove right by the store. The actual retail store is set back from the road a bit on Bloomfield Avenue. The red neon sign has a hard time casting off the shadows of the hulk of St. Agnes Hospital directly across the street. What you might notice from the road is a neat little house with a sign out front that says “Louis J. Rheb Candy Company Chocolates and Candies Since 1917.” This is where all the candy-making magic happens, and where I suspect they are hiding all the little old ladies because I didn’t see any on my visit.
The business is family-run in the best way possible. On my visit, a boy and his posse were skulking around the counter waiting to snag his mom’s attention to get permission to watch a movie with his buds and get some popcorn money. I smiled and felt at home because it reminded me of being in middle school, except similar scenes in my life didn’t play out with massive amounts of goodies around me. -
22Feb
To get in, see The Gates instilation, buy comic books, and get out of NYC in 22 hours is a feat unto itself. To do it all in a snowstorm is admirable. To do it all while gracefully dodging carbs is an art form. With 8 days still to go on South Beach I
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20Jan
Well, I finally got to meet “Good Eats” host Alton Brown, and boy, did I make an impression on him! The man finds me -
19Jan
Each of the Food Network hosts attracts a certain type of fan. There are the housewives who think Tyler Florence is hot, the couples who find Emeril’s “Bam!”s and “Another Notch!”es zany and enthusiastic rather than phoned-in and phony. And there are those who can manage to get past Rachel Ray’s saccharine and excessive use of the term “E.V.O.O.” to enjoy her quick-and-easy recipes.
“Good Eats” host Alton Brown doesn’t attract fans. He attracts disciples.
You know the type: they tape his episodes and have the remote control at the ready as they prepare their turkey on Thanksgiving, ready to pause as Alton guides them on temperature, amount of time and amount of thyme. They ONLY use kosher salt when cooking, and proudly display theirs in an Alton-inspired vessel. When their kid is suffering from a fever, their digital meat probe’s probably more at the ready than a normal thermometer.
Those disciples -
03Jan
So, since everyone posting seems so gosh-darn set on writing about food in Baltimore, Little Rock, and Rockville* (to name just a random sampling of recent posts), I guess a post about a shopping trip to the suburbs isn’t so out of place.
As background: I recently tried to go shopping at the awesome Indian Spice and Gifts on Pollard Street (halfway between the GMU metro stop and Ballston on the Orange Line for fellow metro-ers) but it was sadly closed for renovation. So to soothe my ruffled foodie-soul I took a quick hop, skip, and jump over to the Giant there (I will admit that there was a brief perusal of the Arlington Main Library along the way**). Keep in mind that I ordinarily shop at my local ghetto rip-off Safeway in the city. It turns out that there is produce in the world! I grabbed a quick bag and then rushed home to impart the realization that there really are better grocery alternatives within (albeit far away) Metro access.
I planned the next weekend feverishly. We would go to Harris Teeter at Pentagon City and drop off a camera with a friend who had left it at our New Years Party. I like killing multiple avians with one basaltic nodule.
We broke out the granny cart and got ourselves there with no problem. The aisles were wonderfully large, the produce divine. We picked up 10 habaneros for the jerk chicken I made this evening (good ole Irma S. doesn’t shy away from the spice despite her Germanness) with no trouble. There were multiple brands of organic peanutbutter to choose from! All was bliss.
We headed out the door, full cart in tow. We negotiated the “no pedestrian zone” with aplomb. We snagged the elevator to the metro-level of the mall just as a stroller-wielding young mother came out. We drove through the mall with the granny-cart and garnered not a couple of perplexed gazes. We took another elevator to the farecard-reader level. Then we took a new (urine-scented) elevator to the tracks. Then we took it back up, and switched to the elevator on the correct side of the tracks.
Here’s where tactics come into the story. As those of you who Metro on a regular basis know, there are very few chances in DC to determine your own route. Either the train goes there or it doesn’t, and there’s usually only one line that will do so. However, from Pentagon City to Eastern Market you can either take the Yellow Line to L’Enfant and transfer to the Blue Line, or just ride the Blue straight. The drawback to the former is obviously the transfer, but the latter is six stops longer. It’s generally much faster to take the transfer. So we did, cart in tow.
It turns out that to transfer at L’Enfant being good metro-citizens and not taking the cart on the escaltors takes not one, not two, but three elevators. This is not even mentioning the narrow hard-to-manuver paths which those wheel-challenged are channeled through. So we gave up two-thirds of the way through and attempted to drag the cart on the final escaltor. Bad move. But that’s another story, and happily no one is permanently injured.
Final thoughts: It was sobering to experience in any small way what transfering in Metro is like when you’re mobility challenged.
Grocery stores really are bigger in the ‘burbs.
Granny carts suck.
*Yes, I meant to use the serial comma there. Also known as the Oxford Comma (primarily in the UK, for obvious reasons) it is a perfectly acceptable thing to do. Actually either way is fine in my book, but for heaven’s sake be consistent!
**As a DC resident you are entitled to library cards not only in the DC system, but also in Fairfax, Montgomery County, and Arlington. As a US citizen you are entitled to a card at the Library of Congress.