Mit Schlag

The adventures of a food and travel writer who likes her luxuries bite-sized. After all, not every night can be spent at elBulli. As for five-star travel--you know, the inclusive-resort, never-an-unscripted-moment kind--where's the fun in that? Might as well stay home. Why "mit Schlag"? Because as the Viennese know, most of the time all you really need, literally or figuratively, to turn the mundane into the sublime is... a dollop of whipped cream.

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The June issue of Whole Living is just about to hit the newsstands, and with it, my article on cilantro, the only herb capable of evoking Shakespearean-level passions. (To Eat or Not to Eat?) But oh, so beautiful, no? Sneak peek above. 

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Straightforward, one-liner definition of happiness? First strawberries of the season.

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Signs You're Turning Into Grandma, An Occasional Bulletin

Wondering, as you prepare for a party, if your tablecloth needs a tablecloth.

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Twofer!

This month marks my first two-fer: A cover article on Berlin in the May-June issue of Budget Travel, and my debut "Key Ingredient" column (on the lemon, the selfless workhorse of the kitchen), in the May issue of Whole Living. Neither is currently available online, but that's all the more reason to run out and pick up a copy now! 

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Since the day it opened five years ago, Market Table has managed to make its patrons feel equal parts neighborhood regular, minor celebrity, and beloved youngest grandchild of an Italian nonna, who worries you’re still hungry.

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“This is the best appetizer ever!” the busboy whispers with a grin as he delivers your plate of scallop and marrow tacos, and with the first slick, sweet-and-salty bite, you realize he’s right.

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Culinary Identity Crisis, An Occasional Bulletin

Turning challah dough into a Christmas fruitcake. Challahs for Jesus? Is there a law against this? (Should there be?)

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Certain spots in New York feel lifted straight from a film set, and none more so than ramshackle little Azuri. Bustling street corner in already filled-to-the-brim Hell’s Kitchen? Check. Noir parade of regulars shouting at each other in English, Hebrew, and Spanish? You got it. Curmudgeonly chef-owner, Ezra Cohen, with a heart of gold who gives you the cold shoulder for having stayed away too long before relenting and kissing your hand? 

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Step into a kinder world, a place where everyone speaks in a musical hush, where homesick businessmen linger for hours over a post-prandial bottle of port without the check ever being slapped down, and where the waiters are so concerned with your well-being that you fear they won’t sleep at night if you don’t eat every last bite of your meal. 

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Check out my latest article for Budget Travel, on Hell's Kitchen, the most international food neighborhood in Manhattan. Skeptical? I was too... but a few weeks of pavement-pounding back in June convinced me that HK really has something special going on. Fifth-generation Greek bakeries. Hole-in-the-wall falafel and torta joints. The only Russian restaurant in the city (pace Brighton Beach) capable of transporting me back to Moscow. The article isn't yet available online, so keep print alive by running out and buying a copy today! 

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Everything here is made the old-fashioned way—and it shows—particularly in the five varieties of silky hummus: traditional with lemon-garlic dressing; fava bean; mushroom; tahini; and ground beef with pine nuts. 

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Sasha Miranda grew up in an Irish-Dominican household in the ethnic melting pot of Flushing, Queens. For some, that would result in culinary confusion. Instead, she turned it into fusion, pure and simple.

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Culinary identity crisis alert: Turning challah dough into a Christmas fruitcake. Challahs for Jesus? Is there a law against this?

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Like many of the city’s Mexican restaurants, Ofrenda boasts an impressive array of tequilas and mescals. Unlike many of its competitors, though, they really know how to blend them here, churning out playful cocktails like the Mexican Julep and the Jalapeño Margarita. 

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It’s like a song you can’t place but know you’ve heard many times before. Only this time, it’s the food that’s so hauntingly familiar, never mind that you don’t recognize a single dish.

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One taste of this ice cream, and you know beyond a doubt that, yes, the lavender was hand-crushed, the mint picked over, the lemons zested, the vanilla beans scraped. By the owners. By hand. And, yes, with painstaking care.

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Miss Mamie’s Sampler—a platter of deep-fried shrimp, tender beef short ribs, and fried chicken—is enough to make a grown man, even an ex-President, swear off junk food forever. At least that’s what we hope Bill Clinton did after polishing off this very dish on a visit to the restaurant.