Comfort Me

I'm sort of ambivalent about the comfort food movement. Certainly there are more challenging and original foods out there to make than fried chicken and biscuits. Still, when a hot spot opens in my nabe (a truly rare occurrence), I take notice. Queens Comfort has been building a following all week, with its rakish Williamsburg aesthetic--white wainscoting, chalkboard menus, Stumptown coffee in house and to go, alternative music blasting, cash only. You get the picture. I had to go in.

I sat at the bar, which makes for a comfortable enough brunch. Queens Comfort does their own baking and I had to challenge myself not to eat one of their fresh donuts. I won that battle, but lost others.

My fried green tomato sandwich was a little heavy on the remoulade and a little light on the sweet pepper jam, but I assume they'll find balance after the official week of soft-opening is over. My bread had the coarse texture of cornbread with a tiny bit of the same quality of sweetness. I was aiming for a meat-free morning, which prevented me from ordering the brisket sandwich with horseradish and red onion jam, or the pulled pork sandwich with Stumptown barbecue sauce and slaw, or the fried chicken sandwich with maple butter on a biscuit. The calorie counter in the back of my brain advised against a side of macaroni and cheese, though I'm sure my discipline will only follow me so far. For my family, I brought home three maple bacon biscuits, the last in house.

The staff has advised me that the menu will change and expand in coming weeks. They also plan to delivery and, hopefully, accept credit cards. I'm not sure if Queens *needs* a spot to order a two dollar Mexican Coke, but hey, we have it now. For anyone who was concerned, it should come as a great comfort.

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Queens Comfort

40-09 30th Avenue

Astoria, NY 11103

646.597.8687

Chicken Little

Somehow, my friends and I miraculously missed the line at Pies 'N Thighs last night. It helps to know the people who make the chicken. As it was my first time at this famed establishment, the group suggested I order the Fried Chicken Box, a three-piece fried set (what pieces you get seem dictated by chance), which comes with a buttery biscuit and choice of one side. Chance fell in my favor: I ended up with two thighs and a bone-in breast. The exterior of PNT chicken is pretty much crispy chicken heaven. New York is no groundbreaker when it comes to the stuff, but no matter. Any southern food worshipper can get a fix in Billyburg.

The sides? The sides were fine. Macaroni and cheese was a slight disappointment, with a grainy and broken cream sauce. My watermelon and cucumber salad was assaulted with a little too much mint, an assertive flavor that tends towards the vegetal in excess. Deep-fried zucchini was the perfect mix of savory and sweet, enclosed in a thin and delicate batter and dressed with honey. Biscuits, if you like that sort of thing, were a standout, too. "These are the real thing," a co-eater exclaimed. It's all about the butter. The other ladies ordered the chicken on a biscuit, one white breast with a hit of spice served in the middle of one of those buttery biscuits and topped with honey or maple syrup (it was hard to tell which). The biscuit meal is less food than the three piece and less money, too, and if it hadn't been my maiden voyage, I may have gone down that road, too.

My watermelon agua fresca proved the perfect respite from the spicy Frank's Red Hot that came drizzled atop my thighs. But what rounded out my meal completely was that final piece, a sour cherry hand pie, which is a polite way of saying that it was deep-fried. Call it a turnover, call it a slice, call it whatever you like. What it was, in its simplicity and brilliance, was a sour cherry pocket doused in hot oil and topped with powdered sugar. What better way to bid adieu to cherry season and to summer?

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Pies 'N Thighs

166 South 4th Street

Brooklyn, NY 11211

347.529.6090

Neglect

Oh, blog, how I've neglected you. But, fair readers, you would have had no interest in my mediocre late-night meal at the uptown 'inoteca in the middle of last week. The panini (proscuitto, goat cheese, tapenade) was good, as was the antipasto platter (olives, an overdone and cold fritatta, sopressata, a mild cheese similar to provelone, some kind of squash, pickled fennel/carrots/cippolini onions), but the arugula and pickled onion salad was over acidified, despite calming fresh shaved parmesan. Oh, well.

On Saturday, we went back to Dell'Anima to see the chef and overordered. Bruschetta came with virtually an entire loaf of bread--and we finished it all. Our spreads--rapini with pine nuts, caramelized onions, chick peas--probably would have been enough for dinner. But then came tender grilled octopus (vastly oversalted) with chorizo, and quail served over grains with fresh cucumber and mint. My favorite course was the pasta, toothsome orichette with a lamb ragu and some kind of bean. Complimentary risotto was also oversalted, probably a result of more chorizo.

Striped bass came pan-seared and with the skin on, garnished with a spring garlic puree. I haven't had such a beautiful piece of fish in a long time. Chef also sent out a skirt steak with his own version of chimichurri sauce, but upon its arrival we realized we were much too full and brought it home for happy leftovers.

Last night, finding ourselves in Murray Hill, we went to Artisanal for snacks. I never realized Artisanal was so expensive. A duck and foie gras rillette with apricot marmelade came with an unlikely dose of cornichon. Onion soup was delicious but completely ordinary. Steak tartare had all the usual suspects. The macaroni and cheese (I felt obligated to order something cheesy, given Artisanal's dedication to dairy) came with penne, and I will admit that I just hate macaroni and cheese made with penne. It never seems to hold the cheese the proper way. The bill was a whopping $100 for our snacks and wine tastes (a boring list, for those interested). I won't be going back.

We're planning for Chinese food in Sunset Park today, provided we actually motivate and make it. I'm vowing to be less remiss in my posting in the coming week.

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Artisanal
2 Park Avenue
New York, NY 10016
212.725.8585

Kraft Doesn't Do It Better

I've been craving macaroni and cheese.  Really, what I want is the old boxed variety made with whole milk and lots of butter but I have no control mechanisms when it comes to Kraft and I'm afraid I'd eat the box in one sitting.  

But I did come across a recipe the other day that involved the introduction of one very Kraft-orange vegetable to a basic macaroni and cheese recipe for astounding results.  I cut said recipe in half (no single person needs to make an entire pound of macaroni for dinner unless she plans on eating it for the next week) for a more manageable meal.  

Here goes: cook half a pound of pasta (the equivalent to half a small box; in this case, I used Barilla's enriched macaroni, which has more fiber and protein than normal white pasta.  They were out of whole-wheat) and drain but do not rinse.  The starch in pasta--let this be a lesson to all drainers--helps sauce and cheese stick to it.  While the pasta's a-draining, melt one cup of skim milk and one package (generally between 10 and 12 ounces) of frozen, pureed winter squash.  Bird's Eye makes it, and I'm sure every health food store on the east coast sells it.  You can use two percent milk for a little more creaminess, if that's what you desire.  I happened to have skim on hand.  The end product should be bright orange and fully integrated.  

In a separate bowl, grate a cup of extra-sharp full-fat cheddar cheese and a third of a cup of Monterey Jack.  Add to this a quarter cup of part-skim ricotta, a half a teaspoon of course salt, a half a teaspoon powdered mustard, and a quarter teaspoon of cayenne pepper.  Grind some fresh black pepper over the mixture and pour the warm squash/milk mixture over the cheeses.  Mix the cheese and squash until the cheese has melted completely.  Add the cooked macaroni. It will seem watery at first, but the oven will evaporate the extra moisture.  

Put the final product in a baking dish that has been sprayed with non-stick cooking spray.  Top with bread crumbs (I mixed mine with a teaspoon of olive oil and a tablespoon of parmesan cheese) and put in a 375 degree oven for 10 to 15 minutes, until the sides are bubbling.  Put under the broiler for a final few minutes to brown the top.  To feed more than two or three people, double this recipe, though it probably feed up to four comfortably.

And there you have it.  You can taste the squash, but only a little, and it gives a nice texture to the dish.  Plus, you're getting vegetables, which too many of us skip out on.  Ricotta cheese can be a bit problematic because it becomes a little curd-y when warmed.  I'm wondering if this dish would be better with non-fat Greek yogurt, the extremely thick and tangy variety that's everywhere you look here in Queens.  Something to consider for a follow-up attempt.  

All You Can Eat. No, Really.

Hill Country inaugurated "all you can eat Mondays" last night, a deal that will extend until the end of February. And what a deal it is. For the paltry admission price of $25, you get as much BBQ chicken, lean brisket, and pork ribs as you can eat. And then there are the sides. Choose from German potatoes, sweet bourbon mashed potatoes, cucumber salad, cole slaw, pinto beans, black eyed peas, green bean casserole, skillet cornbread with ancho honey butter, and, for two additional dollars, macaroni and cheese, Texas red chili, and bacon baked beans.

Not to mention all the white bread and fountain soda you want.

It was an excellent deal, I discovered last night. The pork ribs were dry rubbed and you could supplement the smoky, peppery flavor with Hill Country's barbecue and hot sauces. Chicken was fall-off-the-bone tender and the brisket was... well, we had to ask for more brisket. And even then, it wasn't enough for my carnivore companions.

I would have loved some beef ribs, pulled pork, and Kreuz sausage to round out the meatfest, but that probably would have been overkill.

I was surprised that our all you can eat menu offered so many unlimited sides. German potatoes resembled a cream-less smashed, with the welcome addition of some kind of crumbled meat. Sweet potatoes were more of a dessert like a side, and the cucumber salad was essentially a welcome cup of pickled cucumbers buttressed by thin slices of pickled white onion.

Baked beans with bacon were smoky and sweet. One member of our party, a Houston native, happily pronounced the experience authentic and praised the restaurant's brisket. That's a big deal, coming from a Texan.

Hill Country serves Texan delicacies all around. Peruse the beer list and you'll find Lone Star, the Texas canned shlock, and Dos Equis, a Mexican beer favored in the south and southwest. On the sweeter side, they serve Blue Bell ice cream, a company that has been churning out high-fat favorites in Brenham, Texas since 1907.

And there's always sweet tea, served in a mason jar, which, the Texan informed me, is not what Texans actually drink out of down south. But hey, it's all part of the rolicking theme-park atmosphere that is Hill Country, a slice of the Texas pits all the way up here on our little island.

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Hill Country
30 West 26th Street
New York, NY 10010
212.255.4544

Prehistoric Thursday

I weathered a one-and-a-half-hour wait for bar-b-cue last night.  This isn't the longest I've ever waited for food; once, at The Spotted Pig, I stood around for four hours, consuming more than my share of beer by the pint, in an attempt to experience Fergus Henderson's cuisine first-hand.  By the time I sat, I was a little too drunk to appreciate fully the organ meat extravaganza that was Henderson's cooking.  

So maybe the wait wasn't the worst, though it wasn't particularly pleasant.  One redeeming aspect was that Dinosaur Bar-B-Cue, an import from Syracuse that opened in 2004 on 131st Street, serves rich and foamy Sprecher's root beer on tap, perfect for passing the hours. 

When we finally arrived at our table, we shouted orders at our poor waitress in under ten seconds.  Chicken wings were spicy and sweet and undeniably meaty, served with celery sticks and a blue cheese dressing.  While they would never satisfy a Buffalo wing craving, itself its own beast, the wings did chicken justice.  Fried green tomatoes came sheathed in a light breading and served with fresh grated parmesan and a remoulade for dipping.  Peel and eat shrimp were cajun inflected, medium-sized, and cold, avoiding the finger burning too often associated with the dish.  

And then there was the meat.  For my part, I ordered all three house specialties, the trifecta of Texas brisket, pork shoulder (generally referred to as pork butt), and ribs.  Ribs were dry rubbed first and then glazed with sauce and had ample flavor.  Pork butt was fatty and delicious, though it required an additional serving of sauce for flavor.  Brisket, served with pickled jalapenos, was almost burnt on those coveted edges. 

Macaroni and cheese arrived creamy and browned on top, smelling of paprika.  An iceburg wedge salad with blue cheese hit all the familiar steakhouse notes.  Baked BBQ beans were a tad watery for my taste, but still sweet and savory and full of pork.  Fried rice reminded me of Chinese takeout, in a good way.  

Then, of course, came the requisite southern dessert, banana pudding.  Vanilla pudding, fresh bananas, and canned whipped cream sat beneath one large, delicate sugar cookie.  Diets, take leave.  This ain't the place for calorie-counting.  

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Dinosaur  Bar-B-Cue

646 W. 131st Street

New York, NY 10027

212.694.1777

Christmas In Whoville

Lucky me. On a trip to a friend's farm--Hurricane Farm of Scotland, Connecticut--in October I learned that pigs would led to slaughter near Christmas. Pinky, one of the two fine specimens, would become the centerpiece of my Christmas dinner.

I've never cooked a fresh ham before. Research revealed an optimal internal temperature for a fresh ham at 160 degrees. An Emeril Lagasse recipe suggested a slow roast (325) for two to two and a half hours.

I scored the skin, gave the ham a dry rub, stuck cloves in the scores, packed dark brown sugar all over, and filled the roasting pan with a few cups' worth of Dr. Pepper and Buffalo Trace bourbon. But after two hours, my piggy was at a paltry 120 degrees. It took over three hours for the ham to reach 150; I figured the carry over cooking would bring me to 160.

The ham was dry. Don't get me wrong: the flavor of the pig was truly unparalleled. Unlike cured hams, Pinky was not aggressively salty. The meat was tender and rich and, well, porky. I made a sauce from the jus and cola/bourbon blend, separated in a gravy separator and that hydrated the meat well enough. But I can't figure out what exactly went wrong. It is possible that our oven decreased in temp mid-roast, which it sometimes does and which might be the cause of uneven results.

With Pinky, I served sugar snap peas sauteed in olive oil with lemon and mint, a gruyere/cheddar macaroni and cheese, and homemade butterscotch pudding with bourbon whipped cream. And by homemade, I mean homemade; I made my own butterscotch before mixing it with my puddibg base. Cocktails consisted of my own hot buttered rum (thanks to Caneel Bay for the rum) and the 2002 Flowers 'Andreen-Gale' chardonnay from Sonoma. The pig may have been a little dry, but we finished all six pounds of it. Even my grandmother, who has never before sampled ham, determined that mine was delicious.

I will buy from Hurricane Farm again, but next time I'll research my recipe more thoroughly. For those in the Connecticut area looking for local farm goods, Hurricane sells eggs, maple syrup, turkeys, ducks, and, of course, country hams.

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Hurricane Farm
65 Kasacek Road
Scotland, CT 02647
860.465.9934

What A Long, Snowy Trip Its Been

I will never understand the anxiety of a forthcoming storm. Does three inches of snow and sleet really require the suspension of alternate side of the street parking, plows and salt trucks before a flake has fallen, and more than one of those infinitely annoying broadcasts: "we interrupt this program to bring you this special weather report"?

No. Get real. Snow in New York is rare and never as severe as predicted. If my front wheel drive Volkswagen can get over the snowbanks, so can a few paranoid New Yorkers.

The flurries didn't stop the hipsters from hitting Bedford Street in Williamsburg. Until about eleven, the streets were packed with people smoking cigarettes and leaning up against things and wearing tight clothes and ridiculous heeled shoes, despite street conditions. That must have been the witching hour, because after eleven, desolation set in. Even the cafes closed early. Finding a cab was purely up to providence.

I went out to Williamsburg for a birthday party buyout at Egg, a spot off Bedford known for their stellar breakfasts. Totally a cult Billyburg place, but the all-you-can-eat menu of southern snacks sounded appealing enough. I waited for an hour at the Bedford Street "mall," since a fire on the L train delayed my friend, who had to get a cab from Union Square at rush hour, no small feat. A fire in a snowstorm. Only in New York.

By the time we got to Egg, it was already packed. We shelled out our 30 bucks and hit the buffet. Fried chicken was perfect. Perfect. I'm not usually a dark meat girl, but I went straight for the thighs. Juicy meat, very crispy exterior. A fresh batch of macaroni and cheese came from the kitchen right after we got there. That was top-notch, too. Sharp cheese, very creamy, nice breadcrumb topping. I would have added black pepper had I seen any, but there was only hot sauce. Hot sauce it was.

Cornbread and biscuits were both on the dry side; a bite of each and I decided to skip the cards. Collard greens aren't really my thing, but my friend declared them wonderful.

The gaping hole was dessert. I was hoping for banana pudding, or at least a cupcake. Alas. No sweets. That sent us on a goosechase down Bedford, where the last available cafe, Verb Cafe--"We're closing in ten minutes," the not-so-friendly barista informed me--showcased some tired looking cookies and pies behind glass. It would have to do. A slice of apple crumb pie for my friend ("It would be better hot") and a chocolate chip brownie for me and it was back to the BQE and that other distant borough.

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Egg
135 N. 5th Street
Williamsburg, NY 11211
718.302.5151

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Verb Cafe
218 Bedford Avenue
Williamsburg, NY 11211
718.599.0977