Not Our Intention

What we had meant to do was eat at Txkito, the sister restaurant to El Quinto Pino and Tia Pol.  Except that none of us knew that Txkito is actually closed on Mondays.  It was raining and we were stranded way over on 9th Avenue, so we ended up at a place that none of us had heard of Klee.  I guess it was named for the artist.  

The restaurant was pretty enough.  We had glasses of Madeira and then I had a glass of sparkling Austrian rose that tasted like it had been made in the traditional method.  We sat at a table in the window.  The menu featured tastes, small plates, and large plates.  The service was negligible, at best.  Small plates included two pieces of the tiniest lobster roll anyone had ever seen--there were three of us.  Six Beausoleil oysters arrived.  They were nice.  Mignonette was nondescript.  Some kind of cheese spread came with bread chips.  All of this was... fine.

I ordered chicken, envisioning a half-roasted chicken on a rainy night, but what arrived was a boring breast on top of a white puree with hacked-to-bits Brussels sprouts.  My friend's duck was tender enough.  My other friend's braised lamb shoulder was passable.  The Cotes du Rhone might have been the star of the evening. 

And finally, dessert.  I ordered what claimed to be a tart served with whipped cream and apricot.  It was, in actuality, a brick of tasteless chocolate cake with whipped cream and no noticeable apricot.  The peanut butter thing ordered by my friends came topped with popcorn.  That was probably its most memorable asset.  

We figured out why none of us had never heard of Klee: it really isn't that good. 

*

Klee

200 9th Avenue

New York, NY 10011

212.633.8033

Using What You Have

I hear a lot of people say things like "I don't have time to cook," and I completely understand that sentiment.  When I used to come home late from a night of service, the last thing I wanted to do was spend time in my kitchen.  The immediacy of my hunger was often either ignored or placated with a quick fix slice. 

Pretty soon I'll be headed back to my late-night life, which means some internal adjustments.  I'm pretty sure that I've found the answer to feeding oneself well and often and it isn't as hard as I'd once believed.  The key?  Keeping lots of food in the apartment.  

I know. It sounds ridiculous.  Actually, I used to avoid buying fresh produce because it often went bad before I had a chance to use it.  Read: I was too lazy to do anything with it, which is why it so often went bad.  Last night, I got home in the evening after a trip into the city.  I was starving and I didn't want to go to the grocery store.  I decided to improvise with whatever I had in my refrigerator.  

I had one frozen chicken breast, which I was able to defrost under hot water. 

I had one bunch of leftover asparagus. 

I had a whole Texas scallion.  

I had a persimmon.  

I had a cucumber. 

I had an open can of black olives. 

I had a shallot and lemon vinaigrette from the night before.  

I put the asparagus, sliced persimmon, Texas scallion, and chicken breast on a baking sheet.  Then I poured the vinaigrette over everything, mixed it with my hands, salted and peppered the mess, made sure nothing overlapped, and threw it in a 400 degree oven.  I chopped the cucumber and black olives and put them in a bowl and ate them with balsamic vinegar, olive oil, salt, and pepper.  After six or seven minutes, I flipped the chicken, but left the veggies to turn scorched at the edges.  Not too long after that, I pulled the whole roasted mess out of the oven and tossed it into one very large bowl.  Ta da.  Dinner is served. 

If you surround yourself with foods that don't require much thought or preparation, you can make a delicious and fresh meal in less than half an hour.  People think too much about ingredients, or amounts, or the time it takes to chop an onion.  But if you're lazy and hungry, like I often am, you'll take the path of least resistance, chop the onion as coarsely as you can, toss everything with a thin layer of olive oil and leave it to its own devices in a very hot oven.  

Cooking is not brain surgery.  All you have to do to make yourself decent meals is care about ad understand your product, whether it be canned olives or an overripe persimmon.  Keep your fridge stocked and force yourself to use what you have.  Nothing is more satisfying than creating something out of nothing. 

By the way, those Texas scallions char really nicely, almost like the onion bits left at the bottom of a Sunday roast pan.