I like to eat, I like to cook, and I like to blog about the both.
In New Jersey (or at least in Collingswood), they have a local specialty called “water ice”. I’m not exactly sure what constitutes water ice, but I would say that sherbet is a close approximation. We had some with Emma on Monday, Labor Day, the last day that their local pool was open for the season.
We planned these stops in New Orleans and DC on the way to Philadelphia in order to break up an otherwise intolerably long rail trip. They also happen to be cities I quite like and that Stephanie has never visited. Yet each time we arrive in a new place, we recall the importance of taking a break from the trip. Momentarily ignoring where we are to let the body rest. Writing. Napping. Going to the bathroom in comfort and with dignity!
So after our brief stop at Cafe du Monde, Stephanie and I holed ourselves up at the hotel Tuesday afternoon. I caught up on my blogging, Stephanie caught up on some email. We did this until nearly 8pm, when we began to feel the first stirrings of hunger. So we struck out towards K-Paul’s for some good ol’ Cajun cuisine. We covered all the bases. Stephanie had a cup of gumbo and the shrimp étouffée, and I had the turtle soup and the jambalaya. We returned to the hotel, via Bourbon Street, stuffed.
On Wednesday we continued our routine of respite, and spent the morning laptopping in the hotel’s central courtyard. Around noon, when I felt I could follow up the previous night’s consumption with a small nibble, the clouds opened up and unleashed a ferocious downpour, with thunder and lightning to boot. We waited it out, and about an hour later, the sky was blue and the sun was out again. Lunch was a shared bowl of gumbo. We walked up and down Royal and Chartres streets for a couple of hours, looking at the art and antiques for sale, and then sat in the shade of a tree in Jackson Square.
Stephanie was enjoying the gumbo so much that we went to The Gumbo Shop for more of the same that night. She had the chicken and andouille gumbo, which was very deep in flavor, with almost a hint of coffee, while I had the barbecued shrimp and a side of red beans and rice. With our culinary bases fully covered, we ended the night at an unusually subdued Pat O’Briens with two of their specialty Hurricanes and a view of their fire fountain.
In the course of looking up places to eat in Tucson, I stumbled upon a much-reviewed place called El Guero Canelo. And then I noticed one of the reviews mentioned something about a hot dog.
I told Stephanie I’d found a Mexican-hot dog fusion restaurant. I’m pretty sure she almost threw up. So I read some more of the reviews, and looked at the pictures, and discovered that this wasn’t just some kind of one-off specialty (like my Quesadilla Dog). Sonoran Dogs were a widespread Tucson thing. How had I never heard of this before!? What else don’t I know?!?
Basically it’s a Mexican chili-dog. To quote NPR:
I knew I had to have one! I also knew Stephanie was not going to get within 10 feet of one. After visiting the Desert Museum, I left her with a fresh baguette (still recovering from a stomach bug) while I went out to BK Carne Asada and Hot Dogs and got me a Sonoran dog.
A key feature is the bun, slit from the top, sort of forming a boat for all the toppings. I was expecting them to explode after the first bite (if not require a fork and knife), much like its chili-dog cousin, but it actually held together quite well. It isn’t as liquid as it looks. I had forgotten about the bacon-wrapped part—that was an extra-sinful surprise. The toppings were good, though I was a little distracted by the mayo.
I think I’ll need to have another to better appreciate the ensemble. It was good, it’s just that it was sort of confusing to my well-worn hot dog taste buds.
On Friday, Stephanie and I met up with Joy, Kyle, and Marcia at the Cheese School for a class pairing cheese with whiskey. Considering that Kyle’s from Kentucky (thus a bonafide Bourbon aficionado) and Marcia’s writing a book on cocktails, they were all very willing participants.
This happened to be the third class I’ve taken with the inimitable Wil Edwards. He shared the stage with other teachers during the two previous classes, but this time he was flying solo, and I have to admit I was impressed by the breadth of his knowledge of whiskey—in addition to cheese. Over the course of the night, we ended up pairing 5 different whiskeys with 10 different cheeses.
Our latest class at the Cheese School of San Francisco, pairing nine cheeses with four rosé wines, was taught by Kirstin Jackson of It’s Not You, It’s Brie and Solano Cellars fame.
Starting at 12 o’clock and going around clockwise (my favorites are marked with an asterisk):
One of the things I sometimes forget is that cheese, like wine, is often best served at room temperature (as opposed to fridge temperature). The Brillat-Savarin really stood out in this regard. It was maybe a little over ripe, but at room temp it had the airy consistency of whipped cream, strong notes of butter, and a hint of lemon. The class could have started and ended right there.
La Tur and Selles-sur-Cher were also quite good. These are the cheeses of Stephanie’s youth in France, and ones she’d very much like to replicate with her crottin experiments. To my surprise, Sally Jackson Goat, wrapped in grape leaves, did not wow me like her Sheep cheese did in Leaf-Wrapped Lovelies. The herb crusted Fleur du Maquis was nice, worth trying if you get the chance—and make sure to eat the rind!
I love mountain cheeses like Comté, Guyère, and Emmentaler so much that if I could take Alpine Cheese and Alsace Wine over again, I would. But the Comté didn’t grab me this time. Instead it was the Abbaye de Belloc, a Basque sheep’s milk cheese from the Pyrenees that really caught my attention.
And what about the wines? We started with a sparkling wine that I really liked, Lucien Albrecht Cremant d’Alsace Brut Rosé. We also paired the cheeses with the exotic-sounding Ameztoi Getariako Txakolina, Quivira Grenache Rosé, and Colle Stefano Rosato as we worked our way around the plate. A class like this could only have been better if we had been sitting outside, on a Saturday, in Provence.