Exercise, a Palatable Experience

Somehow, most of the events in my life end up being about food. If I visit an old friend, I want to cook them dinner, or they want to take me to a restaurant. If I am invited to the ballet, I immediately wonder where to have diner beforehand. When I go on a trip I always consider taking provisions, and birthday parties and holidays of any kind are inevitably centered around noshing. There is one activity however that I have always figured would have absolutely nothing to do with food and that’s exercise.
Because it stands to reason that during exercise there is little chance of having a culinary encounter - an therefore no chance of coming across material for the blog - I did not think to bring my camera along for Margeaux and my exercise session in the park yesterday. I could not have been more off the mark; as it turns out, along with every other thing in my life, even exercise can be about food.
After a heavy session of step jogging, squats, kicks, and crunches Margeaux and I exited the park straight into the middle of the the Fort Greene Farmer's Market. Having no where else to be, we decided to browse a bit and what do you suppose we stumbled upon but some farm-fresh and glowingly pink rhubarb.
"Three dollars a pound," a handsome fella told us with a smile. Margeaux turned to me, "what does rhubarb taste like?" she asked as though I were the authority on all thing food. "I'm not sure," I told her "I have only ever had it in Pie with Strawberry." The dashing young farmer snapped off two pieces from a stalk and gave it to us to try, not without warning, "its very bitter." We both took a bite and chewed cautiously. It had the stringy consistency of celery, but the puckery flavor lemon. I don't know if it was rosy cheeks of that young farmer boy, or the zesty flavor of the rhubarb, but Margeaux ordered a pound (which is acctualy quit a lot) , what she was do with it, I had no idea.

With our sweaty t-shirts and a satchel of rhubarb we decided that coffee was the next step, but instead got side tracked by a wine tasting at Thirst Wine Merchants that showcased three distinct Rosés. Margeaux liked the Domaine de la Courtade L'Alycastre, a light peach flecked rosé made from the Grenache and Mourvèdre grapes. Personally I preferred The Domaine deFontsainte Corbieres, a rosé bursting with the scent of ripe strawberries delicately brushed with fresh mint and almond.
With a slight buzz, and loaded down with three bottles, we headed to Smooch on Carlton for a much needed coffee. While waiting for our cappuccinos the owner (don't remember his name) curiously checked out our wine and rhubarb stash. "Coffee, wine, rhubarb, What more does a woman need?" he said with a frisky grin. " Chocolate," I replied pointedly. He, with out a moments hesitation, as though he had been diligently anticipating my response, ran out the front door and reappeared within moments holding in his hand a bar of Lavender flavored Degoba Chocolate.
I have no idea where he got the chocolate bar, but I must say, it was the perfect way to end a Saturday day workout. Now I ask you, what more does a girl need?

The Winning Combination

Of course it was not intended that my pairing party be a competition however, there simply was one entry that stood out from the rest. It was a pairing that consisted of the choicest of ingredients, assembled with great care and an enthusiastic zeal that would fill any gourmet peasant with ravenous delight.



It is of no surprise that the winning combination belongs to Bernie Shanahan, a champion food and wine pairer in my opinion, and one of my favorite dinning companions. There are many a evening that I have found myself pleasantly sloshed after a night of heavy mixing due to the fact that the oysters must be joined by their handsome companion, Sancerre, and the Sea Bass by the very complimentary Sauvignon Blanc... oh wait is that a Tamarind sauce... you know, you could go with a red, for instance the Syrah. So red wine it is. To close, a port wine or sherry would invariably tag along after a luscious dessert. When having dinner with Bernie, I basically do as he advises and well, it has always proven a successful strategy.

The Road to Recovery

I Confess

I am writing to let you all know that I have not been abducted, nor am I being held hostage by little green Martian men. If I had, you better believe that I would be keeping you abreast of the culinary exploits experienced along the way. No no, my reason for being such a poor blogger over the last few weeks is in fact quite dull: writers block. There has hardly been a scarcity of exploitative material in my life or kitchen. I have struggled with custard (something that precludes being a good ice cream maker) and with the help of my mother, I have learned the art of gently tempering eggs in order to create rich and creamy custards. With this new skill I have moved on to create countless ice creams, some of them good and some of them not so good, and having eaten all of them, I arrived at the conclusion that there was an unfathomable choice to be made in order for me to maintain my current shape and size: ice cream or cheese; I like both of these in such quantities that there would only be room for one in my daily diet. Tragic, I know.

A Twisted Path

Each one of these experiences have provided me with countless photo opportunities and quirky anecdotes displaying my venturesome manner in the kitchen, my fanatical habits in eating, and dramatic withdrawals from one of my many sugar coated and butter filled indulgences. Yet still, every time I sit down to write, my fingers dance awkwardly across the keyboard weaving and winding down a twisted path that eventually leads to a impassable barricade that reads DEAD END you loser! Delete, delete, delete.

The Road to Recovery

So how does a gourmet peasant overcome writers block? I thought about it long and hard. Meditation was certainly an option. Perhaps all I needed to do was to quiet my mind in order to tap into my neurotic ramblings about food. In the end I decided on the road most traveled by troubled writers, booze. I decided to throw a Pairing Party, the idea being that guests bring a bottle of their favorite wine accompanied by some sort of treat, savory or sweet, which would compliment their alcoholic contribution. The results were interesting to say the least…

my entry:
Lussac-Sait Emillion (Bordeaux)
and mini focaccias served with tepinade and Goat Cheese and Potato, Portobello, and Fennel with Feta.




Matt's Entry:
Chardonnay with Jarlsberg and Gruyere







Kara and Darren's entry:
Vin de Pays de Vaucluse (Granache, Syrah, and Carignan mix)
and Saint Andre (my favorite cheese!)







Bernie and Terry's entry:

Bernie-
Rupert & Rothchild Merlot and Cabernet Sauvignon mix with an Irish Cashel Blue enrobed in perfectly rare Roast Beef

Terry-
Rioja and Yodels (a classic pairing)






Random entry:
I don't remember the gentleman's name who contributed this bottle, but I must say it brought back some crazy teenage memories.

A 40oz. of Olde English 800, accompanied by yet another 400z.







There were so many more creative and wonderful contributions that I was unable to take pictures of because I was too busy keeping track of my glasses of both white and red. There was Prosecco with strawberries, White Cotes-de-Rhone with trail mix, Pouilly Fume with Ginger Melon ice cream, and another bottle of Saint Emillion with Macaroons, YUM! All in all, the Pairing Party was a success, as the night progressed I found myself growing pleasantly tipsy untill I became overwhelmed with ideas for future posts. Was it the cheese? Was it the ice cream or the booze? Its hard to say. I like to think it was the combination of my favorite food and wines together with the most delectable group of guests. Thanks guys!