Perusing the toppings offered by Pizza House for $1.40 each (2.80 for anchovies) and realizing the whole list was stuff we already had in the house we opted to order a cheese pizza and cook up an impromptu topping while we were waiting. 

Here’s how it went down:

We sautéed an entire head of garlic  + some chopped red onion & scallions.

We added a can of anchovies (drained, of course).

Then a bunch of chopped banana pepper rings and a can of petite dice tomatoes (also drained) with a ¼ teaspoon of red pepper flakes. 

When our super thin crust pizza arrived—jammed up along one side of the box, alas—we scooped our salty, zesty custom topping (a $9.80 value!) on top. Considering the state of the pizza, it wasn't pretty, but it was delicious. 

My introduction to Stang of Siam was less than auspicious. LH had been raving about it after two visits and I had been looking forward to dining here upon my return from Canada. But then bronchitis and a sinus infection intervened; I got the ‘lite’ version of whatever he had within days of my return. We spent Thanksgiving weekend in Pennsylvania, clutching our Kleenex boxes and Nyquil bottles, watching Friends DVDs and reading back issues of Cooks Illustrated. It wasn’t all bad, but then we had to drive back to Baltimore and move him out of 'current apartment' down three flights, into the adjacent building and up one flight to 'new apartment with off-street parking.' We grudgingly did so, miserably ill though we still were. Our palates were less than receptive, but we agreed that spicy Asian food would be perfection when lunch break time arrived. I can’t wait to return when I can taste everything fully, because I like everything about this place. (Except the fried tofu, but I don’t like fried tofu anywhere.)

Clientele equal parts business people and hipsters: check.
Appropriately pleasant, attentive waitstaff: check.
Outstanding food (lunch special of soup, 2 spring rolls and entree for $10!?!): CHECK.

Here’s what: vegetarian soup was gorgeous, mellow, cute potato cubes, delicate broth. Spring rolls warm, crisp, non-greasy.
Basil chae: spicy, basily, crisp vegetables. Good. Fried tofu...soggy, greasy, like almost every other fried tofu I’ve had. (Maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be. Maybe I just don’t like fried tofu.)
Drunken noodle with chicken: OMFG. So good. Simultaneously sweet and spicy. Noodles richly sauced. Chicken (which LH ordered, not me, I don’t eat chicken) tender; vegetables crisp. This is one to order over and over and over again.

For that awkward after-dinner, pre-dessert moment when everyone's insisting they can't eat another bite, I developed a decadent holiday digestif.







I mixed the ingredients in a generic condiment squeeze bottle the night before and placed it in the freezer to chill. 

4TB pumpkin butter

4TB heavy cream

4TB whipped cream vodka

1TB Domaine de Canton ginger liqueur

1 TB brown sugar

pinch of pumpkin pie spice

Move the bottle from the freezer to the refrigerator a few hours before serving to ensure squeezability. Squeeze a modest portion into each shot glass and garnish with a rosette of whipped cream and a pinch of pumpkin pie spice. Serves eight.

I’m reclining in bed with a stack of journal articles and a crate of clementines I bought on sale at Sobey’s for $3.77. I’m not sure which I’ll get through first, but I’m certain neither can be finished tonight. On the windowsill I’ve got three Honey Crisp apples, two Bosc pears, and a green-tipped banana. As I placed these fruits I thought, 'Hmm, I hope my hosts don’t see that I’m hoarding fruit and think I’m weird. Well, if they ask, I’ll just tell them: I like to keep fruit in the bedroom.’

Okaaaay, but the kitchen is literally across the hall. Why not put the fruit there and access it as needed? First, I don’t want it to be in their way. But second, and more honestly, I do like to keep some fruit in the bedroom. I find it comforting. Or maybe...I don’t know.

Now that clementine season is upon us, fragrant little shavings will be piled on nightstand, on bedside floor, on junk mail envelopes, on desk. I’m happy when my fingertips are citrusy and slightly dry. I like to sense the nearby abundance of an entire crate of citrus. A random piece of fruit on a stack of books freshens the tableau, as if to say ‘a person lives with these books.’

Until last week, a kiwifruit from a continental breakfast buffet in St. John perched atop Patricia West’s Domesticating History. After two months it had become shriveled, but I liked having it there in case I needed it. Michael Pollan has reminded us that if you aren’t hungry enough to eat an apple, you aren’t really hungry. So what’s wrong with keeping an apple around to test this theory before venturing out of bed to prepare a midnight snack? There are worse things to keep stashed in your bedroom. Potato chips. Twinkies. I have no need for these. But I like to keep my fruits around.

As I was talking to LH on Facetime shortly after I arrived in Canada, he panned the bedroom in Baltimore with the phone. “Look how clean,” he said. “No panties, no fruit, no books, no cupcake wrappers.” You’re right, darling...a bedroom unmarked by my presence is a sterile and joyless space.

I recently made my way through the crisp autumn night to Seoul Food. Rather than slinging the containers into a plastic bag and shoving it across the counter, the young man working that night carefully unhitched the styrofoam tab and displayed the contents for my approval. He bagged the box, added pristine containers of miso soup and soy sauce, and wished me well. But I’m getting ahead of myself. As I was waiting the scant ten minutes for my order, I perused a magazine on Korean culture and listened to three other guests who’d arrived after me converse about beverages (one was a Brit who claimed he could never get decent chocolate milk at home, finding UK versions ‘too syrupy’.) His dining companions greeted the employees by name. It’s that kind of place. 

I ordered chapagetti, curly noodles in black bean sauce, accompanied by vegetable dumplings. As I drove home the spicy scent of the food was unfamiliar, yet comforting. Perhaps I should qualify: I am a Korean cuisine acolyte. Seoul Food is only the third Korean restaurant I have experienced. And to be fair, one of the others lists ‘dog fried rice’ (made with hot dogs) on its menu. 

The dumplings were warm and crisp. The kimchi—I’m not qualified to judge its authenticity—but it was the only kimchi I’ve liked enough to have a second bite. There’s always that moment when you are eating something fermented that you weren’t brought up on, that moment when your primate preservation instincts kick in and say-- ‘it’s rotten! drop it!’ and you have to overpower that with a rational knowledge that it’s safe. Kimchi gives me pause in a way sauerkraut never does. So thanks to Seoul Food, I am acquiring a taste for kimchi perhaps!

Can’t wait to return and try something else. 

http://seoulfood-canada.blogspot.com/2010_04_01_archive.html