The Whisk and Ladle is a private supper club in Williamsburg, near the river, in one of those buildings where magical shit still happens. I went there recently one snowy night with three of the most attractive and brilliant people in Brooklyn, trying to pull my weight. Christina twinkled, Daniel did a dance, Allie entranced everyone with her veiled dinner party hat.

We were greeted first by Mark, a charming host who catered to all our whims and inquiries. In the open kitchen we met Danielle, spatula in hand and a large silver cleaver dangling from her neck. Amazing placement. She must be responsible for the magic. Other “staff” include a changing roster of cooks (we had one from Momofuku) with changing culinary themes.

The place itself is a mélange of good lighting and great smells. A bi-level loft, the interior is both cozy and spacious, with most of the bedrooms upstairs and the entertainment downstairs…unless you’re a naughty customer (I was upstairs).

Cocktails are served at a small bar that fancies a bit of cocktology… rye, rum, tequila concoctions. There were little squishy rice cakes covered in a slightly spicy sauce, absurdly simple but great. Everyone seemed happily buzzed during the long cocktail hour, om noming appetizers and making new friends.

Amid the mingling, Mark showed us some kind of cooking device that looked like a science experiment. It was cooking a sealed cut of beef in gently bubbling, cool water. Something about ions. The idea was that the beef never touched air and thus did not oxidize until the moment it was served. The whole thing made me feel like a buck-toothed Klingon.

By the time we were seated and served wine people were starving and sizing each other up. We sat at a table with two girls who seemed ready to eat each other. One had lost her voice and the other spoke in strange rhythms I did not easily comprehend. My companions did most of the talking but after a time I developed a rapport with the voiceless girl next to me, gesturing and tying to “sign” things while becoming increasingly intoxicated. The soup came just in time, but was a single wonton in a spoonful of broth. Though incredibly delicious, it served only to wet appetites that were already drenched.

Read the rest of this entry »

Rise of the Natives, a Brooklyn Thanksgiving. Pic by Daniel.

Like Ted Turner I have a deep appreciation for the foods native to this vast North American land. Long before meatloaf, tuna casserole and the culinary depraved (northern Europeans), people relished in a tasty bounty, without additives and bad hot sauce. Unlike Ted Turner, I don’t have billions to spend promoting native sustainable foods and I can only hope to be half as crazy. One day.

In the meantime, I am content to toil in obscurity with mediocre pans using only fresh, organic ingredients. Here’s a Fall meal that both Magua and Ted could agree on.

Sage Rubbed Rooster and Roasted Butternut Squash with Buttered Apples

In loose terms, here’s what you’ll need. You’ll have to figure out what proportions work for you and who you’re cooking for.  I’m an idea guy, not a mathematician.

Breasts/Thighs (always on bone)
Butternut squash (1 lbs +)
Apple
Leeks
Garlic
EV olive oil
Butter
Sea salt
Black pepper
Bundle of sage
Bundle of thyme
Wine (I prefer a dry slightly spicey red)

1. Create a salve of roughly equal portions sage, thyme and sea salt. Rub this on the foul’s flesh by lifting the skins up careful not to detach more than one side. This creates a pocket that will better retain the flavor and juices of the delicious birdies. If you’re feeling wild, slip a crushed clove of garlic under there too, one for each. Put into baking dish (preheat 350).

2. Drink some wine.

Read the rest of this entry »

Old news, but a well done reminder.  Candid words from Republican strategists like crisp working-class beers, freshly plucked from an icy Coleman.

Sporty muppet.