Weekends at the Country House--Me so Fancy

Bridget's family has a country house. She grew up going there in the summer and it's currently owned by her super cool sister Nora. The first time she told me this, I said, "Well, looky-loo, a country house. Ain't you fancy?" She laughed, and invited me up soon after to show me just how high-brow the place was. 

There was no shortage of wood paneling, and you have to turn all the lights off to use the microwave or risk blowing a fuse. There were intricate spider-webs on the screened-in porch and gingham wallpaper that made you dizzy after too many Heinekens. We slept under blankets knitted by her grandmother and opened the windows so we could hear the crickets chirp through the night. It was rustic, and warm, and very well lived-in. It was better than I'd imagined.

 This is my friend Bridget. She is full of spunk and fervor and she is a damn fine hostess.

The house is in the Catskills, about 2 hours outside of New York City. It is where Baby carried a watermelon and where our little group of friend retreats whenever the city gets to be too much.

It's become my absolute favorite place to go antiquing.

And shopping for farm-fresh produce.

And gathering around the table with friends to eat it all up. 

Thank you dear Bridget, for another perfect Palenville weekend. 

I Left My Heart at the Doughnut Plant

A few years ago a New York City baker was featured on "Bobby Flay: Throwdown". His name was Mark Israel and his specialty was doughnuts. Only these weren't ordinary doughnuts. (I mean, obviously, or else Bobby Flay wouldn't be challenging him to a throwdown, right?) Now, I'm no doughnut connoisseur, but my boyfriend certainly is. Back in the day when he and I worked in the same office, Vin would choose a random Tuesday, announce that it was "Donut Day" and drop a dozen sugary little nuggets on his desk. For himself.

Anyway, Vin's attention was obviously piqued by this doughnut guru, and I was amazed by the uniqueness of the flavors he was using in what I've always considered one of the more pedestrian baked goods. The variety sounded simply out-of-this-world --tres leches, carrot cake, lavender, creme brulee--and he even made his own jelly to inject in his jelly-filled donuts. Vin and I wiped the drool off our chins and began planning our trip to this utopian place the baker owned. It was called the Doughnut Plant. We called it "The Motherland".

That was three years ago and apparently we were too lazy to travel all the way to the Lower East Side for an insulin spike. But when I read that a new branch had just opened in Chelsea, we knew the time was right to treat ourselves to what sounded like the best doughnuts ever. PS: THEY WERE.

A word to the wise: Do not get your heart set on a particular donut before you go. This place is as popular as Marcia Brady, and they're likely to run out of your top choice before you get there. Just remember what your mama said: "You get what you get and you don't pitch a fit." I really wanted to try the Tres Leches and Vin was dying for a blackout, but they were both sold out by the time we got there.

We didn't care. I'm guessing there are no bad options there, and we still managed to find four (FOUR!) different ones we really wanted to try. I'd recommend going in the morning, because as good as those things tasted in the late afternoon, they must be completely mind-blowing fresh out of the oven. 

This was the bench my backside rested on while eating my doughnuts. It doubled in size by the end of my visit. No matter. Allow me to introduce you to my new best friends: 

First up: Pistachio Glazed. Oh man, this guy had me at hello. I love a glazed doughnut, and the addition of pistachio nuts really gave the classic yeast doughnut a sophisticated flavor. And I am nothing if not sophisticated (especially when I smear glaze all over my face in unbridled gluttonous glee).

"Lovin' you is easy cause you're beautiful..."

Next round was Vin's choice: A yeast doughnut with peanut butter glaze on the outside and blackberry jelly on the inside. It too was delicious, but it was really heavy, and of the four we ordered, it was my least favorite. That said, I can't name one single kid who wouldn't love to have his mom pack this in his lunch box for school. He would definitely not be up for tradesies that day. PS: Notice the fantastic hole-to-doughnut ratio!

Round three was Vin's 2nd option: the creme brulee. Let me just say, this thing shocked me with how closely it resembled the dessert it was inspired by. The sugary outside was crisp, then you bit into it, and the most marvelous cream was tucked in the middle. Just like a real creme brulee! If someone on "Top Chef: Desserts" had come up with this they totally would have won a year's supply of Gladware and a new car. It was unbelievable.

"Today I am the luckiest man, man, man on the face of the earth, earth, earth..."

And last but not least, my angel baby: Coconut Cream. I'm crying just thinking about how good this was. The woman next to me ordered the same thing and said to her husband solemnly, "This is the best thing I've ever eaten in my life." I turned to her with a knowing nod that said, "You and me both, sister", and we continued chewing, eyes closed, while we paid our respects to the perfection stuck between our thumbs and forefingers. I'd never felt so connected to a stranger--or a doughnut--in my life. 

This is me, saying my last goodbyes to my new friend. I'mma miss you ol' girl.

And here I am, glancing at the heavens, thanking whoever was responsible for sending me these doughnuts.

The guy at the next table took one look at us with our four donuts and two huge cameras and asked if I was a food blogger. (Was I that obvious?). I said yes, of course, and asked if he wanted my autograph. He declined politely, but recommended I try the oatmeal doughnut on my next visit. If you're reading, Hi Oatmeal Guy!! It was nice meeting you. I'll be there once a week until I outgrow my current pant size, so I hope to see you there again soon. 

Oh the sweet, cruel irony of the gym's billboard across the street! I'd kill to look better naked too, but not if it meant sacrificing these doughnuts. They were totally worth it and I didn't feel a minute's guilt about the indulgence. You only live once, and if I get a little glaze on my teeth and an extra pound on my mid-section, so be it!

If you're in NYC anytime soon, I HIGHLY recommend a trip to the Doughnut Plant. We went to the new location right next door to the infamous Hotel Chelsea. 

Albert Hall Tavern

In New York City, you can throw a rock in any direction and find a fantastic restaurant.  Luckily I didn't have to throw stones to find Albert Hall Tavern. I was invited. Good thing too; I throw like a girl.

Albert Hall Tavern is a new restaurant in the Hells Kitchen neighborhood of Manhattan. They offer a style of food called "Nouveau Americain" which is the kind of grub my octogenarian Texan grandparents would try and say, "This kinda looks like regular ol' American food, but it tastes really gore-may." And I would have to agree with Bob and Sue--this restaurant definitely takes American classic fare and bumps it up another level. 

The host of the event looked so much like Nate Berkus I was half-expecting a live furniture-arranging demo or at least a goodie bag filled with pillow shams and decorative knick-knacks. Alas, the topic of the hour was food. We were offered a 7-course tasting menu of the restaurant's best dishes. The group assembled consisted mostly of food bloggers and some restaurant professionals. I sat with four people who knew a lot more about food than I did. One was even trained at Le Cordon Bleu. I slipped my Grandma's taco recipe in her handbag when she wasn't looking. 

There was plenty of seafood, which always pleases this Gulf Coast girl. One of my favorites was the tuna tartare with capers. It was really fresh, and the capers added a tinge of saltiness. 

Alas, I do not like everything raw. Most people look at a silver tray of raw oysters as a rare treat. Me? I started convulsing with flashbacks of my dad propping me up on a bar stool and pretty much force-feeding me these things as a kid to advance my palette. What a rough childhood I had. I much preferred the restaurant's spicy fried oyster option; the subtly named "Screaming Oysters From Hell". It was really funny seeing a bunch of oyster shells riding across the table on teeny-tiny Harley's. 

The mussel course was quite good too, but our table unfortunately didn't get much of the charred rosemary and black garlic broth they were served in. A girl named Sarah who writes NYC nom nom said it was her favorite thing on the menu. She's a regular, so I believe her.

This was my favorite--the braised short rib crostini with horseradish and mustard seed. I ate 20 of them. Okay, I ate two. But I would have eaten 20.

My favorite was a beer from Belgium called Triple Karmelit. Yes, it tasted faintly of caramel and yes, that's why it was my runaway favorite. I choose caramel-flavored over wheat-flavored any day. For people who are into a vast selection of hard-to-find beers, this restaurant and bar is a real gem.

The grand finale of the evening was when the chef rolled out a whole roasted suckling pig. The meat was tender and flavored with maple rum. This is the special on Saturday nights because nothing says "Let's party." like a good old-fashioned pig roasting. 

If anyone else is planning a night out to Albert Hall Tavern anytime soon, call me. I'd go back in a second. The restaurant is cozy and comfortable, the staff is warm and knowledgeable and the food is delicious and well-priced. 

* Full disclosure: I did not pay for this meal. I was invited. Lucky me, eh?

Happy New Year!

Hmmm, wasn't there some sort of sporting event on television last night?  Oh right...the Superball, or something like that, right? According to my boyfriend, I have an "unhealthy hatred" of the all-American sport of football. I prefer to call it "a valid and legitimate complete lack of interest". It's probably why I got kicked out of Texas. They don't take too kindly to my sort there. That said, I was looking forward to Sunday, February 6th for a month just like every other American. Every other Chinese-American that is...

It was the Chinese New Year Lunar Parade! This is the year of the rabbit, so we bounced on down to Chinatown Sunday afternoon.

They were poppin' streamers left and right. Every time one went off, the crowd cheered as the confetti paper swirled around them.

It set the bar pretty high for future walks through the city. I am no longer satisfied to traipse across plain ol', gum-covered concrete. Once you've strolled through confetti-lined streets, there's really no going back.

The crowd was so joyful and the streets were so filled with color. The 40-degree weather felt like a dream compared to what we've been experiencing in New York lately. At one point, I looked over at my boyfriend and said, "I love the city. Let's never leave." He looked at me as if to say, "Duh, Jenn."

Toward the end of the day, I got a little verklempt at all the unbridled joy and happiness around me and felt the sudden urge to scream, "L'Chiem! To life!". Instead, I just walked around with a big Nikon strapped around my neck like any other tourist seeing the wonder that is New York City for the first time.