Saturday, July 4, 2009

The BIG Salad

Over the course of my life of watching exorbitant amounts of television, I have acquired an intimate knowledge of every episode of both “Seinfeld” and “Friends.” I can quote word-for-word specific scenes from each show, enjoy asking my friends “how you ‘doin?” a la Joey Tribiani, and am constantly thinking about how a situation in my life is exactly like a certain episode from one of my favorite two classic comedies.

When I was eating doughnuts with a knife and fork at Grace’s special 3-course doughnut tasting last month, I was thinking about how it was like the episode in “Seinfeld” where everyone begins eating Snickers bars and such with a knife and fork. When an acquaintance that works in a restaurant tweeted about a mean customer a few weeks back, I admired her for her patience and confessed that I would have been tempted to give the person a “sneeze muffin” (Rachel from “Friend’s” way of dealing with the nasty patrons at Central Perk). And whenever I wander across the street to my good friend’s apartment without announcing myself first (an unfathomable act for most in LA), I smile and think, “This is just like ‘Friends’ or ‘Seinfeld!’”

My excessive familiarity with the shows is not a bad thing when I am around others who have also seen every episode multiple times, but when I am conversing with normal human beings, I need to explain myself when I, for example, decide to give someone the finger by banging my wrists together (what Ross and Monica did to each other as children). I also need to provide an incredibly long explanation as to why I decided to name this salad I made for my lunch last weekend, “the BIG salad” rather than simply “chicken and roasted vegetable chop.”

Given that the inspiration for this salad came from my favorite chopped grilled vegetable salad with fresh greens, chopped balsamic grilled vegetables, feta, and avocado from Sage Restaurant in Newport Beach, the latter seems to be more appropriate. Or more accurately, “bird-free” chopped vegetable salad, since I felt compelled to recreate the dish because my mom doesn’t like to eat on the patio at Sage during lunch because of the birds (she has a slight, completely understandable phobia of their flapping wings).

Yet, I wasn’t thinking about Sage or birds or my mom, bless her South Dakotan heart, when I was devouring this salad last Sunday. I was thinking, “Gee, this is a BIG salad. Just like the BIG salads that Elaine liked at Monk’s Café on ‘Seinfeld.’ I bet she would like this. Because it’s… wait for it… awesome!”

Okay, so that last line came into my head courtesy of Barney from “How I Met Your Mother,” the greatest show on television that not enough people are watching, but that’s another story for another day when I am writing about the perfect burger or a pineapple.

Today, in honor of the 4th of July, I am posting about the BIG salad because in America, food tastes better when it’s bigger. (Or at least it does according to the Cheesecake Factory.) Regardless, this BIG salad is really tasty, and would probably be just as tasty if it were the SMALL salad. Of course, if it were the SMALL salad, I would have simply called it the aforementioned chicken and roasted vegetable chop and wouldn’t be writing it up in this completely round about way.

“How you doin’?” Hanging in?

Yeah, me neither. So, here’s the recipe.

Happy Fourth of July!

“The BIG Salad”
Inspired by the Chopped Grilled Vegetable Salad at Sage Restaurant

Chicken breast
Romaine lettuce, chopped
Carrots, red peppers and zucchini, chopped and roasted
1 ear of corn, boiled and shucked
Avocado, chopped
Feta cheese
Salt, pepper
Olive oil

Dressing
2 tablespoons balsamic vinegar
1 tablespoon lemon juice
2 teaspoons olive oil
2 teaspoons Dijon mustard
2 teaspoons honey
Salt, pepper to taste

Whisk balsamic vinegar, lemon juice, olive oil, Dijon, honey, salt, pepper together in small bowl. Use half as a marinade for the chicken. Reserve the rest for the salad.

While chicken is marinating, toss the chopped carrots, slivers of red peppers and chopped zucchini with olive oil, salt, pepper. Roast in the oven at 400 degrees until tender (approximately 20 minutes).

Meanwhile, boil the corn for 5 minutes or until just tender. Rinse with cool water and then shuck the ear. Set aside.

Cook chicken on either a grill or grill pan, and begin assembling salad ingredients. Mix together lettuce, feta, avocado, and roasted vegetables in a large bowl. Toss with dressing, serve, and then slice the grilled chicken over the top.

Thursday, July 2, 2009

Pinkberry: Anatomy of a craving

It started at approximately 8:10 pm last Friday night. My friends had just arrived at the theatre where we would be viewing a free screening of the somewhat egregious, but mildly amusing My Life in Ruins with Nia Vardalos, and they were all abuzz about their pre-movie outing at Pinkberry.

“Oh my gosh, the coconut was so good!” Katie gushes, as her fro-yo partners in crime nod in agreement. They all arrived early to get free Pinkberry samples of the latest flavors being debuted that day – passion fruit and coconut.

I raise my eyebrows in interest. “Really? What did you get with it?”

“Mochi!” Katie says proudly, a rapturous smile stretching across her normally cherubic face.

My lower lip starts to jut out into the specific pouty face that I reserve for moments of food deprivation. I love mochi. And I didn’t have time to eat dessert after my quick dinner of Amy’s frozen spinach pizza.

“How was the passion fruit?” I ask. “When Tara Met Blog really liked the passion fruit.”

“It’s gooood! I got it swirled with the coconut.” Amanda brags.

I glance at my watch – it’s 8:15. Not enough time to run across the street to get one before the movie starts at 8:30.

A scowl accosts my face. I’m going to have to wait.

The next two hours are torture. Not because the movie is painfully bad (Though it is rife with sophomoric humor that does not tickle my particular fancy. At all.), but because in almost every scene someone is eating an ice cream cone. It is a primary theme in the movie – the ice cream is symbolic of enjoying the simple pleasures of life.

For me, it is symbolic of only one thing – my desperate Pinkberry craving.

I don’t crack a smile during the entire film. All I can think about is how much I want – nay need – Pinkberry with mochi.

As soon as the movie lets out, I start texting my friend Hank to see if he will accompany me.

“I want froyo.” I type frantically.

“They sell it at a variety of establishments." He responds a second later.

“Do you want to come with me?”

“I think I’ll pass.”

I grunt in disapproval. “They don’t have froyo in Africa…” I remind him. (He is leaving for a three-week trip to the Congo this Saturday.)

He still isn’t convinced.

A second later, I’m dialing my roommate, hoping that she will be game for an innocent break to her diet, but she is similarly disinterested in consuming the tart, unfathomably addicting yogurt with me.

“No matter,” I think. Despite my typical policy of never getting ice cream/cupcakes/cookies sans someone who will make me feel less guilty about it, I decide that tonight I will indulge with or without assistance. I'm a big girl, I can eat crap if I want to!

I pull into the location on Melrose and La Brea, and request samples of both the passion fruit and pomegranate flavors. Despite the allure of its newness, the passion fruit doesn’t do much for me, and I instead opt for a medium pomegranate with my standard accompaniments – strawberries, mochi and blueberries.

“$6.95.” The cashier says.

I gawk in disbelief. “Uhhh… uhhh…”

“Pomegranate is $1 more than the other flavors.” She explains.

I nod, still shocked that I am spending $7 on yogurt that contains indecipherable ingredients, but am too anxious to begin cramming my face to give it more intelligible thought. I hand her the cash and high tail it back to my vehicle in the back parking lot.

Five minutes later I am reveling in a pink sea of red, white and blue deliciousness.

“Mmmm mochi….” I text Hank to inform him that his decision to forgo the fro-yo was ill-conceived.

Two minutes later my cup is empty – the yogurt is gone without a trace, like it was never even there at all.

In my eagerness to consume the rapidly melting dessert before it turned into Pinkberry soup, I’d raced through the treat, hardly allowing the flavors to register on my tongue. Despite the size of my cup and pleasurable taste sensations left on my tongue, I still feel unsatisfied.

I still want more.

I go to bed shortly after, already thinking about going back for another round the next day.

This is what Pinkberry does. This is why Pinkberry is successful. It turns completely rational (err sometimes) people into greedy gobblers. Obsessive compulsive eaters who cannot rest until their cravings have been scratched – no matter the cost or lengths it requires to secure them.

I resist the temptation when I drive down Melrose the next evening, but I know that someday soon I will be hit with another Pinkberry craving again. It cannot be stopped. It cannot be contained. And I cannot fight the lush combination of that infamous tart yogurt with my favorite mochi, strawberry and blueberry toppings.

Wednesday, July 1, 2009

Pizzeria Mozza: It never gets old

I stand in the familiar entry way of Pizzeria Mozza like I have a half-dozen times before. My hair is impeccably coiffed in my “fancy do” (aka curled instead of straight), I am wearing my favorite (and only) red dress, and my lips are stained with color rather than with my usual clear Victoria Secret lip gloss. I glance at my watch, and smile up at the hostess, a primly attired woman with a pixie haircut that I could never pull off due to the flat slope of my head.

It’s a little after 6:45 pm on a Friday evening, and I am anxiously awaiting the arrival of my friend who has never been to Nancy Silverton’s famed pizzeria. The air is tinted with the distinct aroma of rising dough, and I am suddenly ravenously hungry and eager to sit down. Not at the pizza bar, like usual, but at the table I have reserved for us – a first for me, since I have always just shown up at the restaurant sans warning.

I glance anxiously over at the bar to my right and see Sean, the long-haired rock star bartender that has waited on me several times before. I feel slightly guilty for having a reservation tonight – like I am shunning him for a “better seat.”

My friend Anna arrives a few moments later, and the hostess leads us to a two-person table in the center of the recession-proof restaurant. She is flush with excitement to finally be there, and I can’t help but feel equally excited as I watch her take it all in. Through her eyes Mozza feels new to me as well.

Of course, in many ways, it always feels new to me. I am constantly discovering something new to love – a pizza I’ve never ordered before, a special starter, or maybe just a different seat in the house that offers me a fresh perspective. Dining at Mozza is like watching one of my favorite movies again and catching a line I’ve missed the first few times I’ve seen it. I don’t groan when someone suggests coming again, just like I don’t groan when My Best Friend’s Wedding is on TBS again. I am genuinely thrilled to be there – thrilled to have the opportunity to find yet another reason to love my favorite restaurant in Los Angeles.

Tonight, I will have several new reasons to add to my ever growing “let me count the ways” list.

The little gem lettuce salad with dates, red onion and gorgonzola ($15) is a simple dish that is refined by the quality and freshness of the ingredients. With two pizzas in the cue for the wood-burning oven, it is a lighter way for my friend and I to begin the evening than the more popular fried squash blossoms with ricotta ($12) and Nancy’s chopped salad ($15).


The Bianca pie with fontina, mozzarella, sottocenere & sage ($18) with the addition of the oft-praised fennel sausage is decidedly gluttonous with its oozing layers of cheese and meaty chunks of house made sausage, but is one of the finest pizzas I’ve tried at Mozza to date. Despite the number of napkins I go through to consume my half (it generates a considerable amount of grease), I know I will crave this on subsequent Friday afternoons around 5 pm. (When I’ve worked out that day.)


The house made hazelnut gelati (that I order with mint chip and stracciatella) is on par with Pazzo Gelato’s hazelnut scoop. After one bite of the luxurious gelati, I regret not filling the entire bowl with just the single distinctly nutty flavor. My friend is equally enamored with her caramel copetta with marshmallow sauce & Spanish salted peanuts. I’ve had the dessert once before, but it seems especially good tonight – as though the Mozza kitchen angels knew that they were preparing it for a newbie.

When I leave the restaurant for the 7th time that evening, I stop by the bar to say a quick hello/goodbye to Sean.

“A table tonight? Are you going to come dressed in a ball gown with an entourage the next time I see you?” He teases me.

I laugh. “Hah, not quite.”

I wave goodbye and head toward the door, already wondering what my next visit will be like. Maybe I will come in a ball gown. Maybe I will come with an entourage and dine A-list style in the private room. Or maybe I’ll eat at Sean’s bar again, with a new pizza, another friend who’s never been there before, and with, as always, a giant smile spread across my face.

Tuesday, June 30, 2009

Hearts of Romaine Salad w/ Grapefruit, Avocado and Blue Cheese Dressing


“I don’t know what I want.” I pout, staring up at the menu above the counter at Zinc Café completely perplexed.

I’m not particularly hungry so am not in the mood for the quiche plate -- my standard order at the open-air, veggie-friendly café, but am not too excited about any of the salad options either.

I sigh.

“How do you like the mixed veggie sandwich?” I ask the girl behind the counter, who appears to be growing impatient with my extreme indecisiveness. I don’t blame her. I am feeling equally annoyed by the lack of communication between my stomach, my head and my mouth.

She shrugs her approval. “It’s good.”

“Right.” I pause, wishing that she’d give me a clear sign that the sandwich is the exact menu item I’m craving at this precise moment in time, but she doesn’t. I hesitate one more excruciatingly long moment before sealing the deal.

“Okay, I guess I’ll have the ½ veggie sandwich with the cup of vegetable soup and field greens.”

My mom pips up from behind me. “And I’ll have the hearts of romaine salad.”

As she pays for our lunch, my eyes wander up to the board. I read the description of her salad again.

“Served with fresh ruby red grapefruit, red onion, avocado, crostini with brie, and a delicious point reyes blue cheese dressing.”

I read my sandwich description again.

“Pain rustique bread filled with thinly sliced fennel, celery radish, red and green bell peppers, aioli (homemade basil mayonnaise), olive tapanade, arugula, hard boiled egg and vinaigrette.”

The quiver in my decision-making cortex starts acting up again. I sort of want the salad now instead.

I sit down with our number and see a young man enjoying the hearts of romaine salad at the next table.

“I should have gotten that.” I confide in my mom, my voice flat and thick with remorse.

“Go change your order.” She urges me.

“No, it’s probably too late now.”

“Maybe not. Go check.”

I nod and push up from the table, rushing over to the counter with only one thing on my mind – getting that salad.

“Can I change my order?” I ask the poor counter girl. “I understand if it’s too late, but I just saw someone with the hearts of romaine salad and it looks so good!” I enthuse, hoping my sheepish smile will ingratiate her to me.

“I’ll see if they’ve already finished it – the kitchen’s pretty fast.” She warns, as she turns toward the back.

While I stand by the counter, I see a server carrying two plates over to our table.

“Noooooo!” A voice in my head screams.

It’s too late. I’ve missed my chance to have the perfect lunch experience – a rare moment when I get to eat exactly what it is that I want at exactly the precise moment I want it.

I sit back down at the table, a scowl wiping the pleasantness out of my face.

“I don’t want this.” I say, looking down at the overly bready sandwich with disgust.

“Trade with me.” My mom insists.

“No, it’s my fault. You shouldn’t have to suffer because I made the wrong decision.” I say in a bold display of maturity that is quickly undermined when I don’t say another word for the rest of the meal.

“I’m so mad.” I announce as we walk back to the car after our brief and very silent lunch.

“We can go back the next time you come down from LA?” My mom offers.

I shake my head. No, that’s not enough to rectify the situation.

“I’m going to recreate the salad myself!” I say in defiance, already plotting how I’m going to procure a ripe avocado, segment a grapefruit, concoct a dressing out of yogurt, white wine vinegar and blue cheese, and make a salad so great that it puts Zinc Café’s hearts of romaine to shame.

- - - -

Three weeks later, I produced this salad with a hard boiled egg on top for added protein. And dare I say it? Yep, I do! It’s even better than the original.
Hearts of Romaine Salad
Based on salad from Zinc Cafe
Serves 2
Head of baby romaine lettuce, washed and kept in whole pieces
1 grapefruit, segmented
2 hard boiled eggs, sliced
1 small ripe avocado, sliced
1/4 red onion, sliced and soaked in water for 30 minutes

Dressing
1/4 cup nonfat plain yogurt
1 1/2 teaspoons white wine vinegar
2 tablespoons crumbled blue cheese
Salt, pepper to taste

Friday, June 26, 2009

Ludo Bites: The Real Story

I nervously glance at myself in the mirror, wondering if I should wear something a little less bright. Maybe a pale blue dress? Or something white so I appear pure and good rather than dark and villainous?

I sigh, and settle on the bold print I’m already wearing. The dress really doesn’t matter, and I can’t be late tonight. Tonight is too important to be worrying about things like my wardrobe.

As I maneuver my car through the finally idling rush-hour traffic on West Third Street, I am awash with an almost overpowering sense of déjà vu. Has it really only been a six days since I dined at Ludo Bites? It seems impossible. But then again, the entire situation seems impossible.

First, my thoughtless review of Ludo Bites that I posted early Monday morning. Then my weak defense of said review on Monday night – a desperate claim that “Hey, it’s okay for me to pass a quick judgment on Chef Ludo’s labor of love – I’m just a storyteller!” And then, finally, my decision on Tuesday afternoon to delete everything and bear my Christian soul for the “whole world” of LA food bloggers to see.

The drama of the situation was foreign to me. I wasn’t used to that sort of thing – hurting people. Being hurt. People actually taking notice of what I, a neurotic 25-year-old from “the OC,” had to say. I felt like I was in the middle of an episode of “the Hills,” but without all the staging, hair extensions and trendy clothes.

It was wretched. My heart ached with remorse, and I couldn’t sleep Monday or Tuesday night as I ruminated over my disrespectful actions.

When I’d woken up that morning I’d expected for the day to progress in much the same manner. But then around mid-day, I received an e-mail from Will at Food Digger extending an invitation from Chef Ludo and his wife Kristine for me to join a dining event with fellow LA food bloggers. The eleven course meal would be followed by a special viewing of Ludo’s episode of “Top Chef Masters.”

I was in shock when I read his note earlier that day, and I’m still in shock when I pull up to a meter near Bread Bar at a quarter to 7 pm on Wednesday night.

“Is this really happening? Am I really here?” I wonder in disbelief. My hands quivering, I read and reread the restrictions on the sign in front of my car – a routine action that is unnecessarily difficult in my current state of mind.

“What if this is all a joke? What if they’ve changed their mind? What if Ludo starts yelling at me in French? I won’t know what he’s saying without subtitles!” I think, my head bursting with worst case scenarios.

“What if… what if… what if…” is my chant the entire stretch of sidewalk before the restaurant. It’s my chant as I walk through the painfully familiar glass door. And it’s my chant when I see Kristine, Krissy, across the room – busy making the final preparations for her husband’s special evening.

I arm my face with a smile and walk forward, pleading with God to give me strength to handle whatever might come my way that evening. A painful moment passes before Kristine spies me once again standing awkwardly in the middle of the open-air space of Breadbar. I long for something – anything (except Pink Yellowtail Champagne) to take the edge off, but then Kristine’s face warms.

She’s seen me. And I know that everything is going to be okay.

The evening takes off from there. Will arrives with wine and his Food Digger business partners, Brian and Marshall, and casual conversation begins flowing as glasses are filled with white wine.

“Do you want some?” Will asks me, extending a glass.

I hesitate, apprehensive about how it might appear once everyone else arrives. I’m already anxious about how they will respond when they see me there crashing their party. Even with Kristine and Ludo’s gracious reception, my peers may be less forgiving of my blogging faux pas and unexpected presence.

Finally, I nod. “Yes, I’d love some.” I respond, my voice surprisingly clear considering the emotional dishwasher that is tearing up my insides.

The other guests begin to filter in, and I discretely sip my wine as I meet Javier from Teenage Glutster, Kevin from KevinEats, Cathy from Gastronomy, Victor from Grubtrotters, Pam from Rants and Craves, Sook from Yutjangsah, Alli from Alli411, and Wesley of Two Hungry Pandas. Everyone is impossibly nice -- completely normal and seemingly nonplused by what has transpired in the past 60 hours. Even Danny of Kung Food Panda and Fiona of Gourmet Pigs, who I had met at the restaurant that past Thursday night, greet me with smiles. I’m floored by their graciousness, but as Will urges us to take our seats, I can’t help but feel the slightest nudge of pressure to have a completely different reaction to Ludo’s food. Everyone’s eyes are kind and disarming, but I know they are all secretly wondering exactly what I myself am wondering.

“Will I/she like it better this time?”

The first course is placed before us – a deconstructed Bloody Mary served in an oversized spoon. Cameras are unveiled, and my comrades light up the table with their flashes. I stare down at my square white plate and take a moment to give myself a pep talk.

“Remember, Diana, tonight is about keeping an open mind, stretching your palate beyond the familiar. Different doesn’t necessarily mean bad – it just means you haven’t had an opportunity to experience it yet.” I tell myself. “Plus, different can be good – you’re really different.”

Satisfied, I take a deep breath, slowly lift the spoon to my mouth and slide the playful amuse-bouche onto my tongue.

The first thing I notice is the chill that embraces my mouth. A bolt of tomato and celery leave their identifiable mark, and then an unfamiliar gel-like texture makes a surprise entrance. A blast of heat finishes the experience, and I pause a moment, contemplating what it is that I just had in my mouth before looking up into Cathy’s eyes.

“I should hate it, but I don’t.” I say, a bit thrown. I turn toward Sook. “It’s good, right?” I ask her, desperate for her confirmation that I’m not crazy -- that my taste buds actually do function properly (even whilst drinking wine).

She smiles and nods, and I’m finally able to relax and enjoy the meal that Chef Ludo has prepared for us.

Up next is a tuna sashimi with sushi rice ice cream, shishimi togorashi and crispy onions. It takes a moment for me to orient myself. Tuna, good. Crispy onions, really good. But ice cream? On fish? I hesitate, before remembering what it is I’m here to do.

I don’t have to love every dish. It’s not about loving every dish. It’s about growing as a diner and experiencing something completely unique – something that I couldn’t get at my favorite Izakaya down the street.

The ice cream is still startling, but not in the displeasurable way I imagined. I finish my plate, marveling over the “trick” Ludo has played on my tongue.

His tricks continue with the chorizo, onion, cornichon soup – a cool emulsion that looks like cream of tomato to my eye, but is redolent with a distinct sausage flavor.

“How is not oily?” I ask Cathy and Sook, confused that the lush soup doesn’t leave a slick trail on my tongue.

They shake their heads, equally bewildered. I take another bite, attempting to figure out how the soup is so smooth – did he puree a piece of frozen sausage? It’s perplexing, and more importantly, thought-provoking. It is the most discussed dish of the evening.

We follow the soup with a cube of king red salmon with smoked vinegar, watermelon, and mint. Ludo instructs us to eat the salmon first in “one bite” and then to immediately eat the watermelon after. The light flavors are refreshing after the soup – it’s a nice intermission that is followed by my second taste of the shrimp with sweet and sour sauce, rosemary and lemon zest.



Our plates are cleared by the present servers and then Kristine approaches with our next course – the foie gras tart on a maple crust served with lemon paste, raw button mushrooms, and four spices.

“Diana’s favorite.” Kristine jokes as she sets the immaculate slice of tart in front of me.

I smile, but my palpitating heart betrays a different emotion. It’s only my third time trying foie gras, and my first two experiences the week before were admittedly a challenge for me. I snap my photos, taking time to capture my food nemesis from different angles before piercing the cold tart with my fork.

“Open mind, open mind, open mind.” I chant as I slide the first bite into my mouth. My French roommate had told me I might like foie gras better cold, but I am still not prepared for what comes next.

The sweetness of the maple crust juxtaposed against the rich foie gras is a mesmerizing combination that is even further punctuated by the burst of fresh lemon. I don’t just like it, I love it.

“I love this!” I tell Ludo with excitement when he passes by the table. He smiles – of course, I do.

“I loved it!” I tell Kristine when she comes by to take my empty plate.

I feel like the small children in the Pull-Ups commercials who declare to their mothers with pride, “I’m a big kid now!” I want to shout it from the roof tops – declare it to the world – call my mom and foodie brother.

DianaTakesaBite likes foie gras now!


The lush seared diver scallop served in a subtle sea of a port wine and crème fraiche emulsion is another of my favorite dishes of the evening. The sweet shallots and subtle kiss of orange zest pair well with the delicate sauce.

The halibut with spiced butter, fresh porcini mushrooms, tonnato sauce, and lettuce that follows is another incredibly thoughtful dish. I can scarcely believe that I had a less positive reaction to a similar preparation with cod the week prior. The execution tonight is flawless – the flavors come together in perfect collusion.

“I’m starting to get that nudge.” Will says to me, as we dig our way through the flaky white flesh of the fish.

It isn’t until he says it that I realize I am getting full as well. I’d been so caught up in the experience that I hadn’t even registered the food baby forming underneath the belt of my dress. Despite the “nudge,” I still clear my plate and do the same with the next – the duck with almonds, crispy skin puree, tapenade and turnips. I love the pairing of the sweet almond brittle with the perfectly pink duck breast beneath, but given my affinity toward things that do not contain olives (I like olives even less than raw meat), I am less enamored with the tapenade on the side.

Our final two courses – the cheese plate with five different types of cheeses and spreads, and the panna cotta with caviar and caramel sauce ends our culinary journey with refinement. The high quality cheeses are superbly paired with their accompaniments, and we easily demolish the two platters set before us. Food bloggers are not shy when it comes to securing their share of a feast – especially a feast like this one.

The panna cotta with caviar and caramel arrives at the table while we are still finishing the cheese course. We are in a hurry to finish so we can begin watching Ludo’s episode of “Top Chef Masters,” and before I can even think about the seemingly bizarre combination I am putting into my mouth, I am swooning over the dish that Kristine likens to “milk duds with popcorn.”


The brininess of the delicate caviar juxtaposed against the silky panna cotta and sweet caramel sauce is revelatory – a ménage a trios of flavors and textures that is impossibly right. It is simple in execution, yet still sends a bold statement.

This is who Ludo is. This is what Ludo does. He takes risks. He plays with unexpected pairings. And he challenges his patrons to think outside their safe, boring box of familiar flavors and familiar preparations.

I get it now, and I can’t wait to go back for more.

Ludo Bites at Breadbar
8718 W 3rd Street
Los Angeles, CA 90048

Reservations can be made here.

Thursday, June 25, 2009

Green Eggs and Ham: So much better than the book

I stare into the near boiling water, studying the two eggs laying restlessly at the bottom of my pot. Despite my previous desire for a light salad composed of grapefruit segments, avocado, red onion, hard boiled eggs, and a blue cheese dressing, I suddenly feel repulsed by the thought of ingesting the slick white orbs.

"I don't want you." I tell the pot in defiance. "I don't want you one bit!"

I slide the lid over the top to finish cooking the eggs, but my mind is already elsewhere.

I know what I want instead -- the dish I've been craving since I first ingested it nearly two months ago at Huckleberry Cafe in Santa Monica.

My name is not Sam I am, but I want -- no I need -- green eggs and ham.

A quick glance to the clock reveals that a drive from my parents home in Orange County to West Los Angeles would be illogical if I plan on actually eating my lunch within the next hour, so instead I opt to do the unthinkable -- recreate Zoe Nathan's signature brunch dish myself.

I eye the carton of eggs still resting on the granite counter top, my head a pink pong table of inspiration now that I have a more agreeable lunch plan. With the leftover basil and prosciutto from the grilled shrimp and pesto linguine (recipe forthcoming) I made my parents for dinner the night before, I'm only two ingredients away from green eggs and ham bliss.

Or green eggs and ham disaster. (It can go either way when I'm working with eggs.)

One quick trip to the grocery store later to procure Thomas English muffins and arugula, and I start making a big mess of the kitchen my mom just cleaned up. I whip up a quick pesto with basil, lemon juice, olive oil, water, salt, pepper, and Parmesan, in her food processor, and as I crisp up the arugula in the salad spinner she gives me a "you're crazy" look.

"I can't believe you go to all this trouble for yourself." She says in disbelief, pretending to ignore the pesto that is now dirtying another of her bowls.

"But it's soooo good." I insist.

She shakes her head and leaves the room when she sees me making puppy dog eyes at the lush yellow yolks of my frying eggs. (She hasn't yet come around to liquid gold. Yet.)

While the egg whites are firming up, I toast an English muffin and top each side with some prosciutto. I lay the tender eggs over the top, spoon a generous amount of pesto over both halves, and then cover the whole thing with arugula.

"Mom!" I scream at the top of my lungs. "You've got to see this!" I continue with pride.

There's no answer.

"Mom!" I scream, as soon as I take a bite of my solid recreation of my current favorite brunch dish.

Again, no answer.

"Mom?!" I try, one last time.

With no response, I give up and devour the rest of my meal like a rapid animal.

One of the best parts of photographing all my food? I can always force her to "ooh" and "aah" over the pictures later.

Top Chef Masters Season 1 Episode 3: "Oui, Chef!"

What is there to say about an episode of "Top Chef Masters" that I watched one foot away from contestant Chef Ludo Lefebvre?

"Oui, Chef, you were robbed!"

And Rick Bayless has a really annoying voice.

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Thank you, Chef Ludo and Kristine for including me in your special evening. And thank you for not making me eat raw meat.