(S)Low Country: Youngest and Bucket Cross the Dixie Line:

Now I’m not usually one to talk about how great I am, but I really must say the obvious.

Best. Girlfriend. Ever.

Why you ask? Is it because I cook fabulous meals paired with delicate wines all while wearing nothing but an apron with my five days a week workout body while doing laundry, cleaning the house, and doing the taxes?

Hell no.

I took my boyfriend to New Orleans as a surprise for his birthday.

I know. Best. Girlfriend. Ever.

We had 53 hours in the Big Easy- and we were both on antibiotics due to a case of strep throat. (I KNEW I should not have sat next to that old lady on the bus, but I was tired and thought to myself, “its not like she’s going to give me strep throat or anything…” WRONG!) But when you think about it, going to the land of Bourbon Street, bead necklaces, and jello shots, perhaps being on a strong antibiotic is not such a bad idea.

We arrive, throw our bags into our room (which for some odd reason had a giant bathroom but the tinest bedroom ever), and headed over to Chef Link’s Butcher in the Warehouse district. This tiny establishment offers butchered meats, bar starters, sandwiches, wine, beer, hand-made cocktails (one is called Ms. Piggy goes to New Orleans….um, yes!) and a variety of sweets. I got the pulled BBQ pork with the most kick-ass potato salad, where as Bucket got the muffaletta with house made chips. All very tasty- I will say the potato salad brought home the gold- with grainy mustard, crunchy celery, perfectly seasoned . I do love my starches. But we can’t forget the peanut butter and jelly cookie baked into a muffin mold so it allows the cookie/muffin (?) to have a higher ratio of moist inside to crunchy outside, and the bacon pecan praline. I will say that I don’t love overly-sugary desserts, but that doesn’t mean it stops me from shoving the whole thing in my mouth. With that noted, I must say that this piece of confection got me to appreciate the praline and what it has to offer. (shameless Bristol plug: you can see it on our new dessert menu starting this week!)

Next stop, The French Quarter. Random shops full of boas, freakish face masks, and t-shirts that say “I got bourbon faced on Shit Street” are speckled through the area, while places like Café du Monde, claiming the worlds best beignet (may I please place an emphasis on the word CLAIMING…need I say more), cute antique shops, and voodoo stores abound. I felt completely charmed by NOLA, she had cast her spell on me and I was falling hard. She had me at “would you like your adult beverage to go?”

Now I’m not a huge drinker, but there is something to be said about having the ability, or better yet, the freedom to walk around town consuming my tasty and delicious Manhattan. Yes, perhaps, if we were allowed to do that in Chicago or NYC, it could be an issue- or maybe people would actually be nice one drink deep.

A Mano. This gem in the Warehouse district is serving Italian fare headed by Chef Joshua Smith. Forgoing the meat and fish entrees, Bucket and I decided to carb it up with four pasta dishes. Carbonara, Pici, Buccatini, and Gnudi. Nothing brings me more joy then perfectly made, and then perfectly cooked pasta. If you ever have a chance to make it to A Mano, order two orders of the pici. Trust me, you will want it. Finishing with the traditional and always satisfying affogato, we were on our way to Frenchman Street to listen to some good’ol NOLA jazz.

Now again, as I have mentioned, I’m a humble person, really grounded, I promise. But its just so hard to hold back at this very moment- again.

I had made reservations at Couchon, another Chef Link joint, and when my dearest Bucket and I arrived he found his best friend and wife sitting at our table.

Now say it with me folks. Best. Girlfriend. Ever.

I don’t know which was more thrilling, stalling getting to the restaurant because they were running a bit late, or them hiding in the lobby of the hotel all dressed in black to check into their room as Bucket looked for the coffee, OR how he screamed “Shut the Fuck Up!” when he saw them.

Couchon was an amazing meal. Deviled crab, country style ribs, fried boudin, pickled shrimp, all while having our fair share of whiskey inspired cocktails. Now, what I’m about to share was somewhat disturbing- as I was handed the dessert menu, it was brought to my attention that the Pastry Chef’s name was Rhonda Ruckman- which is freakishly similar to my own name! If, by chance, she was a sister from another mister, I did what every good supporting sis would do- I ordered the entire menu. Banana chocolate pie, Butterscotch pudding, Butter pecan ice cream, and so much more that I am actually proud to admit that I took down during this lunch.

Next on the agenda? Cure. A hip cocktail bar, boasting an excellent cocktail list, small plates and amazing deco to boot. Because we were running late, we had to quickly order one drink per and get on our way to dinner. So I did the most logical thing, close my eyes and point- let the gods decide my beverage fate; apparently I was in their favor that day. Tiki Topiary. A delicious concoction of infused pineapple, ginger, and other exotic flavors balanced with champagne. Did not suck. If I had been granted the time, I would have had many Tikis.

Dinner? Why yes please. John Besh’s August. This is where New Orleans comes to dine fine. A beautiful dining room showcases gemmed chandeliers, curving brick walls, and iron staircases. I just wanted to scream, “and the South will rise again!” But I restrained myself, and ordered the gnocchi with crab and the flounder for my main entrée. Since we were all friends and foodies, naturally we all ordered different things and shared. The food is decadent, bright, and flavorful. The gnocchi was nothing short of pure perfection. Now, I understand that being a pastry chef I am slightly biased, but I am going to make a true statement here. Lean in closer, I’m going to just whisper it. The desserts at August were the best part of the whole damn thing. Pastry Chef Kelly Fields is absolutely amazing- from the flaky pistachio tart, to the goat cheesecake, to the ambrosia salad, to the banana cake. Like every competitive individual who sees something they like within their field that they are very impressed with, one thing came to mind- I hate her. But I realized something as I licked the tart plate clean: I came away from this meal inspired. I love stumbling across someone who I feel kicked my ass in the dessert making section of life. Well done Chef Fields, I hope someday I can repay the favor.

After we peeled off our “adult” clothes and changed into something a bit less restrictive, we headed to d.b.a. to get some local flavor- but alas, the door woman refused to let me in because she thought my ID was a fake. Now hold up here a sec. I would like to state for the record that #1) this is New Orleans where anything is available, hell, girls take their shirts off for an entire week and that’s ok? #2) the people I was with were well over 30, and #3) fuck, I’m almost 30! I was completely shocked- it’s one thing to not be let in because you forgot your ID, but it's another thing to be denied when you are rightfully, legally, allowed to attend this establishment. So d.b.a. was d.o.a., dead on arrival.

I don’t know if it was the beverages to go, but I’m not quite sure where the rest of the night came and went, but the next morning Bucket and I were not in our best form. Being that it was the 51^st hour, we had to pack and head to the airport. I could have spent another 257 hours in NOLA. Someday, I want to see the Garden District, and go to the Jazz museum, and of course, have another Tiki. I am truly glad to see that five years after Katrina, New Orleans is thriving. It is a truly great American city, rich in history, tradition, culture, and beverages to go.

God Bless New Orleans.

-Youngest

aka. Best. Girlfriend. Ever.

Bun in the Oven:

I knew I was in for it as soon as I walked in. On one side of the room there was the “just married” section and across the way was the “married with children” area. Then there was the “me” section. Not married and no children. And I was wearing combat boots. I went straight for the beverages and realized I just downed a “Mom-ito”.

Totally. Screwed.

Yes, I will admit, this was the very first baby shower that I didn’t get out of- claiming I had to work, best friend was in town, got a curious case of dungea fever. But, I am actually excited for this friend to be a mom- so, I got over it and bought that cameo diaper bag and carried it down Chicago Ave.

Now when it comes to babies and me, the two just don’t exactly mix well. I've never had that biological ticking of clock, ohhing and ahhing at baby clothes, tiny shoes, or peach fuzz. I think when I was built they left out a part, hell, perhaps two. (I rarely cry and have been told that perhaps I wasn’t born with tear ducts.) What I will dare to say is that yes, babies are cute at times, and sure, the idea of nurturing a human being, and having oneself be their sole universe for that short period of time before they become an adult, sounds pretty amazing. But then again, so does coffee cake in the morning.

Because I didn’t grow up in a household that preached going out into the world, getting married and procreating- my parents taught me how to work hard- it just feels unnatural for me to want this. So I decided to take things into my own hands- immersion therapy. A good friend of mine was helping her cousin with his one-year-old twins during the summer by taking them to baby camp and asked if I could assist one day. So here it was, Operation: Like Babies.

An hour into this, not only had one of the babies not stopped crying since my arrival, but the other had successfully placed a toy fire truck into her mouth. To which my natural response was “she’s going to be very popular in high school.” My friend was neither impressed nor amused with my antics and I thought for sure I was a failure. Then came the singsong session. I learned two things about myself. One; I don’t know the words to Itsy Bitsy Spider. Two; I can’t do this.

Mall walking home to wash my hands of kid drool, various bacteria that had been passed from one child’s mouth to another’s foot, to the others hair, and so forth and so on, I just didn’t see how I would be able to handle this. I work 65 plus hours a week, I have PERSONAL health insurance which covers nothing, I haven’t put any money into my IRA, and I’m almost 30. Hell, I’m not even married. The idea of caring for an individual and showing them this world that at times does not make any sense to me, and hoping, hell praying, that they come out normal?!

Another friend of mine made a valid comment. He suggested that kids are what you have when you get married because when the years go by you will run out of things to talk about. So, it’s a boredom issue? Yes, being with someone for 40 plus years is a long time. It’s a lifetime! But to have children just to fill the time, and hope that your significant other won’t bore the death out of you first, just seems ethically wrong.

I’ve learned the lesson to never say never; so I will not say that I will never have a child willingly. I do believe that it will take more time, and perhaps an extremely understanding wants to stay home with the kids while mom works on her empire and occasionally gets tipsy with her girlfriends, kind of dad.

But to the wonderful friend who is having her first child this week- I am so very happy because I know that you are going to be a wonderful, nurturing, kick-ass mom who will raise her child with a keen sense of self and awesome taste in music.

And I can’t wait to give that kid a sugar high with cakes and cookies and then hand him back to her!

-Youngest

Hot-Cross Bun:

250g-bread flour

250g all-purpose flour

125g warm water

125g warm milk

5g dried yeast

10g salt

50g sugar

1 egg

59g butter

100g dried currants

Zest of one orange

1t cinnamon

Method:

Mix the flours, yeast, salt, and sugar with the dough hook. Add your water, milk, butter, and egg till comes together. Add you orange, currants, and cinnamon and mix till a smooth consistency.

Place in bowl with plastic wrap on top and allow to double in size.

Knock down dough and cut into 8 pieces. Roll into balls and place on to floured tabletop and place damp towel on top. Allow to double in size.

Mix 100g water with 50g flour and pipe a cross on top of the buns. Place into a 400F oven and bake until golden brown.

Melt some apricot jam with a touch of water and glaze when they come out of the oven.

Eldest Strikes Back

It’s been awhile since I, Eldest, have written anything for Bitter Chick. I could make excuses as to why, but who needs to hear it. All that matters is, the sabbatical is over.

Eldest is back.

And, my mouth is full of lots of spicy things to say.

Get ready.

Bake On, My Fellow Man.