Mad Me-Shell Dishes on Delicious Food Trends of 2012

It’s that most wonderful time of year – the time for “lists!”  The best of, the worst of, the most pretentious, the cheesiest, blah, blah, blah.   When it comes to food, I sometimes wonder about the creds of these folks who are telling me what to eat and what to avoid.  Vegetables for dessert? Really??  What do they know?   For the genuine dish, I turn to a true culinary road warrior, the Siren of Street Food and the Queen of Cured Meats, the insatiable Mad Me-Shell for an all-you-can-eat feast of the best and worst of 2012 in food!  

TW:  What was the best thing you ate this year?


MMS: Who could pick just one!? I know most will assume I will choose something like a quadruple bacon cheeseburger (that does sound amazing), but I think I’ll class things up a bit with this one!  I am still having dreams about the warm pulled duck salad I had this summer at Albannach, a fantastic restaurant and whiskey bar in London. This ‘salad’ featured green beans, bacon (yes, bacon!), shallots, sautéed potatoes and pulled duck. Unmmm, yeah, I had to be stopped from licking my plate.


TW:  What was the worst thing you ate this year?


MMS:  For me, this one is easy. I was at an event and tried one of the passed appetizers, a stuffed artichoke. Approximately three seconds after shoving said artichoke in my mouth, I realized I, in fact, detest artichokes. I got cold chills just reminiscing about this experience! 


TW:  What do you think are the top two or three food trends of 2013?


MMS:  Well I sure as heck hope it’s not small plates!! Seriously restaurants, enough with the small plates already, we get it.  I do think we’ll see a continued surge of old-fashioned cocktails on drink menus and chefs getting adventurous with some exotic animal meats (alligator, kangaroo, etc.). Most importantly, I HOPE 2013 will further solidify the local food sourcing trend for restaurants. 


TW:  Who's your favorite celebrity chef?


MMS:  Curtis Stone! He is a highly trained chef with a simple food philosophy and approachable recipes that appeal to a culinary novice such as me. And I guess he’s not bad to look at. No seriously, Curtis, call me maybe?


TW: Who do you think is the most annoying celebrity chef?


MMS: Jamie Oliver! Jamie Oliver. Jamie Oliver. His restaurants and television shows present laughably contradictory points-of-views and his recommendations are largely misinformed. I could go on all day…


TW:  What's your "secret comfort food?"


MMS:  You just had to go there, didn’t you? This hurts my soul to admit out loud, but Totino’s Pizza Rolls are just little slices of meat-filled heaven. I have surely eaten more of them in the last few years than any human should consume in a lifetime.




TW:  If you could start a food truck business, what would you serve?


MMS:  I feel confident a ‘liquid’ food truck would be a hit! Zany and I would start a bar on wheels…what could go wrong?!

TW:  What are you eating on New Year’s Eve?


MMS:  Whiskey and Champagne. What? Do people actually consume anything other than booze on New Year’s Eve? Oh, they do? Hmmmm, I’ll probably still just stick with the whiskey/champagne combo!




TW: If you were in an Iron Chef competition - what would the secret ingredient be?

MMS:  Is bacon too obvious of an answer?? Man, I love bacon…what were we even talking about? Oh, yes. You know what? I’m still going to go with bacon! 

©2012 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved

Whiskey for Everyone and a Make-Your-Own Burger Smack Down

I notice a slight touch of perspiration on my brow as I hop from my taxi in downtown Chicago.   Is it the unusually warm autumn temperatures in the Windy City?  I think not.   Is it the suitcase I’m lugging packed with my business clothes?  Negative.  It is nerves - flat out culinary pressure.   I’m dining with my old pal Mad Me-Shell, and she’s already transformed the meal into Iron Chef style event.  

It’s no secret that Mad Me-Shell is a fierce competitor.   She’s famous for challenging complete strangers to street food duels on Twitter.   This time, she’s got me on her radar.    I’ve been invited to meet her at 25 Degrees at 736 N. Clark Street, which is described as “Bordello meets Burger Bar.”   Sweet!   “And,” adds Mad Me-Shell,  “They have a build your own burger option, so we can have a little competition.”  

Why do I feel like I’m being set up? 

Zany has decided to sit this event out.  She’s roughly seven months pregnant and the little bundle of joy is just wearing her down.  Personally I think it’s kind of a lame excuse.  What unborn child wouldn’t enjoy a healthy shot of all-beef protein?   We’ll have to check back in a couple of years and see what impact this decision to deprive the youngster of 10 essential nutrients has had.  Oh well.  I’ll just have to eat her share. 

I take a seat in a banquette surrounded by red velvet wallpaper.   Already I’m feeling a little frisky.   Mad Me-Shell breezes into the room, and lays down the gauntlet.  Or maybe that’s her credit card.  We consult the cocktail menu.   “Whiskey for everyone!” Mad proclaims.   I order a “Mayday,” which consists of Maker’s Mark, Domain de Canton ginger, oranges and soda.   Mad has a “Whiskey Smash” made of Bulleit Bourbon and lemon mint.    My guard is up.  This woman is no novice when it comes to whisky.  She can drink the WWF under the table.   

Mad has just returned from a whirlwind culinary tour of London and Paris with her mother.  “My mom was such a good sport,” she explains.  “I dragged her down a dark alley near Covent Garden in search of an elusive European food truck.  We had the most amazing Neapolitan pizza!  Mom said, What ever you want, dear.”

Mad also discovered English pub food.  “Runny eggs have changed my life!” she says, gleefully.  

On the home front, she’s faced a few kitchen nightmares.   The other night, she threw a baby shower for Zany and the oven crapped, out forcing her to pan fry the pork tenderloin roast as kabobs on the stovetop.   For Mad Me-Shell, necessity is always the motherhood of invention.  

Despite the bacon wrapped dates and potato and 3 cheese fritters, Mad’s eyes keep drifting towards the football game on TV.   It turns out she’s enrolled in a suicide football pool, and she’s destroying the competition.  

After another round of cocktails (“You know I’m a whiskey girl,” Mad reminds me.) it’s time for the moment of truth.  It’s time to build that burger.  

Mad gives me the stink eye and scrutinizes her menu.  I carefully consider my flavor strategy, and decide to go for a healthy dose of umami.  My signature burger is composed of ground sirloin, caramelized onion, portabella mushrooms, Applewood smoked bacon, fried egg and grand cru gruyere surchoix. Mad decides to go a bit old school and selects ground sirloin, roasted tomato, jalapeno bacon, fried egg, and smoked mozzarella.   The twin peaks are towering burger creations, and we divvy up the goods, so we can each sample.  

Without Zany as referee, we are each forced to play the dual role of competitor and judge.   Mad, dabs her mouth with a napkin, looks up from her plate and says slowly, “It pains me to admit it, T.W., but I think you may have built the better burger.”

Score one for 20 weeks of culinary school.   But it’s kind of like having Julia Child surrender to Jacques Pepin, or Bobby Flay turning the keys to the restaurant over to Giada.  It just doesn’t feel quite right.    So, rather than me take a victory lap, we decide to jointly toast ourselves with some spiked milk shakes.   

Mine is called “Salty Caramel” consisting of Maker’s Mark, butterscotch vanilla ice cream and Hawaiian red sea salt.  Commensurate with her new fondness for the cuisine of Great Britain, Mad orders a Guinness Milk Shake which features Guinness, House Made Chocolate Sauce and Vanilla Ice Cream.  

I take a sip of my milkshake and gasp a little screech of sheer delight.

“You’re welcome!” says Mad brightly.

At the risk of being uncouth, I slurp the bottom of the glass with my straw.  Several times.  Some folks at the bar turn their heads, thinking the L train is rambling by.  

As I leave Mad Me-Shell for my final destination of the evening, she is enjoying the last few drops of her Guinness Milk Shake, checking her status in the suicide football pool, and already plotting how she’ll corrupt the diet of Zany’s little one during her first gig as baby sitter.  

©2012 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved 

Mad Me-Shell and the Great Chicago Food Truck Smackdown

I always knew Mad Me-Shell had…well...moxie would be the word to use in polite company. But picking a fight with a guy on Twitter? What was she thinking? It all resulted in some shocking, high calorie street theater. Now, in her very first guest post, the insatiable Mad dishes on what can happen when you talk to strangers. Warning! Amateurs should not attempt the stunt described below, but if you do, keep the Alka-Seltzer handy.

 

Well, T.W., just when you thought my food truck adventures were coming to an end, it happened. I accidentally started a food truck eating challenge via Twitter. There I was, minding my own business one day, when I came across this glorious picture tweeted by a fellow Chicagoan of a sandwich from the SamichBox food truck.

Yes, that is a chicken fried steak sandwich. Isn’t it beautiful? Though I didn’t know the gentleman who posted the picture, the carnivore in me was compelled to tweet my delight over such a creation. I was shocked and dismayed when the owner of said sandwich (we shall call him Butch McGee) said he could only finish half. Now, I might be a lot of things, but a quitter is NOT one. I simply tweeted my disappointment over his lack of appetite. Some Twitter trash talk followed, and the next thing you know, Butch McGee was challenging little ol’ me to an eating competition. And you know I can’t resist a challenge…

Obviously, I asked Zany to accompany me to this historic event. But she’s terribly busy and important and had another ‘lunch engagement.’ GASP. I felt like Bonnie without Clyde. How would I go on? I was forced to bring SG, a colleague who was both appalled and fascinated by this challenge. She thought I was crazy, but was more than willing to take pictures and watch me make a fool of myself. So we hit the streets and quickly spotted the truck, my stomach grumbling in hungry anticipation.

Butch McGee was easy to spot – he was surrounded by an entire entourage of people ready to cheer him on! Color me officially intimidated. But it’s totally normal to eat a huge sandwich from a food truck on the street with a stranger, right? In spite of my nerves, I was quickly distracted by the ginormous sandwich set in front of me.

That’s right T.W.; this wasn’t just any ordinary sandwich. It was two slices of Texas Toast, TWO pieces of chicken fried steak, a huge scoop of mashed potatoes and yes, a healthy portion of sausage gravy to top it off.

Before I had time to second guess this decision, the competition started! Butch McGee started eating with gusto, but I tried to stay focused. I did have several pounds of sandwich to consume before him, after all. Ignoring SG’s cheers, Butch McGee’s jeers and shocked looks from passersby, I tucked into the challenge. It wasn’t hard to stay motivated – the sandwich was delicious and tasted surprisingly fresh and light.

It wasn’t long before I heard SG exclaim over my progress. I finally snuck a peak over at Butch McGee. I was astounded to realize I was far ahead of him. And he was clearly slowing down.

What a wuss.

Stopping only to take a quick sip of water and wipe my mouth (I am a lady, after all), I polished off the last of my sandwich with ease. Butch McGee hung his head in shame while his entourage looked on with expressions shock and awe. I strolled away, feeling full – of tasty food and the sweet taste of victory.

While I don’t plan on building a career winning eating competitions, looking at this snapshot of my success certainly puts a smile on my face. And of course, has me out scouring the streets for my next food truck adventure.

©2012 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved

A Touch of Class: Dining at RPM Italian in Chicago

Business travel can be tough on social life, circadian rhythms and diet. But when I visit Chicago, there’s always hope for a reunion with my street food muses, the inimitable Zany and Mad Me-Shell.

As soon as I alert them to my imminent arrival, they are on the case. I’m expecting our menu might be sliders and fries on the corner of Michigan and Randolph, but when it comes to local haute cuisine, the girls are always au courant.

“We thought we'd mix it up a bit and take you to one of the hottest new restaurants in town,” Mad writes. “RPM Italian just opened last Wednesday and we've scored a 6pm reservation. RPM Italian is a new Melman restaurant opened with Bill and Giuliana Rancic -- I'm sure they will be there to greet you!”

Dining indoors? I’m intrigued.

A quick Internet search brings me up to speed. RPM Italian at 52 West Illinois, launched with a glitzy opening just days earlier. For those of you who don’t know Bill Rancic was Donald Trump’s original “Apprentice” winner, and Giuliana is an anchor on E! News. The couple hosts a show on the Style Network. My heart’s all aflutter. Dining with the glitterati is a first for us.

RPM has a sleek, shiny black and white motif. The menu is pure Italian comfort served up on small plates suitable for sharing. We like to share.

I meet up with Zany first in the bar for pre-dinner drinks. She’s looking glam in a smart black and gray ensemble which bridges effortlessly from conference calls to cocktails. I’m wearing a serviceable navy blue pullover, but hey, it’s cashmere.

Zany’s recently become a gin aficionado. The gin epiphany came when she and Mad were drinking tequila at a Mexican cantina. Okay, I don’t quite get it either…

Mad Me-Shell breezes in soon after. She’s decked out in elegant urban black, with just a touch of bling. Mad recently wrapped a grueling street food smack down (which she provoked) that threatened to besmirch her title as the Queen of Chicago Food Trucks. But, don’t expect spoilers on that epic challenge right now. Mad promises she will dish on all the sordid details right here on CT very soon.

We are seated and begin to catch up. Zany and Mad have just come off a grueling weekend kitchen project. They spent 10 hours making homemade ravioli while watching the Daytona 500.

“It was a six-pack-a-person job,” says Mad.

Zany scans the room. “So where are Bill and Giuliana?” she demands. “You said they would be here to greet us.”

“I made that up,” confesses Mad.

“I’m telling your mother,” snaps Zany.

“Oh, add it to the list!” retorts Mad.

We order a bottle of Barbera wine. It is described on the menu as a “Soft and Approachable Wine.”

“How very Italian of us,” says Zany.

Mad takes a sip, swirls the wine in her mouth and murmurs her approval to the waitperson.

“Aren’t you quite the red neck sommelier!” remarks Zany.

After making the waitperson wait an excessive amount of time while we chatter, we finally kick off the meal with a healthy spread of appetizers – Provolone Stuffed Peppers, Arancini, Roasted Beets with Blood Orange and Pistachios, Prime Beef Meatballs, Truffled Garlic Bread and a Pizzette with Cremini Mushrooms and Fontina Cheese. Mad insists that we order the meatballs to offset the beets.

This probably looks like enough food for an army but I swear to you that all these dishes are listed on the menu as “small bites.” Tiny is SO fancy. While scrumptious, the small bites have done little to blunt our appetites, so we order three different pastas – Truffled Farfalle, Porcini Mushroom Risotto, and Lamb Sugo with Chickpea Pasta, Black Olives and Oregano.

At one point during the meal, I elbow Mad. “That guy at that table over there keeps looking at us,” I whisper. “He thinks we’re somebody.”

Mad gives the guy a once over. “He’s an out-of-town businessman,” she pronounces. “To him, we are somebody.”

With such small bites, we certainly have room for dessert, and request a Hazelnut Gelato in a Chocolate Shell and a Caramel Pine Nut Tart with Rosemary Gelato.

We finish things off with Amaro, a dark, bittersweet Italian Herbal Liqueur with flavors like Black Pepper and Bitter Orange.

Zany orders a serving of Cannolis-to-go for her husband Luigi the Baker. “I’m shooting for the Best Wife Ever Award,” she says.

We pronounce the meal a great success. There’s something to be said for sitting down and enjoying a leisurely meal without any threat of automobile exhaust fumes.

“I still would have liked a celebrity cameo,” says Zany.

Mad looks slightly affronted. “I was here. Does that not count?”

As we reach for our coat checks, Zany sums up the evening with her usual flair for words. “We are street scavengers, but we can class it up.”

©2012 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved