The Most Important Meal of the Day

Warning! This post contains adult content!   

Zany and I have turned the page. Her recent office move to the extreme West Side has basically ruled out lunchtime adventures.  Some companies sure know how to deliver a big buzz kill.  We are certain that without our dollars, the midtown food truck economy is going to suffer.  But, we have come to the conclusion that it’s time to up our game, forgo the lunch scene, join the grown-ups and focus on happy hour.

On this particular night, we have convened for Spanish tapas and rioja near Grand Central Station. The cheese platter and ceviche is exquisite.  Just about the time our third round of drinks is served, Zany says, “So have you heard about this cereal café that Kellogg’s has opened in Times Square?”

I glance up from my Manchego cheese, and for a brief second the world stops. I swear I hear the distinct sound of “Snap, Crackle and Pop.”  

“Cereal café?” I stammer.  “As in “Fruit Loops?”

“Yup!  How did you miss this?” she asks, and whips out her phone for a quick Google search. And, there it is on her screen – just blocks away from my office – a haven of confetti-colored breakfast cereals, puffed rice and shredded wheat biscuits, served up with a side of milk and sprinkled with an array of eye-popping toppings.  It’s called Kellogg’s NYC. 

Within minutes we have booked a breakfast cereal date for two days hence.  This is what adult dining is all about – carpe diem. Or carp cereal, if you will.

We rendezvous in Times Square two days later, at 1600 Broadway and 48^th Street.  I have hiked across town, and Zany has trekked over from Grand Central.  The Kellogg's NYC store has white brick walls adorned with the Kellogg’s logo and red accents, kind of like a box of Special K.  

Zany’s smart red summer dress is even color coordinated.  There is a variety of memorabilia and perky cartoon images of Tony the Tiger and Toucan Sam. What better breakfast companions could one ask for?  

Zany orders a small serving of “Pistachio & Lemon,” a combination of Special K Original, Frosted Flakes, Pistachios, Lemon Zest and Thyme along with skim milk and coffee.  It’s looking a bit on the healthy side to me.  

I step up and order “Life in Color” which is Fruit Loops, Lime Zest, Marshmallows and Passion Fruit Jam.  I request the large bowl. 

“Are you sure?” the young man at the counter asks.  He points to a sturdy paper vessel the size of punch bowl. 

“I just hiked two miles to get here,” I reply.  “I need nourishment!”

“Thank you for making the trip,” his colleague says to me cordially. 

Our breakfast entrees are delivered through the old Automat method.  We are each handed a pager.  When it flashes, the screen displays a number that coordinates with a series of doors against the far wall. Open the door, and you will find that your cereal entrée has magically appeared inside. 

Zany uncovers her cereal bowl, and the aroma of fresh lemon zest wafts across the table.  

"I was kind of a Cap'n Crunch gal growing up," Zany reflects.

"I loved Cocoa Krispies," I reply.  "I was completely captivated by the chocolate milk residue."  

On my end, a tart lime zest mingles with the fruity aroma of my Loops.  The citrus is a nice touch.  It’s an important source of Vitamin C.

The artful arrangement of rainbow-colored cereal rings, bright-white marshmallows and passion fruit jam suggest that Andy Warhol has remade the breakfast meal as a pop art masterpiece. I’m freed from my high fiber rut. It’s like munching on a sugary rainbow.  

I’m in heaven.  Or, at least in Saturday morning cartoon land. There’s nothing wrong with feeling like you are five years old again.  And, I’m confident the high-octane loops will propel me through my day in a big, big way. 

“This is the best meal ever,” I gush.  Zany chuckles. 

“Somehow, given your love of Twinkies, I’m not surprised,” she smiles. “This is delightful, and we’re not even drinking booze.”  

No booze, we've got plenty of milk to go around.

#Kelloggsnyc

©2016 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved  

Zany’s Visions of Cinnamon Rolls

With Christmas Eve just hours away, what better way to mark the occasion than with a post on something warm, sweet and delicious?  As the big day approaches, guest blogger and birthday girl Zany shares her coveted recipe for Mini Cinnamon Rolls – perfect for a holiday breakfast – and offers some personal memories of Christmas Past:  

I love the holiday season. Maybe it's because I was born on Christmas Eve and it's second nature to me. Whatever the reason, no other time during the year makes me as happy as now, strolling down city streets lit with shimmering bulbs or turning on the TV any night of the week to find my favorite holiday flick, "The Christmas Story."

But, some of my favorite holiday memories come from the kitchen. While my older sister would snooze through the early morning hours on Christmas morning, my mom would entertain her anxious, early-riser in the kitchen, preparing a number of breakfast finger foods to sustain our gift-opening extravaganza. One recipe that particularly stuck with me is one that my mom collected from a Pampered Chef party in the 90's - mini cinnamon rolls. Easy to pull together (less than 30 minutes!), and there isn't a lot of time commitment in stealing one and popping it into your mouth, making for a smooth transition in the gift-opening process.

In fact, the cinnamon rolls became such a staple for me that I pull out the recipe any time of year now - breakfasts when we have guests, weekend brunch and even just a simple treat for my co-workers. The dish elicits at least one, "oh so cute!" from someone in the group who hasn't seen them before, and for those holiday calorie hawks, one of these bad boys doesn't make a person feel as guilty as that delicious-looking doughnut. 

I pride myself in searching for the perfect holiday gift for those on my list. So, for my Culinary Types friends, I think this recipe does the trick! Enjoy and Happy Holidays!

Zany

Zany’s Mini Cinnamon Rolls 

Rolls:

Two cans of crescent rolls

½ cup butter

¼ cup sugar

1 teaspoon cinnamon

Icing:

1 stick butter

1 ½ cups powdered sugar

2 ounces cream cheese

 ½ teaspoon vanilla extract

1/8 teaspoon salt

Instructions:

• Preheat oven to 325 degrees.
• Break open crescent roll containers. Pinch together the dotted seems so that two triangles make one rectangle.
• Spread butter on each of the rectangles.
• Mix sugar and cinnamon and spread equally across all rectangles.
• Rolls rectangles into a jelly roll. Pinch the seam together. Cut each roll into five equal pieces.
• Grease two 9” round pie pans. Split the number of pieces between the two pans and stagger the pieces.
•  Bake 20-25 minutes or until golden brown.
• Remove the pie pans and turn them upside down on plates. Wait 30 seconds until the cinnamon rolls “drop” from pans onto the plates, lift the pans.
• While the rolls are cooling, mix all ingredients for the icing. (Note:  A hand mixer works well, and sifting the powdered sugar will make the icing nice and smooth.   Use a tablespoon of milk if you want a more spreadable consistency.)  Coat the rolls with icing once cooled.
• Serve for a special holiday breakfast, bring into the office on birthdays, or “just because” days. Extra points if you also bring in coffee and Bailey’s.

©2012 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved   

Merry, Merry Wafflemas!

What kind of chef would buy a waffle maker at an office supply store?

Well, uh, that would be me …

I’ve been inclined towards impulse purchases this season. After six sweaters, three DVD collections, four pairs of sox and a partridge in a pear tree, how bad is one little waffle maker, really? The price is great and one must be ready to deck the halls for that most festive season of Wafflemas.


You’ve heard of Wafflemas, haven’t you? That most wonderful time of the year? Jingle bells, Ho-Ho-Ho, chestnuts roasting on an open fire and golden waffles on the griddle?

For the celebration of Wafflemas, I choose a recipe for Nutty Whole Wheat Waffles from the manufacturer’s instruction booklet. I can almost hear the choirs of angels as the tawny batter spreads across the griddle.

Within minutes, I’ve got a stack of golden waffles with lots of nooks and crannies to hold the melted butter, drizzled with maple syrup and raspberry fruit syrup made from berries picked at Restoration Farm. Joy to the World!

Breakfast for dinner is holiday bliss, and I’ve consumed just enough carbs to send me happily waddling towards the winter solstice.

Nutty Whole Wheat Waffles
(Adapted from Cuisinart Classic Waffle Maker Instruction Booklet ©2007)

¾ cup all purpose flour
¼ cup whole wheat flour
1 tablespoon sugar
½ tablespoon baking powder
¼ teaspoon salt
1 cup low fat milk
3 tablespoons vegetable oil
1 large egg
¼ cup chopped pecans

Combine all ingredients in a large mixing bowl and blend until smooth. Let batter sit 5 minutes while griddle preheats.

Pour ½ cup batter onto the center of the griddle and use a heat proof spatula to spread evenly. Cook several minutes until golden. Serve with maple syrup and fruit.

May your days be merry and bright, and may all your waffles be light!

©2009 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved

Bewitched by Voodoo Doughnut

I am a very sensible, high-fiber cereal guy. That’s my breakfast, plain and simple.

Yet, on this particular morning in Portland, Oregon I am compelled to leave my lodgings at an early hour and seek out something wildly improbable for my morning meal. An irresistible, supernatural force draws me towards SW Third Avenue. I start to perspire. I feel my pulse racing. Is it witchcraft?

No, it’s Voodoo.

If you are faint of heart, read no further. I am about to take you on a perilous journey into the world of the dark pastry arts.

I almost miss the unassuming brick facade of Voodoo Doughnut, but something pulls me to the threshold. Inside, the lobby is about the size of a large closet. I see arcane brick-a-brac and an entire wall covered with New York Times obituaries of celebrities who journeyed to the spirit world in the past year.

There are perhaps thirteen customers squeezed into the small space – hipsters, seniors, tourists and business professionals in neckties and cashmere pullovers – all similarly spellbound, and ordering dozens of doughnuts. It’s as if some powerful conjurer has cast a hex over the city of Portland, awakening the childhood sugar-coated breakfast fantasy that lives deep within our collective psyche.

I wait patiently for nearly 15 minutes and place my order, which is magically concealed in an alluring pink box. I nearly run back to my hotel. By this point, I am burning with fever. I split open the box and indulge with sinful abandon, starting with a wickedly-luscious traditional cake doughnut studded with sprinkles:

Triple Chocolate Penetration:

A gaudy hallucination of Fruit Loops floating on an allegorical bowl of milky white frosting:

And, the ultimate in daybreak decadence, The Bacon Maple Bar – sweet, smoky gluttony:

The experience has forever changed me. Bagels are banal. Fiber cereal is forgettable. Orange juice is ordinary. I am bewitched, perhaps possessed. From this day forth, I carry the mark of Voodoo Doughnut.

I sampled the food, wine and spirits of the Portland, Oregon region September 27 through October 2, 2009.

©2009 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved

Blueberry-Almond Granola and Memories of Acadia National Park

There are no wild blueberries on Long Island, but on Mount Desert Island in Maine they grow in abundance at Acadia National Park. Summertime inspires memories of family camping trips to Acadia, way back when. We would pile in the station wagon and make the drive in two days. How else could my parents manage four boys in the back seat of a car? (The portable DVD player had not yet been invented.)

Acadia National Park is one of the most unique regions in the United States. There, the mountains meet the crystalline blue sea. You can hike the glacial terrain of Cadillac Mountain, or walk barefoot on Sand Beach. The ocean water is chillingly cold, but bursting with marine life. For me, it was an exotic location with fascinating and mysterious places like the Beehive, the South Bubble, Thunder Hole, the Precipice and Anemone Cave. A network of hiking trails and carriage roads fan out across the island, offering endless opportunities for excursions. The more challenging hikes even have stone steps and ladder rungs embedded in the rock, which my brothers and I thought was the coolest thing ever.

The Barritt’s at Acadia National Park

And, everywhere we hiked, there were wild blueberries. The bushes were scrubby and low to the ground, sometimes nestled between two rocks. The intensely sweet, purple fruit was smaller than anything I’d seen at home. We would collect the berries on the trail by the handful and bring them back to the campground to eat on our cereal at breakfast the next morning. It was probably not the most appropriate behavior for a national park, but to a youngster, it felt like part of the grand adventure of living outdoors.

I’ve returned to Acadia several times as an adult and revisited favorite spots. It’s actually more challenging to hike the South Bubble when your father isn’t carrying you. While I won’t make the trip this summer, this simple and wholesome Blueberry-Almond Granola from "Everyday Food" reminds me of Acadia’s wild terrain and those wonderful hiking adventures that live in my memories.

©2009 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved

The Hand of Friendship, the Art of Breakfast

A framed, counted cross-stitch sampler hangs in the foyer of the Foster Harris House. It depicts a whimsical country cottage with the words, “Let me live in a house by the side of the road and be a friend to man.”

The sampler is partially hidden by a large hat tree, but if you manage to spot it, it tells you a great deal about the owners of this bed and breakfast by the side of the road in Little Washington, Virginia.

The first time I stayed at the Foster Harris House I had a feeling of déjà vu, as if I’d met innkeepers Diane and John MacPherson before. Perhaps it’s their natural warmth and generosity that embraces you from the moment you enter the inn, creating the feeling that you’ve known them forever.

Diane and John are my heroes. Several years ago, they quit their day jobs in California and now live, work and cook in a town of 186 people where exquisite food is the lifeblood of the community – from a renowned five-star restaurant just a block away, to local vineyards and surrounding organic farms.

Diane orchestrates ambiance and amenities. Each room at the Foster Harris House is elegantly furnished yet supremely comfortable. John is the chef who sees artistry in simple ingredients like eggs and bacon.

Diane greets me with a smile and a hug upon my arrival. Within minutes, she presents a glass of chilled Pouilly Fuisse on a silver tray. I unwind on the deck reviewing hiking options for the days ahead. Shortly, John is at the side door and we are chatting about my career journey and his efforts to preserve the abundance of yellow heirloom tomatoes available at the nearby organic farm where they have a share. No sooner is it mentioned, when he offers me a creamy, golden tomato soup with a smoky adobo base and garnished with a perfectly pert basil leaf from the kitchen garden. John then offers bowls to two other guests. The soup is delectable after a long day of travel and practically glistens in the late afternoon sun.

Virginia has been blessed with a series of perfect days, and breakfast is set on the deck beneath a large, green market umbrella. While John works in the kitchen, Diane serves the four-course menu to guests. Each meal opens with an elegant parfait of fresh fruit with vanilla custard yogurt and granola, and there is always a basket of warm scones direct from the oven:

The main entrées are towering, imaginative designs of flavor and texture. Ingredients are impossibly fresh and bursting with color. Can one possibly select a favorite among such creations?

Each morning is better than the day before. New guests whisper to me, “Have you gotten this kind of breakfast everyday?” They can’t quite believe that such exquisite works have been prepared especially for them. When they think they can’t eat another bite, Diane takes special pleasure in announcing a “sweet finish,” perhaps a Lemon Liebchen with Blueberry Coulis, a miniature stack of pancakes sprinkled with slivers of luscious chocolate, a Cream of Wheat brulee or a Strawberry Cheesecake Crepe:

On the night before my departure – over an excellent glass of Bordeaux-style wine – I question John about the sense of place the MacPhersons have created in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains. His answers reflect a genuine delight in the guests who visit their establishment and the ability to connect with them for a brief moment in time.

“You get to see them in a place where they are happy and come to celebrate something,” John reflects. “They leave, and they are appreciative and satisfied. It’s a job well done.”

On my final morning, I am reluctantly preparing to return home. I am sitting in the kitchen, as John checks a couple out. I am just within earshot and can hear their conversation.

“Just one night, and we feel restored,” the woman says gratefully.

John responds with an ebullient and spontaneous, “Fantastic!”

The woman will likely pass the counted-cross stitch sampler in the foyer as she departs, but whether she notices it or not doesn’t really matter. Intuitively she knows that the art of friendship is more than just a clever saying, but a way of life at the Foster Harris House.

Recently I traveled through the Virginia countryside, discovering the local food, history and hospitality of what is called “the birthplace of the nation.” I visited the Foster Harris House in Little Washington, Virginia August 18 through 25, 2008.

©2008 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved

Breakfast at Fisherman’s Wharf

The streets are deserted. I’m conscious of a solitary jogger, an occasional dock worker, and a cold, salty breeze buffeting me off of the San Francisco Bay. A sea gull dips in my path. Del Monte Square, part of the historic Cannery Row, is still asleep.

I need to get some breakfast before the day of meetings begins.

Along Fisherman’s Grotto – a sequence of stalls and restaurants offering the victuals of the sea – plump, gangling crabs sit on ice, and proprietors prepare dozens of bulging lump crab sandwiches for the tourists.

A few steps down the road, I stop to gaze in the window of the Boudin Bakery.

Boudin invented San Francisco Sourdough bread in 1849. There are stacks of crispy golden bread that would make a fine breakfast. There is even a loaf in the shape of a crab.

The crusty crustacean is tempting, but bread for breakfast seems so, traditional. Between the chill in the air and the romantic feel of the wharf I think – Why not go for the real thing? So I turn on my heels and head back towards Fisherman’s Grotto to Guardino’s where I order up a piping hot cup of clam chowder.

The thick, chunky stew is deliciously creamy and loaded with lumps of briny clams. There is a hint of pepper, and I sense of splash of sherry. I stand on the wharf and devour it, a lone seagull my only dining companion.

By land or by sea, breakfast is indeed the most important meal of the day.

© 2008 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved