Curbside Pizza – The Eddie’s Pizza Truck

A couple of weeks ago, Zany comes into my office with a colleague. They’ve just returned from a lengthy restaurant lunch. She is agitated.

“There’s a new food truck downstairs,” she says. “They serve pizza. I think I could go for a snack around three o’clock.”

“Znap out of it!” I tell her. “You just had a full, sit-down lunch. I think you need a time-out.” Reluctantly, Zany consents to a cooling off period and we make a date to check out this new entry into the food truck fleet at a time when we’re both actually hungry.

Now, the agreed-upon day has arrived and we are standing curbside in front of The Eddie’s Pizza Truck -- an eye-catching, fire engine red vehicle staffed by a team of attractive counter people in snappy baseball caps. Note the emphasis on The in the title, suggesting that one should accept no imitations.

We are joined by our pal Marie Antoinette, who is auditioning to replace the dearly-departed Mad Me-Shell. Marie Antoinette’s favorite food quote is “Let them eat cupcakes,” and she’s not too happy about having to audition. Still, she’s gamely approaching the challenge. She’s dressed in a smart summer ensemble and she’s ready for her close-up. There is a group of well-groomed, professional types clustered around the truck, waiting for their orders. It’s like pizza in reverse. Instead of dialing for a delivery, you pick it up at the curb. How old school. We approach the menu board. Zany’s been craving the Fried Zucchini Sticks we spotted on the online menu.

“What about the combo meal?” asks Marie Antoinette. “Pizza, a side and a salad?”

Zany gives her a look of utter contempt. “We’re not here to eat salad,” she says in a menacing tone.

I don’t get it. There isn’t a mean bone in Zany’s body. What’s going on?

A word about The truck. It’s the automotive offspring of Eddie’s Pizza, a restaurant in New Hyde Park, Long Island. After many request to open a restaurant in Manhattan, Eddie’s decided the easiest way was to take the menu mobile and the customized truck hit the streets of the Big Apple earlier this year. The vehicle is equipped with four Cecilware ovens used to make the signature dish, “The Bar Pie.” For those of you watching your weight, a Regular Bar Pie – a 10 inch cheese pizza – is only 270 calories.

We decide to go for a selection and order the Bar Pie with Whole Wheat crust and one topped with Sausage, Meatballs, and Pepperoni. Zany is peeved to learn that the Zucchini Sticks are no longer offered, but she perks up when one of the staff offers us a free sample of their Sweet Potato Gnocchi.

“They get extra points for freebies,” she notes, and orders a serving for our dessert. While we wait for our order, Marie Antoinette leaves us to go to the ATM machine. She is gone for some time.

“Where is she?” wonders Zany. “She’s missing the opportunity to drink in all this ambiance. It’s the best part. I don’t think she’s doing very well.” I decide to reserve judgment until the food is ready.

Marie Antoinette returns and with our order in hand, we sit down a few feet away and inspect the “meat lovers” delight. The Bar Pie features a crisp, paper-thin crust with a molten coating of savory cheese and a respectable layer of sausage, meatballs and pepperoni.

The Whole Wheat Bar Pie is, well, healthier, but with a nice, nutty flavor. Marie Antoinette asked if they have knives and folks. Zany just snorts.

We pass around the slices.

“Do you fold your slices?” asks Marie Antoinette.

"Folding is lame,” pronounces Zany.

I feel like I’m having lunch with Oscar and Felix.

Then, the unspeakable occurs. Marie Antoinette takes a napkin and blots the top of the pizza. Zany makes no attempt to mask her look of horror. I’m thinking we should have given Marie Antoinette a briefing on street food etiquette, as in no manners required.

“Mad Me-Shell would never have done that,” declares Zany. Now, I think I get it. Zany’s hazing her. It’s all part of the initiation. Marie Antoinette mutters something under her breath about being "sick of these damn comparisions," but takes the cue, and does not blot her second slice of pizza.

We’re impressed with the food. The Bar Pie intoxicates with a crisp-tender crust, and big aroma and flavor. Most important, it delivers that authentic pizza buzz. We like them both, but decide that the Sausage, Meatballs and Pepperoni is particularly crave-worthy. Marie Antoinette notes that she is an avowed carnivore and the combination works for her. A carnivore, eh? Maybe she’s got potential here.

We decide to give her one more test. We challenge her to approach the blonde woman in pigtails staffing the counter, and ask her if she is Eddie. Resolute, Marie Antoinette heads on over, and returns momentarily with the answer.

“She said she gets that question a lot,” we’re told. “Eddie started the restaurant about 75 years ago, but he’s no longer with us.”

We give Marie Antoinette extra points for her gumption, and ability to ferret out interesting food history anecdotes. That puts her over the top. She’s in, and we are a trio again. Zany and I have to decide who’s going to tell Tyler Florence he didn’t make the cut.

By the way, if you ever find yourself in front of The Eddie’s Pizza Truck, don’t even think of passing up the Sweet Potato Gnocchi. They remind us of fried delicacies like funnel cake, and Zany is correct that they make the perfect dessert. Hot, chewy, nuggets with a hint of cinnamon, you can’t eat just one. We certainly don’t.

©2010 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved

Fade to Black …

There was a time when – for me - the new school term marked the change in seasons. New pencils, loose leaf binders, and perhaps a shiny lunch box, all signaled the fact that summer was over. Fortunately, I’m well beyond having to endure the mental anguish of a new school semester. Now, the transition from summer to autumn is more likely to be marked by a change in seasonal produce, which generates a whole different range of emotions.

At Restoration Farm, the blackberries have bid us farewell for another season, although during a recent visit, an unknown picker had managed to collect the last of the choice berries (pictured above). His – or her – harvest seemed a fitting image to remind us of what was, indeed, a splendid berry season.

As the blackberries fade to black, I manage to pick enough to bake into this tart and buttery Apple-Blackberry Cake.

To pair apples with blackberries is the perfect transition of seasons. The blackberries glisten atop the cake like rare, dark jewels, which now they are. Yet, there are just enough still tucked away in the freezer – to be baked into a crisp in the dead of winter – promising a precious reminder of the sweet rewards of Saturday morning berry picking at Restoration Farm.

©2010 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved

Seaside Wedding Cake

A few weeks back, my cousin Wendy married John on a cliff overlooking Long Island Sound. It was one of those brilliant and blissful summer days. Family was present in abundance and the afternoon sun cast a warm, golden glow over the bride and groom, the celebration and the beach below.

Wendy and John’s talented friend Joey Italiano created this whimsical wedding cake that tied the celebration to the exquisite location. A four-tier extravaganza in turquoise blue, the cake was studded with alabaster scallop shells and assorted jewels of the sea. How delicious to celebrate their sweet union with a confection that so perfectly captured the magnificence of the surroundings!

©2010 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved

Harold McGee and the Keys to Good Cooking

Frankly, science always confounded me. It just didn’t connect, until I made a critical link. Cooking is science. Switch light bulb on.

Now, granted cooking is a lot of things beyond just science. In the introduction to his new book, Keys to Good Cooking, food scientist Harold McGee writes “Cooking can be one of the most satisfying things we do in life. It’s a chance to make things with our own hands, nourish and give pleasure to people we care about, and choose exactly what we eat and make a part of ourselves.” But underlying it all, McGee has shown time and again that an understanding of kitchen science can make you a better cook.


In Keys to Good Cooking, McGee has taken years of kitchen research and observations and compiled a substantial manual on the basic facts of food preparation, covering pantry ingredients, tools, heat and basic cooking methods and kitchen safety tips. Consider these tips on vegetables which intrigued me:

• Fresh vegetables and herbs are alive and breathing and should look like it. The best-quality fresh vegetables are the most recently harvested and most carefully handled.
• At farmers’ markets, avoid vegetables and herbs that have been sitting in full sun and are hot to the touch.
• Choose packages of frozen vegetables from the coldest corners of the market freezer and just before you check out.
• Avoid potatoes with any green color. Green surfaces and sprouts contain bitter and toxic alkaloids.
  

Keys to Good Cooking will be published on October 28, 2010 and TLC Book Tours is providing a copy of the book for me to review. I’ll post the review on Culinary Types on Sunday, October 24.

©2010 T.W. Barritt all Rights Reserved

Guilt and the CSA

So, I’m lying in bed on a Saturday morning, thinking how nice it is not to have to get up at the crack of dawn. Suddenly, this little voice inside my head starts whispering,

“The cabbage is wilting! The kale is limp! Don’t let them go bad. Get up! Get up!”

So much for sleeping late. Soon, I am padding through the kitchen chopping kale and shredding cabbage. The sun is barely up.

I’ve heard of Catholic Guilt, Jewish Guilt, and Protestant Guilt (can we assume that guilt is largely non-denominational?). But, I actually suffer from CSA Guilt.

I’ve seen what it requires to plant and nurture the seedlings. At times, I’ve even worked in the fields. I know what it takes to grow good food. So if it rots - because I was lazy or let it go to waste - I feel the pain.

I did cook the turnips, but somehow, they've now migrated to the back of the refrigerator. I barely manage to save the newly-harvested garlic from a creepy mold attack …

The greens – like Kale – are particularly problematic. “Nutrition guilt” is perhaps even more ruthless. “I can’t let the Kale rot. It’s good for me.”

The digital pressure cooker is a pretty good guilt buster.

A full bunch of kale can go from guilt laden …

…to cooked and ready to be frozen, in about 6 minutes (not counting chopping). No guilt there. I’ll dine on greens all winter.

I am particularly proud of how quickly I deal with the Japanese Eggplant.

I mean, what do you do with these things?

But, within thirty minutes, I’ve managed to dice these suckers into uniform disks …

Pop it all into the pressure cooker …

And, ZAM!!!! Instant Ratatouille! It's almost like an episode of Bewitched (Sam is late preparing dinner and has to resort to witchcraft to put the Ratatouille on the table). There are plenty of servings for lunch so I don’t have to feel guilty about spending a fortune for a salad in New York City.

So, thanks to the lightening-quick pressure cooker, my conscience feels a little lighter when it comes to the produce from Restoration Farm.

Although, I have to admit, I still don’t call my parents enough…

©2010 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved

Blackberries in Contrast

Blackberries are the chameleon of summer fruit. At Restoration Farm, they ripen from fire-engine red to inky black. Depending on the sunlight, the ripe berries can vary from shades of burgundy to deep blue to ebony.

So how best to showcase this multi-faceted jewel of the summer? A tart, silky, Buttermilk Panna Cotta offers a perfect, stark-white canvas to accentuate the dramatic good looks of the blackberry.

To make a fruit sauce to surround the panna cotta, sprinkle two cups of fresh blackberries with ¼ cup of sugar and crush some of the fruit. Leave at room temperature for one hour, stir occasionally, and a luxurious, plummy purple sauce gathers.

It is yet another distinctive mood for summer’s darkest and sweetest temptation.

©2010 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved

Tomatoes, At Last

It’s been a long wait. Nary an heirloom tomato to be found on the East Coast last year, due to the awful tomato blight. While the recent spate of hot weather may have been oppressive, it seems to have coaxed the tomatoes out of their great recession at Restoration Farm.

We are greeted at distribution with Slicers, Juliet tomatoes and a variety of red and gold cherry tomatoes that are as sweet as penny candy.

It is a joyful reunion! How did we manage last summer without these blushing shades of red, orange, pink and gold on the plate? How long since we dabbed that tart juice from our lips?

The debut tomato recipe of the summer of 2010 is an aromatic Mixed Tomato Salad with black olives, dressed with warm toasted garlic and oregano oil. Used as a relish over pan broiled beef tenderloin steaks, it delivers a brilliant burst of savory sunshine.

It is a welcomed homecoming, indeed!

©2010 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved

Beach Party

There’s no question we were dumped. With no warning, Mad Me-Shell decides to skip town and move to Chicago. I mean, what is she thinking? Chicago probably has – what - only one food truck? What is she going to eat for lunch? I predict she will starve.

Having now been downsized to a dynamic duo, Zany and I decide to drown our sorrows in chowder.

We return to the site of our recent crime, the Beacon Restaurant & Bar on 56th, where Mr. Pink continues to do a brisk lunch business of double hot dogs. This time, the occasion is Beacon’s annual “Chowder Fest” that starts at 6:30PM. Evening dining is kind of a new thing for us. It feels very grown up. So does eating indoors. At a table.

Inside, the Beacon looks like a Beach Boys single come to life. Our friend Katie from the Side Door is greeting guests and she’s decked out like Annette Funicello in one of those beach blanket movies. Okay, maybe more like Sheena, Queen of the Jungle.

Beach Baby

We get these neat little white paper hats to wear. A guy at another table has written “Everybody Loves Fish” on his paper hat. New Yorkers have turned out in droves, but there is not a Speedo in sight.


Katie has seated us at “the fun table” where we meet the guys from Brooklyn Brewery who have supplied the beverages for the evening. There is also a guy who calls himself “Chowder Mark.” He works in the art work and rides motor cycles.

Chowder Mark

After finding our seats, we push our way to the chowder bar. We have a choice of New England Clam Chowder, Manhattan Clam Chowder, Grilled Corn and Potato Chowder and Fulton Street Seafood Chowder. We politely request one of each.

We love the thick, chunky clam flavor of the New England Chowder and the sultry smokiness of the Fulton Street Seafood Chowder.

The staff is passing some spunky fried clam rolls. With these, we are at serious risk of spoiling our appetites.

Zany is getting into the spirit. I note that she has shed her street shoes and is now wearing flip flops. I ask her about her worst beach experience ever.

“When I got splinters on both feet on the boardwalk at Atlantic City and had to listen to my mother’s “I told you so” speech,” she says. “My best beach experience was discovering fried Oreos under the boardwalk at Atlantic City.”

You gotta love her.

Next we’re served an entire bed of oysters, clams and mussels, wood roasted and served in broth and on the half shell.

Within minutes, there are 25 or more empty shells scattered in front of us. We collect them in a beach pail. Zany takes a deep breath.

“And now for the rest of the dinner,” she says.

At this moment, we are joined by two Johns from Staten Island who took the scenic route and arrived late. They are from a bar in Staten Island called The Wild Goose Pub. John #1 has the title Head Goose on his card. John #2 doesn’t like most seafood. Is he at the right party?

John #1 From Staten Island

“They come from Brooklyn, they come from Staten Island,” says Zany. “Chowder Fest is an International Affair.”

Chowder Mark and the Johns decide to engage in a variety of Fish Tales, like the hazards of eating goldfish and infamous shark attacks. Just as it’s all getting a little sordid, the fried chicken arrives at the table. Someone asks, “When was the last time you saw chicken in an ocean?”

“I did see a rooster in Key West,” says Zany. “That counts.”

What’s most important is that the chicken is crispy, spicy and delicious and John #2 has something to eat. “At Chowder Fest there are no rules,” notes John #1.

Chowder Mark and John #1 skillfully pitch in to hold the food as I take pictures. They could get work as hand models.

Zany and I speculate that Mad Me-Shell – who is now on the road to Chicago – is probably eating at some sorry Interstate rest stop.

Next comes the Lobster Invasion. “I think this could make me get over the Burger Truck,” says Zany who is nearly salivating.

“Do you think the lobster is local?” I ask.

“Define local,” says Zany. “If it was caught anywhere east of 56th Street, I consider it local.” She prepares to attack.

We stab our forks into succulent roasted lobster meat that is drenched in basil butter.

Having made mince meat of the lobster, I note that I am now wearing most of Chowder Fest.

“It takes all five senses to experience Chowder Fest,” says John #1. He’s become the philosopher in our group.

We finish things off with about a dozen Whoopee Pies and chocolate chip cookies. The two Johns and Chowder Mark decide to call it a night. We suggest that the two Johns take the Staten Island Ferry home as it’s the most direct route.

Zany and I are pretty happy (although Zany would have liked to have seen Mr. Pink). We’ve made some new friends, and we’ve stuffed our faces. What could be better? Maybe a summer cookout on the beach? But, wait – we did that – and we didn’t even have to leave Manhattan!

The last thing I remember is a beach ball flying over our heads, and the sound of the Beach Boys drowning out the free-flowing Brooklyn Beer.

Poor Mad Me-Shell. She’s going to miss New York.

©2010 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved

The Sunflowers of Restoration Farm

As the summer ripens, the landscape is always evolving at Restoration Farm. Sunflowers immediately catch the eye as you turn the corner from the wooded path out into the first open field.

Sunflowers were first cultivated in Mexico and Peru, perhaps as early as 2600 BC.

The yellow bursts of sunshine are a glorious start to the day. It’s like a little patch of Godlight kissing the Earth.

©2010 T.W. Barritt all Rights Reserved