Pizza from Neapolitan Express and Lunch at an Art Deco Landmark

The digital thermometer on the TV screen in the elevator reads 57 degrees.   Nothing is ever what it seems.  The number suggests balmy weather, perfect for a street food lunch, but this elevator thermometer has read 57 degrees for the past 14 and a half days.   It’s actually quite chilly outside, and I turn up my collar as I head toward Park Avenue to meet up with my college roommate “Ford McKenzie.”  

Our lunchtime mission, which we’ve accepted, is to track down the Neapolitan Express Pizza Truck and sample a few pies.   Neapolitan Express appeared on the street some weeks ago to great fanfare.   It is said to be the first “green” food truck in the city, running on environmentally friendly compressed gas.  I’m not sure how it will affect the taste of the pizza, but we can all use a few less fumes in our lives.  

Ford has been having some dental issues and is a little under the weather, but as always he’s dressed to the nines.   He’s wearing a skinny Thom Browne grey flannel suit, a white Turnbull & Asser shirt, a Ralph Lauren striped blue tie and a 1940s gold Tiffany watch with alligator band.   

Adorning his feet are black Jim Weston cap toe lace ups.   

I take note of the snappy attire and mention that Mad Me-Shell recently remarked that "Culinary Types" was turning into "Project Runway."   

"This is New York," Ford snorts.   "Every day is "Project Runway."

Truth be told, I appreciate the sartorial splendor, but I do wonder about the wisdom of wearing skinny clothes on food truck day.  It seems more like the time for one's "fat pants."  

The Neapolitan Express Truck looks equally spiffy.  A long, sleek vehicle with aerodynamic styling, it literally gleams from the curb at Park Avenue and 53rd Street.   There's a well-dressed crowd milling around.  In general, I've observed that the East side crowd is a bit more glam.

"It's all the hedge fund employees on Park Avenue," Ford explains.   

Yet pizza is the great equalizer, so we all queue up and place an order for a Pizza Margherita, a Pizza Bufala and a fetching dessert Pizza Cioccolato. 

Inside, there's a team of chefs working furiously and we are treated to the heady aroma of piquant tomato sauce.  The truck is outfitted with high-end pizza ovens, sleek countertops and refrigerators.  Reports say the pizza is cooked for about 90 seconds at temperatures of 900 degrees.   

I'm not sure if it's quite that lightning fast, but literally within minutes, we are handed three cardboard boxes containing the goods.  

“Where are we eating?” I ask as I struggle to balance the pizza boxes in my arms.

Ford glances across Park Avenue.  “The W-A of course.”

That would be the “Waldorf Astoria.”  Yes, you heard that correctly.  We are planning to take our street food pizza to the lobby of the iconic New York hotel that has welcomed dignitaries from Douglas McArthur to Marilyn Monroe. 

They ain’t seen nothing yet. 

Park Avenue is an obstacle course. I get jostled by a couple of pedestrians and I’m almost run down by a biker, but we still manage to pass through the revolving doors and parade into the hotel carrying a stack of pizza boxes.   Wikipedia tells us that the Waldorf Astoria was the very first hotel to offer room service.  I’m guessing a pizza picnic in the lobby is perhaps a whole new concept. 

"Do you think anyone noticed?" I ask.

“If we were really doing things right, we would have had the doorman carry the pizza boxes in," says Ford.  

Ford scopes out the glorious, newly refurbished Art Deco lobby. We stroll across the exquisite, mosaic floor and choose a seating area positioned between a ballroom and a more intimate piano alcove.     

Ford places the pizza boxes on a chair, spreads out on the luxurious chocolate brown leather couch and tosses back his Ralph Lauren tie to avoid food stains.  He surveys the lobby.  “Kings have dined here,” he proclaims and selects a slice. 

The pizza is fit for a king and quite tasty.   Each pie is about 14 inches in diameter.  The crust is soft, thin and chewy and the sauce is bright and bracing.  The Pizza Margherita is sprinkled with fresh basil leaves and the Pizza Bufala is layered with cheesy fresh mozzarella. 

We really should have grabbed more napkins from the truck.   Ford gets a spot of pizza sauce on his Thom Browne suit and someone – who shall remain nameless – gets just a little sloppy.  

You can’t take us anywhere.  It’s doubtful we’ll be invited back.  

The dessert Pizza Cioccolato resembles two crepes, filled with Nutella and sprinkled with powdered sugar.  If you tend to get that salty-sweet thing after eating pizza, it's really the perfect sweet finish.  

I notice that a corporate event is now exiting from the nearby ballroom and I suspect it's time to make our exit.  I look around, but I don't see a trash can where we can dispose of the empty pizza boxes.  I suppose a trash can in the Waldorf would be kind of declasse.  

“What do we do with the pizza boxes?” I ask.    It is then that I notice that the boxes are actually multi-use and come with instructions for turning the cardboard into paper plates.   I'm sure the eco-friendly place settings will be a nice touch the next time the Waldorf entertains royalty.   

©2013 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved

Artisan Twinkies Made From Scratch

The classic poets tell us there is always one love in your life that just never dies – that individual you consider “the one.”  For Sherlock Holmes it was the actress Irene Adler.  For Marc Antony it was Cleopatra.  For Richard Burton it was Elizabeth Taylor.   For Steve Austin it was Jamie Somers.  For Batman it was Catwoman.  

For me, it’s the Twinkie.     

Yes, the Twinkie is “the one.”  I’ve already chronicled how the obsession began in my junior high school years during the Golden Age of lunchbox treats.   I would anxiously await the noon hour to get a bite of that airy yellow sponge cake and glossy marshmallow filling.   But alas, a lifetime of happiness was not to be.  More recently, we mourned the demise of the Twinkie, as parent company Hostess became a victim of the Great Recession and all those hateful health food fanatics.

It all seemed over, yet I never quite gave up hope.   I’d hear rumors that the Twinkie had been “purchased” and would soon be staging a triumphant return.   Yet the end-of-the-aisle shelf at the grocery store that once proudly displayed boxes of Twinkies was instead stocked with a variety of snack food posers.  

Finally, I decided to take matters into my own hands.    My muse was this book – “Classic Snacks Made From Scratch” by Casey Barber.   

Barber understands the way to a suburbanite’s heart is with cream-filled snack cakes.   She offers dozens of kitchen-tested recipes for recreating authentic iconic snacks, including Sno-Balls, Devil Dogs, Tastykakes, Hostess Chocolate Cupcakes, and yes … my beloved Twinkie.

The day arrives for our fateful reunion and my heart is pounding with anticipation.   I understand there are some foodies who might look unkindly on the Twinkie, and consider it “the blonde” of the pastry world.   Yet, as I peruse Ms. Barber’s recipe, I can see that the torpedo-shaped sponge cake is grounded in classic pastry techniques. 

For authentic shape, Barber recommends a canoe pan.   I’d never heard of such a thing, but apparently some smart marketers have created the perfect Twinkie-shaped pan, just for purists like me.  Praise be amazon.com.   (And, if anyone tells me I need another specialty baking pan like I need a hole in the head, I’m gonna smack you!) 

The batter contains a mere six ingredients.   Some Twinkie recipes online suggest the use of a boxed pound cake mix.   But in this recipe, Barber gives a nod to the classic French sponge cake.   Egg yolks are separated from whites.  Both are whipped and then folded together like a soufflé, resulting in an oh-so-lite-and-airy-Audrey-Hepburn-in-Breakfast-at-Tiffanys-poofy batter.  The egg yolks create that distinctive Twinkie blondeness. 

Ten minutes in a 350-degree oven, and there’s no mistaking that renowned, shapely sponge cake. 

The pillowy, glossy-white filling is a classic marshmallow cream, or in pastry terminology, “an Italian meringue,” which is boiled sugar whipped into egg whites.      I’m a little nervous attempting to heat a sugar syrup to the soft-ball stage as I’ve had a few kitchen disasters with hot syrup in the past.   Yet the technique is successful, and I beat the boiling sugar into a batch of egg whites whipped to a soft peak.    

I’ve seen these kinds of clouds flying at 30 thousand feet, and there’s enough extra filling to gleefully lick the spoon.  

Once the cakes are cooled, it’s time to fill them.  Here’s where I start to feel like a mad scientist as I fill this slightly threatening pastry syringe with marshmallow cream.   

Three tiny holes are made in each cake and the pastry syringe is inserted.  You can feel the sponge cake swelling with cream.   This is where a little industrialization might actually come in handy.   

It’s messy, and a little tedious filling each cake by hand, but really no different than filling éclairs or pate a choux.  

The look is the ultimate in eye candy, and the taste is sheer bliss – light, frothy and delectable insouciance (but minus the cloying chemical aftertaste we all know and love).

Yes, there are some who might denigrate this classic cream-filled sponge cake or laugh at its slightly frivolous name.  But, I remain firmly and hopelessly in love, even more so, having crafted my own Twinkies lovingly by hand.  Who needs a tarte Tatin, anyway?  As Shakespeare might have written, “A Twinkie, by any other name would smell as sweet.” 

©2013 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved

Bread and Chocolate

Is food sensual or simply sustenance?  

In the case of fresh baked bread, sustenance imagery goes back to biblical times.  But, the connection between bread and sensuality is unmistakable – the tactile experience of kneading the smooth elastic dough, and the intoxicating, uplifting aroma of warm yeast.  The bread comes alive and its living essence dances in the air.  

But, suppose commonplace bread were merged with something a little dark and alluring?  The seeds of temptation were sown recently when my friend Laura Luciano wrote in her wonderful blog out east foodie about the chocolate bread sold at the Blue Duck Bakery Café in Riverhead, Long Island.  

I’d never heard of chocolate bread.   I couldn’t get the idea out of my mind – a delicious touch of decadence folded into our daily bread.  It quickly became an obsession. With nary enough time for a field trip to Riverhead, I opt for the do-it-yourself approach and troll the Internet for ideas.   I land on this recipe.   It’s not exactly in the artisan style of the Blue Duck, but it’s a good starter recipe that will allow me to learn the method and see how the ingredients and flavors mesh together.  

The recipe is much like a traditional yeast bread loaf, with the addition of cocoa powder and semi-sweet baking chips that are melted in a saucepan with milk and butter.  

The initial, shaggy dough is streaky with flecks of cocoa.  

A few minutes of focused kneading results in a ball of dough that is rich chocolate brown. 

After two rises, the dough is split between two loaf pans and baked for about thirty minutes.  

The house is filled with the aroma of warm brownies laced with yeast. 

Unlike an intensely sweet chocolate dessert, the flavors are far subtler.  I can taste the essence of chocolate, without the dizzying sugar high.  The bread is really quite beautiful in its dark simplicity.  

So when to eat this alluring bread?    Breakfast?  Lunch? Afternoon tea?   I yield to temptation, drizzle a slice with some local honey and don’t even wait for an official meal.  

©2013 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved