It's a pickle

I excitedly opened the carry-out box containing my turkey avocado bacon cheese tomato and lettuce sandwich from Harbor East Deli and instantly frowned. There was nothing wrong with the sandwich; it looked incredible, stacked high with meat. No, it was the skinny green particle lurking under my sandwich – the pickle. I feared for my sandwich, terrified that pickle juice had leaked into the bread. No one wants a soggy pickle flavored sandwich. I lunged for the pickle and threw it across the stone wall I was sitting on. There was now a safe distance between me and the smelly pickle.

I can’t explain my aversion to pickles, it’s just one of those foods I’ve always hated. The pickle is actually just a pickled cucumber, meaning it’s been soaked and fermented in brine or vinegar. The taste of the pickle depends on what you soak it in – in addition to brine and vinegar it can be soaked in garlic or lime.

I also discovered that Americans consume an unbelievable 9 pounds of pickles per person each year(http://www.virtuowl.com/beauty/vinegar-beauty.htm).

I have to blame my aversion on some unrecalled traumatic childhood experience with the pickle. I can remember a place in Charlotte, NC my parents would always take me to, Phils Deli. With every sandwich came a pickle. Even my favorite, the grilled cheese. I was always so upset when my grilled cheese tasted like anything but cheese, in this case, pickle. Could this be the reason?

Pickle fans: If you're in the mood for the fattest pickle I've ever seen, check out Attman's on Lombard Street.

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Duckpin Bowling, anyone?

I can’t think of anything stranger than this place. Along Eastern Ave, a short walk from Fell’s is Patterson Bowling Center. No more than a two-story brick building with an undistinguished blue and red awning, it looks nothing like a bowling alley. Make that a BYOB bowling alley. It’s the kind of place that you probably only hear about by word-of-mouth.

Interestingly enough, duckpin bowling is believed to have originated in Baltimore (according to hookedonbowling.com and several other sites). Duckpin bowling differs from regular bowling in that the balls are much smaller and do not have finger holes. In addition, the pins are shorter and lighter, making it more difficult to strike them all down. Instead of of 2 balls per turn, you get 3 balls. Duckpin bowling is popular in the mid-Atlantic part of the country - I grew up in Charlotte, NC, which explains why I've probably never heard of it before now.

The best part about Patterson Bowling were the shoes - neon yellow and bright red velcro bowling shoes. Even better, they were comfortable, like slippers almost! My bowling companions and me made sure we all got the same color. We played 2 embarrassingly low scoring games, enjoying the Bud Light Limes we brought with us. The atmosphere of the place was laid back and a lot of fun as well. For something a little different, I definitely recommend Patterson Bowling. And for afterwards, the bars at Fell's are just a short walk away.

I gotta say though, I was quite sad to return my stylish bowling shoes at the end of the game.

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In Defense of Ruby Tuesday's BBQ Ribs

This is big - normally I would never rave over any kind of American chain restaurant. Never. However, I've finally found an exception: Ruby Tuesday has an incredibly tasty savory rack of ribs. Smothered in BBQ sauce, which happens to be one of my favorite flavors, and probably most favorite dipping sauce, they're insanely addicting. Don't get me wrong - I'm sure there are other, fancier places that claim their ribs consist of "organic grass fed beef" or whatever other sustainable, organic, all-natural marketing terms some restaurants are slapping onto their menus these days, but I'm perfectly happy with Ruby Tuesday's offering. Instead of focusing on the farm-to-table trend, Ruby Tuesday focuses on the sheer deliciousness of their ribs, and I have to say I'm perfectly okay with that.

On the menu, the ribs are described as "Fork tender ribs...slow-cooked for hours...to fall off the bone tender..." Who knows for sure how long the ribs are cooked (does it really take hours?) but the description is true - the meat really does fall right off the bone, you don't need a knife to eat these. And better yet, the ribs are served with a baked potato, emphasizing the savory combination of meat and potatoes. The ribs also come with a side of brocolli, but it's usually overcooked, spongey and limp. But no worry, failed broccoli is a small price to pay for deliciously tender meat.

I like to combine the flavor of the tangy, slightly spicy BBQ sauce with everything on my plate. For those who claim that BBQ sauce drowns out the flavor of the food it covers, I say who cares? In my opinion, it's the BBQ sauce that makes the meal.

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Pitango's Mojito Sorbet

Fell's has a find for gelato and sorbet fans - Pitango Gelato on S. Broadway. This place features gelatos and sorbets made with fresh, often organic ingredients. For a sweltering hot day, no questions asked, order the mojito sorbet. It is one of the most refreshing sensations I have ever experienced. And how creative it is too - you'll notice the minty green specks spread throughout the lighly sugared base. The sorbet's cool, minty flavor was so memorable, I had to come back for more.

Afterwards, I took my sorbet out to the pier towards the water and enjoyed a view of the Dominoe Sugar factory and the Baltimore harbor. The breeze from the water and the mojito flavors made me wish I was on a tropical Carribean beach.

For those who want more than sorbet, Pitango's features an impressive gelato menu as well, inlcuding Gianduja (chocolate hazelnut), Crema (Italian custard) and Spicy Chocolate (made with hot peppers). Check it out!

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What to do with a carnival goldfish?

As a kid, I always wanted to win a fish at those silly carnival ring toss booths, At Hampden's Hon Fest last weekend, my aspirations were finally met. I won a small goldfish in a game called "fish toss." It was pretty straightforward, you just tossed the ping pong ball into an array of jars on a table, hopefully landing it inside one of them. Surprisingly this is a challenging task. The fish was awarded to me in a small plastic bag filled with water. Honestly, the goldfish looked pretty miserable (how would you feel inside a plastic bag?). Who knows if fish are even capable of sadness, but it certainly didn't look happy.

I toted the fish around the festival for a few hours, trying to keep it out of the sun. The tiny goldfish made for an excellent conversation point between strangers. Quite a few random people approached me, asking where on earth I got the poor thing from. My next question of course, was where on earth do these things even come from? Is there some huge goldfish manufacturing plant in China that raises the fish and packages them in these cheap plastic prisons?


Interestingly enough, my hypothesis was not too far from the truth. I discovered a point of controversy that dates back to the Beijing Olympics. Apparently keychains with a live goldfish in a plastic bag (see photo on right) were sold as "unofficial" souvenirs to tourists. Apparently most of the goldfish packaged in these bags would live no more than a few hours. You can imagine how animal welfare groups reacted to that one. The name and whereabouts of the manufacturer of these keychains is unknown. A few major newspapers even covered the story, check out this British paper, The Sun: Cruel Trader Sells Live Goldfish as Souvenir

Fascinating. The next day, the fish was still alive and kicking. My roommate, an experience fish owner came with me to Petsmart, where we bought the proper fish materials. First of all, the fish bowl. Secondly, rocks for the bottom of the bowl. Thirdly, fish food. Lastly and most importantly, water de-chlorinator. Apparently, tap water will slowly kill a fish, due to its chlorine and chemical contents (read more: http://fins.actwin.com/mirror/begin-tapwater.html). Good to know, so why don't more people know it?

Currently, the fish is doing quite well and swims energetically around his bowl. He's almost made it to the 1 week point. God be with him.

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Pomme Frites

I've been craving fries lately, no not those previously frozen, Americanized Mcdonalized things (see below photo on right)...I mean the "pomme frite" (left photo). Freshly cut potatoes sauteed in duck fat or truffle oil, crisp golden brown and delicious. I've heard they make these at a couple of places around Baltimore, namely Petit Louis Bistro in Roland Park. I've yet to try it. In French cuisine, the pomme frite is commonly served with everything from steak to mussels as the perfect savory side dish. Instead of ketchup (which the French might find rather disgraceful), dijon mustard is a common companion for frites. The Parisian restuarant Le Relais de l'Entrecote is famous for its "steak frites" dish, which is exactly what it says it is, steak and fries. Simplistic but incredible.




My first attempt at making french pomme frites wasn't half bad, considering I don't own duck fat, truffle oil, or anything else too fancy. I used what I had - olive oil (a good quality bottle of olive oil has infinite uses, just ask the Italians). I chose Yukon golds because I've found them to be the most flavorful of the white potatoes. I cut mine into thin frite-esque strips. After pouring a sufficient amount of olive oil into a hot pan, waiting until it crackled, I added the cut potatoes. I added my potatoes before the oil was hot enough, making them a bit limp in the end, so a little patience goes a long way. Make sure to toss the potatoes in the pan, to keep them from burning. You can add some salt and pepper for seasoning too. After 5-7 minutes, my potatoes had turned an appealingly deep golden brown. I removed them from the pan and let them dry on a sheet of paper towels. They weren't as crispy as I had hoped, but still enjoyable. The perfect frite is hard and crisp on the outside, yet fluffy and potatoey on the inside. Kind of like a "pomme souffle."


To accompany my attempted "frites," I prepared a "jambon" (that's ham) sandwich on a French baguette, with a side of Dijon. Ham is the staple lunch meat in France, to see turkey in the grocery stores is quite rare (the Turkey is an American bird). The baguette I bought from a French bakery in Fell's called Bonaparte Breads. Despite how expensive it was ($3 for the baguette!), I was quite impressed with its authenticity. The bakery offers other French breads and pastries and is well worth a visit for a Francophile.

Check out this professional cook's blog for a better way to make pomme frites than mine, which was completely and randomly improvised and made up on the spot: Cook's Journal: Pomme Frites. Apparently you have to cook the frites twice to get that extra crispness.

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The 12 inch Monster Meatball Marinara of Subway

1 AM last night I hit a wall. I couldn’t think straight, I was irritable, I was hungry. Incredibly hungry. Hungry enough to devour something blatantly unhealthy.
The Subway on the corner of 33rd street and St. Paul is perhaps the most brilliant operation I have ever seen. Open 24 hours, 7 days a week, this place never sleeps. I’m almost certain its main draw are party-going college kids. As a result, most of their sales take place between the hours of 12 and 4 am. It’s quite a brilliant marketing technique.
It’s by no means a great place to eat, not even a good place, but it gets the job done.

I’ve been going since my freshman year, and have gotten to know the guys who work behind the sandwich counter. One of the guys likes to fake charge me for tap water and usually I fall for it every time. Based on the many times I’ve been to subway, there is one kind of sandwich that I’ve never tried – the footlong. My sandwiches are consistently 6 inch subs. I was always horrified by the amount of food a footlong sub represents, no wonder we’re all so fat, right?

But considering my hunger last tonight, I did something drastic. I ordered the footlong. And that’s not all. Not only was it a footlong, but it was also a meatball sub with bacon and chipotle ranch sauce. Disgusting. Atrocious, even. I’m pretty sure there were at least 10 or 12 meatballs in this god-awful thing. Meatballs slapped on with globs of tomato marinara sauce, provolone cheese, parmesan cheese, chipotle sauce, 4 strips of bacon on 12 inches of special garlic bread. Oh yeah – and TOASTED (the magic word of Subway). This sandwich was nasty, real nasty.

The first bite of bread, meatball marinara, bacon, chipotle and cheese was savory and satisfying. Meat and cheese, the classically divine combination of awesomeness. After the first 6 inches I was full enough. But no, I bought a footlong for a reason and that was to finish it. So I chomped away, tearing through my 9th, 10th, 11th and 12th meatballs until I was sick. By the end, my sub was hardly enjoyable but it was done, I had conquered the sandwich. But not without some intense nausea to go along with it.

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