love that dirty water

Is there something in the food writer code that says I can’t get a dirty water dog from a street vendor every day at 5:30pm?

Passing Jewish

Well! From the brink of a NYTimes-based kibosh, my Haiti chocolate factory story went live yesterday, to mixed results. My food writing teacher (see nacho video below) wrote an e-mail to say:

Got my newsletter this morning – some nice work you’re doing there! The piece on Madelaine Chocolates was a great example of those local food world stories the Edibles are so good at telling.
Cheers,
mw

When I told her about being scooped, she suggested I start pitching my own stories to the Times! I told her the thought made me sick with fear and she said, “Take a few more laps in the pool, then do it.” Okay.

On the flip side, the head of marketing at Madelaine Chocolates called to ask why their Hannukah gelt (traditional chocolate coins) were the first product I wrote about. She said “We make lots of things, from chocolate Easter bunnies to Santa Clauses…” At first I thought she was implying that I was pigeonholing the company because it is Jewish-owned.

Upon further reflection, I think she suspected me (last name Hirsch) of touting my own culture’s confections at the expense of more popular Christian treats. Ha! My last name is a misnomer- I have a little Jewish blood but have been to synagogue exactly once, and I’ve never celebrated a high holiday with my family. I chose gelt over Easter bunnies because they sounded more substantial and less frivolous for a story about Haiti. Maybe an odd choice but certainly not a biased one.

But I just got to thinking, is there any way to exploit my last name to get me into secret Jewish parties? With snacks?

Quest for El Dorado, 1

Let’s talk about foods that I want, but can’t have. First on the list is Green & Black’s butterscotch bar. I was reading an interview with British pop sensation Kate Nash (please shut up), where she raved about this high-end chocolate bar, her favorite sweet treat. Because Kate Nash is my secret girlfriend, I decided to follow her lead.

But alas! The Internet had bad news. First, I read the laments of American foodies who could not find these butterscotch bars in the States. They could find the Green & Black peanut, mint, hot chili, just not the legendary butterscotch special. Then I decided these idiots didn’t know how to use the Internet so I started searching around. And sure enough, for some reason there was a trade embargo on the G&B butterscotch. Not A SINGLE SITE would ship them to the U.S.

Nonetheless, every time I’m in a yuppie market, I look through the Green & Black selections on the incredibly improbably chance they will have the butterscotch. And apparently SK scoured the universe trying to get me one for our anniversary. She asked her roommate Claudia to hunt for them on a recent trip to Europe and even had direct contact with the G&B Corporation, begging them to make an exception for her. No dice.

Isn’t it amazing that in this modern age of global connectivity, where everything is accessible with the click of a mouse, there is still a product I CAN’T HAVE?

weekend food for thought

Columbia Journalism Review published an excellent article about the history and future of food writing in New York City. With greater knowledge and eloquence than my recent Edible Swag posts, it explores the ethical questions surrounding free food for food writers, as well as other ways the industry has changed over the years. Enjoy!

the yawnville express

I treated SK to this event last night, a powerhouse lineup of world-renowned chefs discussing their passion. Reading top-notch food writers lately, I’m addicted to detailed reveries on food and cooking. What a treat!

Except it sucked. We wanted a flavor of the kitchen, richly poetic descriptions of the tastes and smells of master craftsmen at work. These dudes just sat on the stage and wanked off about the different restaurants they worked at, the names of the chefs they worked under, basically anything that could make the profession seem boring and pedantic. It might as well have been a panel on tax law. Peace out, sixty dollars.

tough break, kid

I’ve spent days hemming and hawing over this Haitian chocolate factory story, trying to make it a straightforward news piece while retaining some color and human emotion. This afternoon, just as I was putting on the finishing touches, my publisher e-mailed me this story.

DAMN. Scooped by the New York Times. Their story is more in-depth, written better (I can admit it), and, worst of all, it beats my story by a week. It will appear that I followed their lead like a dumb little novice reporter. Now my publisher is deciding whether to squash the story that cost me a half-day at work and a bushel of sweat and consternation. Dems da breaks.

nacho primer

Look it’s my food writing teacher Molly Watson, schooling you on how not to eff up your nachos!

brush with food royalty

SK and I love Maine. Throughout the last year, we visited as much as we could, entranced by clam rolls and blueberry muffins and the great big sea. So it was an unsurprising surprise that she treated me to lobster rolls for our anniversary last night, at a West Village institution run by a Kennebunkport transplant.

What was a shock was sitting near one of SK’s idols, the formidable Ruth Reichl, former editor-in-chief of Gourmet and food writer for the NY Times. As a side bonus, the chef spilled some juicy Gawker-worthy gossip after she left…I’ll never tell!

edible anniversary

It was one year ago today that I had a fateful daytime date on Super Bowl Sunday. We met at a Brooklyn bakery, and I was holding a tupperware full of stuffed mushrooms. “Will the mushrooms spoil before dusk?” I asked, as we strolled around Prospect Park in the sun. She gave me a chocolate bar.

Now, on our one-year anniversary, a hearty, hungry shout-out to my muse and partner in food, the ever-lovely SK. I couldn’t have done it without you.

a week in food

photo courtesy liQcity

-Last Sunday afternoon the magazine had its first event. I thought it would be like a science fair, with a sea of posterboards on card tables, surrounded by small groups of people asking polite questions. I was so wrong- the event was raucous! Hundreds of people, tons of free food, live jazz and a panel discussion on the food scene in Queens.  (When a dude on the panel admitted he lives in Brooklyn, the crowd booed. We’re a defensive borough.)

-Sunday night was decadent date night.

-Tuesday morning I went in late to my day job so I could visit the chocolate factory. Situated way out where Queens falls into the ocean, it took an hour and a half to get there. What an amazing story. The owner/CEO is an old-school New York Jew who treats his 450 multi-ethnic workers like a family. The guy speaks 5 languages so he can talk to his employees in their native tongues. His mother died the week of the earthquake but he still stepped up to the plate for his Haitian workers, helping get their family members flown to the States, giving thousands of dollars to relief efforts, etc. I walked away feeling less terrible than I thought I would.

-Thursday night we had dinner with PR agent/femme fatale Muriel Goldberg at one of the restaurants she reps. It was cozy- me, Muriel, SK and Ornella (the owner). I wasn’t expecting much, as the restaurant looks dingy and has zero hype. But! The food was excellent, especially the made-by-hand fresh pasta, in many unusual varieties- chestnut, buckwheat, rice, etc. We went home well-fed and glowing. Tipsy on vino, SK hugged everyone goodbye.

Muriel Moments:
- She called black people “savages.”
- She got angry I didn’t have business cards.
- She made the waiter wrap up two pieces of cheese from her appetizer.