Two unrelated links

1. A sponsored ad above my inbox: Black bean brownies (and not the chocolate kind). This reminds me of the balsamic vinegar recipe above my bed, courtesy of my cupcake calendar.

2. I couldn't wait another eleven months (that is, Valentine's Day) to post this hilarious 2002 piece from the New Yorker.

Enjoy.

"Pomegranate is so 2007..."

I really liked Naked pomegranate juice when I first had it; I liked it even more than the Naked smoothies.

Then I had concentrated pomegranate juice. And slowly, the trend trickled down the quality scale:

1. Blueberry juice is a poor complement to pomegranate - it makes it too sweet and doesn't give it enough berry flavor.
2. Nom pomegranate iced tea. Stick with the lychee - the pomegranate's overrated.
3. Arizona pomegranate iced tea. Which shamefully, I am drinking right now for the first time. A strange fruity flavor and lots of corn syrup.
4. The tipping point, in my opinion? Haagen Dazs' premium pomegranate-chip ice cream. You may remember me briefly mentioning this as an early taste for my senior project - no real pomegranate and no real chocolate chips.

I guess I'll move on to acai...oh wait, that was winter '07? Shoot...for that matter, acai was overrated too.

I need my Taiwanese food fix

What you do with thirty-six hours before a midterm:
1. You blog.
2. Or you go to Taiwan and eat.
3. Or you wait an extra week to hit up Winterfest: Taste of Taiwan during midterm season.

"Cultural imperialist guilt"...

...is the best line in this article from the NYT.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the country, the L.A. Times reports on shiso, a herb that's recently become trendy in the States. The article's courtesy of Mr. Sohovich, who asked if I had ever heard of it; I hadn't, but I've definitely eaten it: Korean restaurants include it as part of their banchan, the set of small dishes that accompany a typical meal. It's marinated and eaten leaf by leaf, and unfortunately, I'm not a fan. From what I've heard anecdotally, it's a love-it-or-hate-it herb.

We know more than we thought we did?

Last weekend, I met up with Hank, who was in the Yard for a quiz bowl tournament. I was able to stick around to watch one of the rounds, and was proud that I recognized the plot of Fargo without ever having seen it (Minnesota, represent!). I became even more elated when I recognized Anthony Bourdain from various quotes, before the "clincher hint" that referenced his television show and book of the same name, Kitchen Confidential.

After dinner, I tagged along with him and a few of his teammates for dinner. Apparently all restaurants in Harvard Square are crowded at 8 pm on Saturday nights, or the influx of high school debaters (and coaches) that weekend just decided to fill up all the seats there (and those visiting prefrosh at Annenberg). After checking out Le's, Uno's, and Bartley's (still taking orders in a twenty-person line outside!), we settled on Bertucci's for the legit pizza and the free bread.

But Bertucci's was no exception to the horrors of a dinner line. When we asked for the wait, we were told "typically twenty-five minutes, but thirty-five for all of you" - which makes sense because we weren't the only seven-person group queuing up. So it was a long wait which became equally ridiculous when we realized that a) they only had one large-sized table, b) that thirty-five minute wait approached fifty-five minutes, and c) the servers told us that "we're running out of chairs" and couldn't put a spare chair up against a booth.

Service was fairly prompt - for having to deal with seven starving students who had to wait that long - although somewhat disparate; one waiter was significantly more helpful than the other. Good, but not ridiculously delicious, Bertucci's appeal lies in the free bread - hot, soft and not doughy with a crunchy crust - and the consistency of the food (although the tomato sauce is a little thin, the pizza crust was remarkably similar to the bread - which was a good thing).

The best part of the meal: not having to figure out how much to pay or how to calculate tip with six MIT students around - three of them who were math majors. Whew.

Food: The Lit Review

What Hilary Eats, Hilary Gets

We all know Mike Huckabee can pull off the barbeque bib, but can Hilary?

Hopefully, all the candidates will each get a gastronomic profile...not that it would sway my vote.

Keep Your Laptop in the Kitchen

This Strib article refers to online cooking communities and bloggers, but emphasizes how most people share recipes: over the Internet. I can't say I'm surprised - and I definitely can't say that I'm unhappy about it. Comparing uploaded recipes to handwritten family recipes is like comparing the Kindle to a well-read copy of The Great Gatsby: no one can replace the latter, but technology opens up these ideas to a whole new demographic. I'm incredulous at what you can do with it - for example, we improvised homemade salsa for my sister's Super Bowl party, but were able to cross-check the ingredients online.

Chocolate doesn't have that much caffeine...

so I don't feel as guilty posting an NYT article about it here that discusses milk chocolate's recent comeback against the yuppie dark chocolate trend. No longer declasse, it's gourmet. Admittedly, I was one of those percentage snobs (as you can see in a previous post), but since then, I've been working my way back to milk chocolate. That said, it's difficult; although I know that milk chocolate has a "better" texture than the brittle bitter, sometimes I find it too rich (and occasionally too saccharine). Not saying that dark chocolate can't be rich (case in point: Burdick's), but the bitter almost buffers that overwhelmingly one-dimensioned taste.

And seeing as I can't participate in the sponsored wine-tastings here, I guess I'll have to settle for describing chocolate with "hefty bouquet" terms.

(Last two articles were graciously provided by Mr. Sohovich.)

Note to Self

In the spirit of other friends' recent reminders to themselves on their blogs, I'd like to share a recent epiphany-resolution of mine from ten minutes ago:

For one week, I will not be drinking caffeine products (effectively starting 12 midnight, Saturday the 23rd, until 12 midnight, March 1).

If I had wanted to sound more impressive, I could also say - with equal truthfulness - that I won't be consuming anything with caffeine for the rest of the month. I share this with you because it is highly likely that I will - or come very close to - breaking this rule, and I'd appreciate some enforcement as it would be highly entertaining for me. It could also be highly entertaining for the rest of you if you had a betting pool going on this, but I digress.

I'm fairly confident that I am not dependent on caffeine. Although I do enjoy drinking coffee, my main reason for doing so is because of the taste and not because of the energy boost. I imagine that any hyperactivity on my part from drinking coffee comes from the sugar that's been added; I was raised on decaf. And really, for me, coffee is a craving for Starbucks, and not the cadaver-grey fluid from the d-hall (even if it is free trade).

That said, I may have developed some tolerance through my daily consumption of tea. While I do reduce the flavor by using soy milk as a buffer (more about this amazing combination later), the entire process of making a spot o' tea has become an ingrained habit, which brings me to my reasoning for why I'm missing out on the caffeine:

Because Wheaties is the breakfast of champions, and I got dressed at 11, I missed out not only on cereal but also on being a champion today. My bad, especially since today, being a champion is synonymous with "finishing my Expos draft." Because my brainpower wasn't fueled with the necessary fiber, I couldn't think - all the way until 2:30, when I resolved to pick-myself-up with a little caffeine.

But then, my mind-tongue connection slipped and I asked for an expresso.

The cashier put on her matronly face, raising one eyebrow, but didn't ask questions. "Here you go, honey."

I looked down at it. It was tiny. And then I realized why I needed to memorize coffee menus by heart; by definition, an expresso is the shot-sized cup with concentrated coffee. Not the Americano I wanted (watered down expresso in a larger cup), not brewed coffee, not even a ghetto latte that would have frozen my hands on the way to the library.

It was too late to switch orders, and while I marveled at the size of the cup ("It's so cute - the perfect size for my five-year-old son!") I had no idea how to drink it. Maybe like in communion - taking it down in a beat?

Oh, but I was not so brave. It took me three sips, but only one to realize how bitter it was; even an hour later, the aftertaste is still on my tongue.

So in conclusion, forgive my increasingly incoherent post and remind me that there was a direction this caffeine jolt was supposed to take me: towards the conclusion of my paper.