Famous Fat Dave and a Blueberry Blintz

I believe that there is no better way to understand a place and its people than through their food.

Sight, smell, touch, sound…taste…all of the senses ignite when we eat good food and, more often than not (for me that is), it is love at first bite.

How true, how true, this was for me and Carly just last week as we set out on our whirlwind-last hurrah-mother/daughter-before college-getaway to New York City. With only four days and three nights to do our thing, I knew that proper planning was going to be key in getting the most out of our adventure.  So, for the last few weeks, after everyone was tucked snug in their beds, I would sit bleary-eyed at my computer researching the ideal itinerary for one middle-aged mom and one under-aged young adult daughter seeking to squeeze a gallon of juice out of one Big Apple…all in just over 72 hours!

That’s when I met Famous Fat Dave.

I can’t remember if was “Yelp” or “Chowhoud” or just a plain old Google search, but from the minute I started to read about Famous Fat Dave's Food Tours to the moment I stepped off of a West Village curb into his vintage white checkered cab, I couldn’t stop thinking about what this weird adventure was all about and if it could possibly live up to the reviews.

When I first showed Carly the YouTube video of Dave driving through the streets of Brooklyn handing a brown paper bag full of fresh mozzarella to his passengers in the back seat of his cab, even my “go-for-it-girl” Carly was skeptical.  “I don’t know Mom, this one may be a bit too out-there even for me!”

“Don’t worry little one.  I promise there’ll be time for Central Park, The Russian Tea Room and window shopping at Tiffany’s.”  So, in a leap of culinary faith, I emailed Dave and booked our “ride.” A week later, straight off the red-eye out of SFO, we were hopping into his cab to be whisked off across the Brooklyn Bridge for a four hour, hands-on immersion course on native New York culture…one bite at a time.

After playing roshambo for shotgun position with our cab mates (two sisters from Scotland), Dave commenced our initiation by handing each of us a pristine little package of white folded paper.  As he pulled out into traffic, Dave told us that we would need a little sustenance while we made our way across the bridge.  “It’s dry peppered Sopressata...a kind of salami,” he said.  “I just grabbed it from my butcher…I hope you like it.”  As we unfolded the stiff waxed paper, a peppery, garlicky aroma filled the cab (in a good way) and we snacked on our little mobile antipasto as we wove our way into Brooklyn.

“That’s the actual firehouse from the original Ghostbusters movie. That’s the Staten Island Ferry. Did you know that the guy who designed this bridge died from the bends building it? Hey guys, just to let you know, if we hit over 40 mph on the bridge we’ll have to roll up the windows cause the headliner will rattle off the cab ceiling and fall on your heads.”

From Manhattan, across the bridge, through the seedy streets of Brooklyn to its chic, gentrified brownstones, Dave shared juicy facts about each neighborhood and its people in a non-stop diatribe, each series of stories punctuated by a mouthful of local foodie flavor.

 

From a potato and egg sandwich dipped in pork gravy (scarfed standing up at a dockside deli in Redhook), to a frozen, chocolate-covered key lime pie served on a stick out of the back door of a commercial kitchen on the waterfront, I think our eyes were rolled back into our heads as we mumbled, “OMG” more than they were looking ahead.

 “Guys, hold on a second. I’ve just gotta pull over here and run in…wait in the car.”  Sixty seconds later, Dave emerged from a little non-descript storefront, hopped back in the cab and handed me a tiny bag containing four little cookies to dole out to the troops. “They’re pignoli cookies.  Ever hear of ‘em? This guy I drove in my cab told me about them years ago and they really are the best.”

Once again…OMG! Soft, chewy, sweet, nutty…we munched, and we drove on as Dave told us about the history and evolution of the Italian neighborhood. Did I mention that Dave has a History degree from NYU and a Masters from Columbia?

Homemade pastrami and pickles at Frank and Lloyds, a roast beef-topped cheeseburger at Brennan’s, the best pizza we’ve ever tasted at Spumoni Gardens…

”You guys OK?” Dave checked in between stories of modern Jewish sects and the Russian mob circa 1980. We all grimaced and moaned as we plopped back into the cab.

“We have time for one more stop!”  Silence…

After 3 ½ hours of game-on grubbing we all were in desperate need for a time out, but we knew that we would regret missing out on even one of Dave’s gems...so we voted to forge on.

Sensing our dilemma, Dave assured us that the ten minute drive to our last stop was all we would need recharge and, you know what, by the time he called in our order of blueberry blintzes and we double parked outside of that Polish deli, we were rarin’ to go. That, my friends, is what proper training is all about!

“So, I think it would be cool for you guys to enjoy these while they’re piping hot,” Dave said as he placed the to-go container in my hands and hopped back behind the wheel, “and one of the best views of Manhattan just happens to be right at the end of this street. I’ll sit here with the cab and you girls can walk out on the promenade, eat your blintzes and enjoy the view.”

So, we grabbed our Styrofoam box, walked the few short steps to the waterfront, plopped our ample booties on a bench and took a deep breath. As I popped open the lid to reveal two beautiful, steamy, sugar-dusted sweets, it crossed my mind that I wasn't sure what was more impressive…the  blueberry blintzes or the un-freakin’ believable view.

As I crunched into the blintz with its light flaky shell and warm sweet cheese and fresh blueberry filling, I kid you not, I got a little verklempt (that's Yiddish for choked with emotion).  There I was, with my baby girl, communing with two new lovely foreign friends, gazing across the water at the Statue of Liberty, all while enjoying local food lovingly prepared by the descendants of those who immigrated to that very island just in view. That my friends, is a" moment"…one I touched, smelled, saw, heard…and tasted, and one I will never forget.

Thanks Dave, for creating this memory for us and, whether you knew it or not, for kicking off a new era of grown-up mother-daughter adventures that we plan to share for many, many years to come.

Coconut and Karma

Funny how the universe has a way of working things out. Sometimes it takes twenty years...but when payback is due, one must pay.

You see, it was about twenty years ago that I asked two of my best girlfriends to make my wedding cake.

Seriously?

What was I thinking?

Were these gals professional pastry chefs? No. Were they trained in food service or food preparation in any way? No. Were they particularly crafty or foodie? No. Did they even like to cook? I think you know the answer...

The fact was that one of them (Onnie) had recently taken a cake decorating class with her sister and I made the executive decision that she, bolstered by the moral support of our other friend Susi, would be more than adequately qualified to bake, decorate, assemble, and transport a four-tiered wedding cake for 200. Wouldn't they be honored by my request? Wouldn't they be relieved to have their wedding gift choice made for them? Wouldn't they think it would be "fun?"

Never mind that Onnie's experience went as far as the remedial weekend course at Cake Art. Never mind that, at the time, Susi's idea of fine cooking meant that she actually took the tortilla chips out of the bag before serving them. Oh yes...did I mention that Onnie was about 22 months pregnant? No problem.

So, of course, my dear, dear, friends said yes...and the adventure began.

Needless to say, I dictated the cake recipe (one ladened with rich almond paste, sugar and eggs), the filling (wouldn't lemon curd be a lovely addition?), the frosting (a cream cheese buttercream) and a detailed piping pattern straight out of a book called  "Weddings" by some new upstart named Martha Stewart). Not to worry about keeping the rich, buttery, concoction cool. The wedding was in January after all.

Well...it doesn't take Einstein to do the math.: twelve logs of almond paste, ten pounds of butter, eight pounds of cream cheese, four dozen eggs, a small tree full of lemons, a giant sack of cake flour and a bigger one of sugar...add a pinch of inexperience, a 75 degree January day, and what do you get...the leaning tower of cake.

It gets better.  Charlie's dad was, at the time, the president and long-standing member of the golf club where our reception was held. As my friends walked through the door, gingerly transporting each tier to the cake table, the layers continued to shift like lemon-filled tectonic plates before their eyes and the catering manager watched in horror, shaking her head, as the tower began to buckle.

"Do you realize who's wedding this is?" she said to them as they stacked and centered and shimmed. "The groom is the son of a very important member and we just can't have this!" My friends stood there shaking in their patent leather pumps.

She had no idea that they weren't professionals...that they were my faithful friends, delivering a a labor of love filled more with their blood sweat and tears than sugar, eggs and flour.

The florist (thank goodness, another old friend) came to their aid, scurrying around the layers like a frenzied worker bee, shoving ferns and flowers under every divot until, when you looked at it from just the right angle, it shined like the masterpiece it was. I can still see them intercepting me at the entrance of the club before I could make my way to the cake table. They each took me by the hand, looked me sheepishly in the eyes and said, "at least the cake is moist."

It was beautiful. It was delicious. And, I can't imagine a more perfect cake.

Now the payback.

About a year ago, my friend Cherie announced that she was engaged, a wedding was in the works (yay!), and, by the way, would I make the cake (huh)?

OK. So I do like to cook, I've baked a cake or two in my day, I am a little bit crafty, but my "customers" are generally a bit less discerning and my home spun, boxed Betty Crocker creations usually take the shape of a  pink barbie doll, a fire engine or a space shuttle designed to serve 10-12 sugar-crazed kids who's only concern is if they get the piece with the rose.

Will insisted that his macho fire truck have pink roses like all of Sissy's bday cakes

A wedding cake? A creation that will be showcased and immortalized in photos on one of the most important days of my friend's life?  I broke into a flop sweat. "OK kiddo," I mumble to myself, "you're in the big leagues now."

Well, a couple of months passed, the wedding got postponed due to a move and I figured that I had fooled fate and dodged the cake bullet....until I got the call this May. "We're doing it. The wedding's on, it's in June and, by the way, you will still make the cake...right?"

Thank goodness Cherie scored much lower on the "Bridezilla" scale than me. Her only four requests were that the cake have a coconut flavor, that it not be dry, that the flowers match her bouquet and that I use the hand-crafted, monogram topper she ordered that was to arrive a couple of days before the wedding.

Alrighty then...I can do this. For three weeks, I'd lie in bed at night, visions of coconuts dancing in my head. What recipe would I use? How would I prevent a reenactment of the leaning tower? Should I risk adding a flavored filling? Would the layers slide? Was my fate already sealed?

Why even try?

But try I did
.

In the weeks that followed, my family and neighbors ate more coconut than the combined cast of eight seasons of Survivor. Don't like coconut? Don't care. I forced a bite on anyone that came through my door, seeking any opinion on the perfect combination of flavors and ratio of frosting to cake.

So here is my first attempt. I went for alternating layers of super-tangy lemon curd and cream cheese frosting. The thick curd oozed out the sides as I frosted and the unevenly-baked dome-shaped layers really looked awful when sliced...even if I did try to level everything out with gobs of icing. I tried a new coconut cake recipe too, looking for an alternate to my old standby (a recipe from a local cafe) that Cherie remembered as dry!

Ok...test cake #2.  Let's try a less cloying frosting: a Vanilla Swiss Meringue Buttercream and a more subtle lemon curd. I'm gonna use my old standby recipe too (I don't remember it being dry).  Let's even throw some flowers on from the garden to get in the mood...

OK. We're getting somewhere. The layers were not so humpy, the new lemon curd recipe and a combo of filling and frosting in each level versus alternating proved much more subtle. I was way less heavy-handed on the frosting repair too and, dog-gonnit , I'm using my coconut cake recipe...the bride just got out-voted. We also tried a little toasted coconut in the filling layers but nixed that idea...too chewy.

OK. T-minus two days until the wedding...time to get organized. First, under cover of darkness, we stole our lemons from the neighbors trees.

Next, we made four trips to the store for the ingredients...is it really possible I will be using all of this butter? We even had to buy more!

Now, time to make the lemon curd filling and get it chillin'. Butter, sugar, lemon juice, lemon zest and eggs, heated and stirred until you can run your finger across the back of a wooden spoon and it leaves a track.

Time to bake us some cakes...

Here's what happens when a teen-aged girl is your sous-chef...

God forbid, our layers aren't level (or someone find a long blonde hair in their slice)...

So far so good: 2 batches of filling made, twelve layers of cakes baked...time to whip up four batches of Vanilla Swiss Meringue Buttercream (that means four pounds of butter), recipe compliments of our friend Christa, a real live pastry chef!

Carly...let's do this thing. First, a little lemon curd...

...a little buttercream...

...just right.

Can't stop...must keep going.

Oh, did I mention that the cake topper (a shell-encrusted monogram of their last name) arrived...

...and although gorgeous, it was almost as big as the cake. No problem. "Carly...get out the glue gun and the hula shells. We've got us a topper to make."

Do you think Cherie will notice that we made a new one half the size? Gonna have to roll the dice on this one.

Let's start to put this puppy together.

We loaded all three tiers and ourselves into the car and arrived at St. Vincent's kitchen in close to one piece. We crossed our fingers and started to build. Sturdy wooden dowels inserted at each level did their work...

...and the improvised topper glued firmly to the top of a sharpened dowel got skewered through the whole tower...this thing was a brick house. Thank goodness Onnie and Susi took the bullet for me on Cake Construction 101. Had mine not buckled, I'd never known the questions to ask to make sure this sucker stood.

I dare you to knock it over!

Now the best part of all...flowers! Carly was genius. I couldn't have done it without her.

Carly...quick...take a picture with your phone! The wedding is about to start!

To our delight, the catering staff had moved the cake to the reception area while we enjoyed the beautiful ceremony. Phew...better them than us! High fives all around when we saw it safely in place.

I think it's safe to say they liked it!

So, when all was said and done, I'd have to say that as far as karmic payback goes, I got off pretty easy on this one. Convinced that the universe would not let me succeed after my torturous request twenty years ago, it turns out that the beautiful gift my friends made for me back then was one that kept on giving. Not only do I smile from ear to ear every time I come across those old photos but , twenty years later, I was able to learn from their stumbles and pay their gift of love forward.

Cheers to you Cherie and Jason. May you look at these photos twenty years from now and smile like I do about times shared with friends and gifts given with the love only a "sister" can give.

Vanilla Swiss Meringue Buttercream

Whisk in the bowl of a stand mixer and place over a water bath (bain-marie) and heat, whisking constantly (be careful not to scramble the egg whites), until the mixture is warm and sugar is completely melted (you should feel no graininess when you rub it between your fingers):

• 4 egg whites
• 1 cup plus 3 Tablespoons of sugar

Remove from heat and whip at high speed until it's cooled to room temp and is light like marshmallow fluff. With mixer on medium-high speed, add soft butter a few tablespoons at a time, allowing each addition to fully incorporate before adding another:

• 1 pound unsalted butter, softened 

Add and beat well:

• 2 teaspoons good quality vanilla

*Note buttercream will look "broken" part way through the mixing process but will come back together as soon as all of the butter is added. May be refrigerated for 5 days or frozen until needed. Return to room temp and beat with a paddle attachment of a stand mixer until smooth.

(The Art and Soul of Baking by Cindy Mushet adapted by Christa and Donna)

Here are the links to the lemon curd and cake recipes...

Lemon Curd: http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/ina-garten/lemon-curd-tart-recipe/index.html

Comforts Coconut Cake: http://www.tastebook.com/recipes/1283401-Comforts-Coconut-Cake-with-Cream-Cheese-Coconut-Frosting