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.

Martha Stewart Makes Me Hyperventilate

I’ve loved magazines ever since I was a little girl.

I can still see the stack of Woman’s Days and Ladies' Home Journals piled up on the family room coffee table, dog-eared from Mom scouring them for the latest weeknight recipe ideas or shoestring home decorating tips. On weekends, I’d sit curled up with her, pouring through every page, reading about things from health tips on hot flashes to the miracle of modern microwave cooking.

We’d usually have an old Shirley Temple rerun on in the background and systematically organize our piles of plans for making over a room or transforming my next homemade birthday cake into some kind of gravity-defying masterpiece.

One of many Barbie cakes...

Every now and then we’d come across an especially inspirational tip and set it aside in a special pile reserved for enterprises sure to make us millions if we could just get them into mass production. I think my favorite was the DIY greenhouse I spotted one spring in Sunset Magazine and attempted to build, by myself, with a staple gun, scrap wood and sheet plastic. I think I was twelve and it lasted a whole summer until it buckled then collapsed under the weight of the macramé plant hanger I hung from the inside “beams” to make it look homey.


Making my macrame...check out the wallpaper.

When I turned thirteen I started to receive my very own Seventeen Magazine and a whole new list of must-dos materialized. The prom issue, of course, was the highlight of the year and arrived just in time for me to dream about my eighth grade graduation dance dress (the first Catholic school-sanctioned boy/girl event of my elementary career).

My favorite dress in that issue was a peach eyelet number with a halter strap, empire bodice and a floor-length tiered skirt…dreamy! Mom and I marched down to the fabric store and picked out a pattern, fabric and trim and set out to create our own couture piece. It was fabulous (although a bit maternity-looking in hindsight), with matching shawl…too bad my hair was growing out of a Dorothy Hamill wanna be debacle and I didn’t quite achieve the overall swingy, flowy, carefree, Seventeen, off-to-the-prom look I was going for…do ya think?

That's me in the pink...I wore it to freshman homecoming too. Doesn't my date look impressed?


That summer before my freshman year, there was an article on how to organize your high school locker with a handcrafted, pocketed fabric hanging door contraption (remember, this was the olden days before magnetic Container Store gadgets). I did my best to replicate the ingenious plan using only my wits and my Montgomery Wards starter sewing machine, and arrived the day before school to install my masterpiece. I remember being so proud as it “sort of fit just right” on the inside of my first locker door. I can’t remember how it attached but, being that it was before Velcro really took off, that thing flapped and swayed every time I opened my locker. I stubbornly suffered with it daily as my pens, pencils and Bonnie Bell Lip Smackers regularly flew into the breezeway, until the last day of freshman year.

Then came Martha Stewart…

I thought my plate was full before, but in walked Miss Martha with her monthly list of must-do’s from laminating just about every piece of paper in the house to breeding, drying, labeling, storing, sprouting, growing, harvesting, canning and then cooking with her extensive collection of heirloom tomato seeds. Oh, the guilt when I go to open a jar of generic marinara sauce and pour it over reconstituted, store-bought spaghetti. Let’s not forget that I still need to build that chicken coop and create handcrafted hot water bottle cozies out of last winter’s outdated cashmere sweaters. Did I mention the Hefty bag full of discarded men’s silk ties that I am unable to part with because I am supposed to use them in a five step, three day process that will  transform lowly eggs (from my imaginary chickens, of course) into spectacular Faberge-style Easter decor? How can I live without those in my life?

So, you get the idea. I have issues (no pun intended). Aren’t magazines designed to provide escape and entertainment? Not for me. When I open my mailbox and see that a new issue has arrived, I get that same feeling in the pit of my stomach when yet another box of See’s chocolates arrives at our doorstep over the holidays; on the one hand, I can't wait to dig in and devour what's  inside…on the other hand, I anticipate what will grow after my gluttonous feast. In the case of the chocolates…it’s my hips…in the case of the magazines, it’s my list of magazine, must-do’s.

So, “why,” you ask, do I bring this up now? Well, it is that time of year again and, even with my vow to keep it simple, I still managed to send myself into conniptions as I attempted to create homemade edible gifts for some of Charlie’s friends in business…one that would put a grin on even Martha’s pursed little lips.

After a few lackluster experiments with new recipes, Charlie suggested that I just share some of our family favorite Christmas cookies. Sounded reasonable enough and I did like the idea of going with the “tried and true.” What I forgot was that there is a reason why I only make these creations once a year…it takes forever!

Our sweet minions...

Ready to "ship out"...

Each recipe is really no biggie…it’s just when you have to make 240 of the little buggers, prepared and packaged in sanitary conditions (no licking the spoon), all delivered fresh and in tact…that’s when I remembered why my original plan of a simple bag of Cashew Brittle dumped in a cello bag and tied with a ribbon may have been the better way to go!

Here's the package we did end up with...

Oh well, after the first three batches, I knew I was in for it but the "toothpaste was already out of the tube," so to speak, and I knew there was no turning back. Carly helped me decorate the Fresh Ginger Boys and Girls, thank God, but she was also in the midst of finals so that was about all I could squeeze out of her. I was on my own for the next 180 little darlin’s.


Sugar and spice and everything nice...thank heavens for my little girl!



A bald ginger girl just won't do...

The Russian Tea Cakes were the easiest, I think. I love them any time of year and by any other name. I’ve also heard them referred to as Mexican Wedding Cookies and my neighbor Laura says her family calls them Swedish Heirloom Cookies.

Just one more sprinkle of powdered sugar...

Who doesn’t love a Thumbprint Cookie and this is my favorite recipe for them…another one out of my Mom’s old Betty Crocker cookbook (the Russian Tea Cakes are from there too).

Roll 'em in nuts and bake 'em for a few minutes...



Make the thumbprint, then bake 'em again...



Fill 'em. Eat 'em.

A while back I taught a holiday baking class for kids and added chocolate to the dough, deleted the nuts and used red jelly in the center divot. I called them Rudolph the Red-Nosed Cookies and the kids loved them even more!

What would I do without this cookbook?

Then, there are the infamous Candy Cane Cookies. I have no idea where this recipe originally came from but no Christmas is complete in our house without them…but they really are a pain in the patooty to make. The dough is easy enough (just a few ingredients)…it’s just that they are so labor intensive, each one needing to be hand rolled and twisted. The dough is super soft to work with and it takes a while to get the hang of twisting the two colors together without the cookie becoming a big gooey pink blob.

Gee…I bet you can’t wait to get started! It’s worth it though…trust me. They’re beautiful and delicious, albeit fragile (as carefully as I packaged them, I wonder if any of mine survived the ride in Charlie’s car as he made his deliveries).

Here they are all snuggled up and ready to be boxed...

Well, it's New Year's Eve as I write and I am happy to report that the last of the Christmas cookies has left the building. Much like out of town relatives, we loved them while they were here but are happy to see them gone! I think I'll go clean the fridge and get ready for all of that organic produce I plan to buy tomorrow.

Tonight's another story...it is New Year's Eve after all and we must ring in the year with a beautiful feast. As I reach to make my shopping list I find myself thinking WWMD (What Would Martha Do?). I start to gasp for air...fight it, Donna, fight it!

I think I've found my New Year's resolution!

For my cookie recipes, go to the following link. http://makemudpies.blogspot.com/p/christmas-cookies.html

There you'll find tattered copies of the four recipes mentioned above...no frills, handwritten notes and all. If I had taken the time to retype these, all pretty-like, I'm not sure if they would have made it to you by next Christmas. Tip: double click on each recipe to enlarge. Happy New Year!