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(c) flickr/walkinline

My friend Maria spent a high school semester in Italy and now packs a bikini and a corkscrew whenever she travels “just in case.” (Just in case she comes upon a sparkling grotto full of hot Roman men and unopened Barolos, I guess.) Then there are those folks who carry beer-openers on their keychains. Well, now that it’s May and full-on party season, I propose a third accessory for traipsing about: a portable dance party.

Lest you think it’s not critically important to have a kickin’ mix prepared for your next fête, think about your single friends, and about how absurd you will look when some women start trying to jam out to Air or Phish or whatever nonsense you’ve put on and then get annoyed by its un-danceability.

So here’s my mix. I brought it to a recent party and if folks hadn’t kept re-plugging in the lights and turning down the tunes, we could have been in full swing, there. (Don’t hate on the Ginuwine. No, he’s no Biz, but he rules.) Do not start this action till 11pm (rest of country) or midnight (NYC). Trust me.

Stevie Wonder, Signed, Sealed, Delivered [your friends will perk up starting now.]
Santigold, Shove It
Phoenix, 1901
Ice cream, Muscles**
Ice cream, New Young Pony Club**
Spank Rock, Backyard Betty [uh, make sure no youngsters are around]
MGMT, Kids
Rihanna, Disturbia
Biz Markie, Just a Friend
The Cars, Shake It Up
Prince, When You Were Mine
New Order, Ceremony
Do You Remember the First Time, Pulp
Don’t Stop Til You Get Enough, Michael Jackson
Here Comes Your Man, Pixies
Lil Wayne, Mrs. Officer
Spank Rock, Shake That
Jazmine, Bust the Windows*
Sean Kingston, Beautiful Girls*
Band of Gold, Freda Payne
I Have a Boyfriend, The Chiffons
Monkey Man, The Rolling Stones
Man in the Cornershop, The Jam
MIA, Paper Planes*
Missy Elliott, Lose Control
Ginuwine, Pony
Summer Love, Justin Timberlake
Love Lockdown, Kanye
American Boy, Estelle*
Vampire Weekend, Oxford Comma
True Skool, Coldcut/ Spank Rock
The Black Kids, Dance With You
Prince, Kiss
Dance, ESG

** a little electro for my taste, but the topic rules.
* these songs may hit overplayedness this year, so if your buddies are dance music savvy, skip ’em.

Photo by Jori Klein.

So I’ve been pretty darn busy of late, but not so busy I couldn’t alert y’all to this under-eight-dolla tilapia banh mi comin’ out from Xie Xie this summer: Turmeric; dill; cilantro; sriracha; caramelized onions; a meaty slab of fish; good times.

“It’s OK… I saved the Schlitz!”

Ah, spring, when a young man’s fancy turns to beer. Hell, my fancy turns that way, too. Vote for the cheap beer you hold dear.

Mini angelfood cakes, Martha Stewart Weddings. (c) Con Poulos.

So the new issue of Martha Stewart Weddings is out (the one featuring many, many Ks of bling on its cover). For my feature
story on cakes (p 204), the supertalented test-kitchen cooks churned
out yet another batch of gorgeous gâteaux, including
these petite angelfood numbers with spun-sugar crowns. They look
surprisingly easy to make if you’ve been lassoed into shower duty this
wedding season or if, like me, you love having a whole cake all to
yourself. The issue should be on-stand near you soon.

Photo via Eater.

(Editor’s correction: I originally wrote this as a first-Friday deal; it is not, but a first-Monday-of-the-month event).

Speaking of hype, The Bell House, the faux-Western music hall-slash-bar in Gowanus, is as rad as you’ve heard. It’s got a long, polished, sexy bar and the sort of dim, twinkly lighting that makes a gal look good while she primps in the mirror. The barkeep was spinning vintage 60s tracks on a recent stopby, and that—along with retro-chic loveseats scattered about—makes me wish it was around the corner.  Better yet, on April 6th, “Flight Club” will launch—a first-Monday-of-the-month deal from 6-8pm. Four beers for $10? “No way could they be a decent size,” I thought when I saw the flyer. But they are: Management confirms that four ten-ounce pours will be offered. Up this month: Smuttynose. Captain Lawrence (a personal fave) and Rogue are tentatively on tap for May and June.

The suds selection:
Smuttonator Dopplebock (8.5% abv)
Farmhouse (8% abv)
Scotch Ale (8.2% abv)
Gravitation Quad (9% abv)
IPA
Brown Dog

As if that’s not enough, Sixpoint’s Otis (an oatmeal stout cask ale) will also be part of the flight. Oh, what? You were going to wash and dry your hair that night? Check it: The Smutty brewmaster will pair each beer on offer with a bit of Murray’s cheese. Given that brews are typically $5-$6 per pint at Bell House, it’s a pretty darn cheap date night. Tip well, folks.

Bunny and burger, Txixito.

The Hype Machine: Most food writers are guilty of stuffing its greedy maw. And although I’m a devotee of the old Latin expression de gustibus non disputandum est (“there’s no disputing taste”), I wanted to weigh in about a few Gotham eateries. Since restaurants can be inconsistent, it’s worth noting I tried each of these dishes only once.

Momofuku Milk Bar Crack Pie
Hype-ometer: 5 (Martha, Serious Eats)
Me: 3.5
There are two types of sweets fans in the world—those who love dulce de leche and those who do not. Crack Pie was conceived for the former. It contains two types of sugar, butter, cream, and a touch of flour. Think about that for a second. This is a pie made out of the buttery, sugary portion of cookie dough. One bite will make your teeth feel like they’re about to fall out of your face. If you’re into that, you’re stoked.

Kampuchea’s bacon sandwich
Hype-ometer: 4 (acquaintance at New York Magazine)
Me: 2
I like my bacon piping-hot and slightly crispy. This was neither, with a gummy texture reminiscent of fake bacon. The roll was big and chewy, overwhelming the meager-for-$11 fillings of smoked Thai pepper, chili aioli, a smatter of veggies, and a couple strips of bacon.

Txixito’s Idiazabal double-patty burger
Hype-ometer: 5 (The Feedbag, Serious Eats, NYMag)
My vote: 5
This burger is out of control. I won’t go on and on about it, since my colleagues here and here did so for me. All I can say is that one is not going to be enough. Bunny (above) and I seriously considered approaching the burly Yankees fans at the table behind her for just one more bite. Idiazabal, a nutty sheep’s milk cheese from the Basque region of Spain, is one of my faves, so I am gonna try to replicate this juicy (20% fat ratio), creamy (the sauce is part-crème fraiche), piquant (cornichons) baby at home. And fail. But oh, what a delicious failure it will be.

Click if you’re Irish, a Stevie Wonder fan, or have ever been in love.

Carpaccio di Branzino con Finnochio e Pomodori. Photo credit Jori Klein.

First Bite, my new Metromix column, is a (literal) early taste of a chef’s signature dish prior to the opening of his or her buzzed-about restaurant. This month: Convivio and Alto chef Michael White’s gorgeous Italian sea bass carpaccio. Click to learn about the inspiration behind the dish, how it’s made, and how it tastes (hint: amazing).

Come to mama, Chocolate Cloud Cookies. Via Baked.

Two blocks, five types of awesome:

1. Persuade the slightly cantankerous but quite handsome Frenchman at Tazza to reveal when those Chocolate Cloud brownie-cookies from Baked will arrive fresh in the shop. For some reason he does not like parting with this information. They are incredible the day they are made—crunchy like a cookie on the outside and soft like brownie batter on the inside. I brought them to a Cyclones game last year. The women in attendance promptly stopped watching the game. Cookies vanished in a swirl of nails and hair-pulling.

2. The short, cute, bespectacled wine expert—Elana, I believe—at Heights Chateau Wine. Lady knows her way around vino. She introduced me to Elio Perrone Moscato d’Asti (tip: look for the orange on the bottle), a sweet Italian sparkler that you will drink all spring and summer long.

3. The Sahadis Guys. God, are they crazy. The owner cornered me once when he thought I’d come in too often to ask if I—a fair-haired, Irish-American woman—was opening a competing Middle Eastern store in the neighborhood. Then there’s The Coffee Guy, who seems hang out largely in that department, the better to lord over his domain. He will call you—as he calls everyone—“my love.” (“Would you like the beans ground, my love? Half a pound of each, my love?”) I heard him talking about the seven children he has with seven different women the other day. The man has very soulful eyes. I doubt he’s exaggerating.

4. The fish ‘n chips special at Chip Shop. You don’t need a child to buy the child-sized portion of cod ‘n chips, and they’re $5 and change. I like to haul ‘em next door to Floyd and read a Sunday afternoon novel over a Sixpoint Sweet Action.

5. The nautical/ dive bar wonder that is Montero’s. The old-dude bartender likes to eavesdrop on conversations and interrupt with relationship advice, the drinks are cheap, and the jukebox is kickass.

One of the truisms being floated in the food press right now is that
Comfort Food Is In. Everyone wants roast chicken, casseroles, mashed potatoes, and pies. All the time. What, you don’t actually crave these
things? Too bad. Magazine editors think you do. When I was working at a
domestic monthly mag a few years ago, the editors went into a frenzy
whenever the economy soured. “More pies!” was the missive sent to the
test kitchen cooks: “People want pies to make them feel better!”

Well, I’m not much of a pie person, but dang if I haven’t been craving roast chicken all winter long. And having worked on this book—about which I will reveal more very soon—I am only interested in
hormone-free birds. So about once a month I bust out this Nigel Slater
recipe. It impresses the bejesus out of guests and is a breeze to make:
Smash chopped herbs (I used tarragon, but rosemary or sage is just as
nice) with a clove or two of garlic, two tablespoons of melted butter, and
salt and pepper, and carefully stuff between the skin and the meat of
the breast. Rub salt and fresh cracked pepper over the whole, squeeze
half a lemon over the bird, and fill the cavity with half a head of
garlic, a knob of butter, and the other lemon half. Throw in the oven
with chopped, par-boiled taters, the other half head of garlic,
tarragon, and some chopped onion. Cook at 400 degrees for half an
hour plus twenty minutes per pound. Deglaze pan with white wine for
gravy. High-five all and sundry.

If this recipe is too casual for you, pick up a copy of APPETITE. The way Slater writes—“if you find a little drum of ready-ground pepper in someone’s kitchen, hurl it in the trash”—is straightforward, very funny, and wholly accessible for the busy home cook. I come back to it again and again—which is, in its own way, quite a comfort.