An Experiment in Coconut Cake

Growing up, I did most of my baking according to three-step directions on the back of boxes of Duncan Hines and Betty Crocker mixes. My parents, while both avid cooks, were never bakers. So when the time came to bring cupcakes into class for our birthdays, my brother and I would turn to the mixes that always hung around our cupboards. Funfetti was, unsurprisingly, an elementary school staple in the Parnes household; my brother and I, like most children, were unable to deny the temptations of sprinkles within the cake batter.

I'm slightly hesitant to admit this (though admittedly, only slightly), it was not so far out of the norm for me to eat sprinkles by the spoonful, straight out of the tub. Why I found (ok, find) these little bits of wax and artificial colorings to be so delicious I will never know, since they don't really taste like much more than the sum of their parts after all, which is, of course, to say that they taste like wax. Few cupcakes, however, (particularly of the boxed-mix variety) have been made the worse for wear by the fanciful addition of sprinkles to the party. Sure a few sprinkles crowning a twist of frosting is all well and good, but theres just something to be said for sprinkles that are actually integrated into the cupcakes themselves - like colorful stars against an otherwise pale vanilla cupcake sky, without actually altering the predictably nostalgic taste of the cupcake itself.

But really, I digress. I did have a point, after all. The backs of these cake mix boxes all contain variations on the same basic step-by-step procedure to create foolproof cakes; add eggs, oil and water, mix and bake. Where these mixes allow you a bit of creative license, however, is in your chosen baking vessel. This same mix could be a 9-inch layer cake, or 18-24 cupcakes, or a sheet cake, or two smaller square cakes, all dependent upon what you chose to bake it in. My take-away from this, which has stuck with me years later, was that any cake batter can be made into cupcakes, and any cupcake batter into cake. While this adage may be true on a more general level, it is, apparently, not without its exceptions. I learned not to cast broad baking strokes the hard, (very) dense way.

It was my mother's birthday a week ago. As we all know, all proper celebrations require cake. My mother is not a fan of chocolate cakes (in fact, we're not a big chocolate-cake family, or a cake family at all - if I didn't sporadically bring cake with me on my visits to my parent's house it's unlikely that they'd ever eat it). I turned instead to a coconut cake recipe, which seemed befitting the recent wave of nice weather we'd been experiencing.

This was not your typical coconut cake, as it called for reduced coconut milk, which I found pretty intriguing. In fact, was not a cake recipe at all. It was a recipe for coconut cupcakes, which looked so-adorable-I-could-pinch-them on the glossy pages of Bon Appetit. But cupcakes just would not do. Cupcakes don't feel as celebratory as cake does. Perhaps it's the fact that, when dealing with cupcakes, you don't all share in slices of the same larger whole, which feels slightly less communal to me. When eating cake, we have to pause, and wait for the pieces to be actually cut, providing a moment in which to share in a joyous, cake-worthy event. Cupcakes can just be grabbed, willy-nilly, without any regard to why they were baked in the first place.

The recipe was for 18 cupcakes, so I decided to make it into a cake, for the aforementioned celebratory reasons. In the same vein, I went the layer-cake route, since we all know that layer cakes are far more celebratory than non-layer cakes. Somewhere along the way, though, something went wrong. The cake had great flavor, the coconut made its subtle presence known against the comforting warmth of the butter. This cake will definitely not knock you over the head with its coconutiness, but it is perceptibly hanging around in the mix, more utility man than power slugger; more Joey Fatone than JT.

Something was amiss, however, and my cupcake conversion was not successful. The cake was far too dense, to the extent that I felt legitimate resistance as I tried to cut through it. And despite my mother's insistence that the cake had good flavor, we all knew it was a failure. While the prior desserts I've delivered had been well-received, this was undeniably sub-par. But my family loves me, and ate it anyway (with minimal criticism). In spite of the fact that it was dense, the cake was still fat and sugar, and the flavors were still there. But I learned a valuable lesson, one that I will take with me as I continue along my path to baking enlightenment.



Coconut-Milk Cupcakes (or cake, at your own risk) with Coconut Frosting
Adapted from Bon Appétit, April 2009

While this attempt was not a success, I think this recipe can be made truly great with a couple of minor tweaks - and even has the potential to succeed in cake form.

I baked the batter in two separate 9-inch pans. This might have been my first mistake - a better move might have been to bake the cake in one pan and then cut the single cake into two layers with a serrated knife. But the problem with this cake was its heaviness, so I'm not sure that a one-pan-approach is the solution. A better solution is probably to use cake flour, as opposed to all-purpose. I had tried three separate grocery stores in the Union Square area for cake flour, and was wholly unsuccessful in my endeavor. The recipe below is adapted for cake flour (if you use all purpose, you'll only need two cups - but definitely go the cupcake route), since I think that's a big key to making this recipe work.

The most time consuming aspect of the recipe is reducing the coconut milk - don't be afraid to really let it boil. Otherwise, it will take quite a long time for it to sufficiently reduce - just use a larger pot and you'll be fine. I also found the frosting below a bit too sweet for the subtlety of the cake itself, so I'll reduce the amount of sugar used the next time I make these, perhaps by as much as a cup.

REDUCED COCONUT MILK

2 13- to 14-ounce cans unsweetened coconut milk (preferably organic) [
3 tablespoons unsweetened, shredded coconut (optional; I would refrain from using sweetened, flaked coconut, since the flavor would likely be too strong).

CUPCAKES

2 1/4 cups cake flour
2 1/4 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
3/4 cup unsalted butter, room temperature
1 1/3 cups sugar
3 large eggs
1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1 cup reduced coconut milk (see above), room temperature

FROSTING

1 cup unsalted butter, room temperature
2 1/2 cups powdered sugar (Note: I found this frosting to border on cloying, and would use close to 1 1/2 cups next time, though I am admittedly not a buttercream person, as I find it far too sweet, so this is a matter of personal taste)
1/3 cup reduced coconut milk (see above), room temperature
1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1/8 teaspoon salt
1 1/2 cups sweetened flaked coconut, lightly toasted (for garnish)

DIRECTIONS

REDUCED COCONUT MILK
Bring coconut milk to boil in large deep saucepan over medium-high heat (coconut milk will boil up high in pan). Reduce heat to medium-low; boil until reduced to 1 1/2 cups, stirring occasionally, 25 to 30 minutes (Note: I found it took a bit longer than that). Towards the end of this time period, add the unsweetened, coconut to the pan; stir to combine. Once sufficiently reduced, remove from the heat and allow to cool completely. Transfer to small bowl. Cover; chill (coconut milk will settle slightly as it cools). DO AHEAD Can be made 2 days ahead. Keep chilled.

CUPCAKES
Position rack in center of oven; preheat to 350°F. Line eighteen 1/3-cup muffin cups with paper liners (or cake pan). Whisk flour, baking powder, and salt in medium bowl. Using electric mixer, beat butter in large bowl until smooth. Add sugar; beat on medium-high speed until well blended, about 2 minutes. Add 2 eggs, 1 at a time, beating well after each addition and occasionally scraping down sides of bowl. Beat in seeds from vanilla bean and remaining egg. Add half of flour mixture; mix on low speed just until blended. Add 1 cup reduced coconut milk; mix just until blended. Add remaining flour mixture; mix on low speed just until blended. Divide batter among muffin cups.
Bake cupcakes until tops spring back when gently touched and tester inserted into center comes out clean, about 20 minutes. Transfer cupcakes in pans to rack; cool 10 minutes. Carefully remove cupcakes from pans and cool completely on rack.

FROSTING
Using electric mixer, beat butter in large bowl until smooth. Add sugar, 1/3 cup reduced coconut milk, seeds from vanilla bean, and salt. Beat on medium-low speed until blended, scraping down sides of bowl. Increase to medium-high and beat until light and fluffy.

Using pastry bag fitted with large star tip (NOTE: I used a ziploc bag with the corner snipped off), pipe frosting onto cooled cupcakes. (Alternatively, top each cupcake with 2 tablespoons frosting. Using small offset spatula, swirl frosting over top of cupcakes, leaving 1/2-inch plain border.) Sprinkle with coconut.DO AHEAD Can be made 1 day ahead. Store in airtight containers; chill. Bring to room temperature before serving.

Seasonal Impropriety: Brisket in May

What I am about to do here is entirely inappropriate, but I have been sitting on this recipe for far too long, and it's just not right anymore. I have to face the facts: there is likely no dish out there that is more wrong for this time of year. And I realize that this may just prevent you from giving this one a try, but I must urge you to reconsider.

I know that bathing suit season is around the corner, and brisket and bathing suits go together like A-Rod and clutch hitting, but New York City has seen nothing but rain for the past three months (that's how long it's been, right? I'm not sure I recall what the sun actually looks like anymore). But something about this year's spring has prevented me from jumping head-first into the comforts of the season; trench coats, puddles, general sogginess, and the omnipresent umbrella have all made it quite hard to leave behind the warmth and familiarity of so many winter comforts.

It's been a gloomy, foggy, schpritzey kind of spring, with the odd 90-degree days thrown in for good measure. Two weeks ago I wore my winter coat on Monday, scarf and all, and by Sunday I was laying out in Central Park in a bikini. One week, two diametrically opposed seasons, and zero plane trips to tropical locales in the dead of winter. So please don't blame me for being seasonally confused. I'm well aware that summer is fast-approaching (to which my borderline disgusting consumption of frozen dairy goods over the last month can attest), but there's just something in the air (uh, probably constant 98% humidity, and not the warm, pleasant summer night kind) that's been preventing me from breaking out the sandals for good.

I admit that brisket is a traditionally cold-weather cut of meat, as many tougher, more inexpensive cuts are, since they require long, slow preparations to render them supple and tender. And yes, this recipe was made for Passover, but this meal is really, and truly, undeniably fantastic. And deliciousness knows no bounds!

So hear my case - brisket need not be relegated to wintertime. Yes, the fact that it requires a long cooking time and tends to be paired with deep, hearty, warming flavors may suggest that it's best enjoyed in chillier times, but this needn't be the case. Free brisket from the chains of seasonality - slice it, sandwich it between two pieces of crusty bread, throw it in a basket with a nice, fresh salad and some fruit and lo and behold - a picnic! What's more summery than a picnic? Not much, not much at all.

This recipe gives a great deal of flexibility in its preparation, since it can be finished a couple of days after it's been started, which is great news for those of us who find ourselves flitting to and fro on a whim whenever a summer breeze decides to pass through.


Beef Brisket with Merlot and Prunes
from Bon Appetit April 2008, recipe here

Ingredients
1 4-to 4 1/2-pound flat-cut (first-cut) beef brisket, trimmed of most fat
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 14 1/2-ounce can diced tomatoes in juice (preferably fire-roasted)
1 cup Merlot or other dry red wine
2 pounds onions, sliced
4 medium carrots, peeled, thinly sliced
16 garlic cloves, peeled
1 1/2 cups pitted large prunes (about 8 ounces)
1 tablespoon finely chopped fresh thyme
1/2 cup plus 1 tablespoon prune juice
3 tablespoons plus 1 teaspoon balsamic vinegar
2 tablespoons chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley

Position rack in bottom third of oven and preheat to 325°F.

Pat brisket dry (this is necessary to get great browning - make sure the meat really is dry) and season all over with salt and pepper. Heat oil in heavy extra-large skillet over high heat.

Add brisket and cook until deep brown, about 7 minutes per side. Transfer brisket, fat side up, to large roasting pan. Add tomatoes with juice and wine to skillet. Remove from heat, scrape up any browned bits, and pour mixture over brisket.

Scatter onions, carrots, and garlic around brisket. Add prunes and thyme; drizzle with 1/2 cup prune juice and 3 tablespoons vinegar. Sprinkle lightly with salt and pepper. Place the roasting pan over 2 burners and bring the liquid to a boil. Cover the pan with aluminum foil and place in the preheated oven.

Braise brisket until tender, about 3 hours 15 minutes. Uncover and cool 1 hour at room temperature.

The brisket can be made up to third point 2 days ahead; just cover the pan with foil and throw it in the fridge. To resume, bring the liquid just to a simmer over two burner and continue on.

Remove the brisket from roasting pan, scraping it of juices. Place on work surface;cut across grain into 1/4-inch-thick slices. Spoon off fat from top of pan juices. Place 1 cup vegetables (no prunes) and 1 cup braising liquid from pan into processor and puree. Return puree to pan. Add remaining 1 tablespoon prune juice and 1 teaspoon vinegar to pan. Heat sauce; season with salt and pepper.

Overlap brisket slices in 13x9x2- inch glass baking dish. Pour sauce over brisket, separating slices to allow some sauce to flow between. DO AHEAD:Can be made 1 day ahead. Cover; chill.

Rewarm brisket, covered, in 350°F oven for 30 minutes. Sprinkle brisket with parsley; serve.

Note - you can use a slender metal pin or a thin, sharp knife to check whether the brisket is tender. Insert the pin into the thickest part of the brisket; if it meets no resistance, the brisket is done.

Dear Mayonnaise,

I was wrong.

Oh Mayo (you don't mind if I call you Mayo, do you?), I have wronged you. I spoke ill of you for years, proclaiming your nausea-inducing effects, lamenting your overall general grossness. I claimed, nay proselytized, that nothing good could be realized by ingloriously congealed fats. I just could not fathom how anything made largely of egg yolks could be contained indefinitely under a blue cap.

In my defense, however, I must offer the fact that my experiences, you had not been in your best form. I had never been with you in your freshly-made, sprightly, refreshingly-pure state. Can you see why I was singing the gospel of the Church of Mayo-Haters, worshipping at the altar of mustard? You see, in my dark days without you, I had not ever known the real you. My firm denial of your glory was rooted in my distaste for the omnipresent pallid white paste teamed far too often with dry turkey breast and tasteless white bread. You did not have much to offer that sandwich; in fact, I found that you did nothing but turn it into a mushy, gluey mess, leaving me lapping at the roof of my mouth like a dog who'd just eaten peanut butter. You must understand why I felt the way that I did; I did not find you added much to my sandwiches - certainly not enough to warrant your high caloric content. I admit, I may have taken it too far: I would not touch egg salads, tuna salads, far too many dips, or anything else you may have snuck your way into. I even threw tantrums at Mets games when my father, my incomparable sandwich-making father, dared to dress the sandwich intended for me with you.

But mayo, I now see the error of my ways. I have been introduced to you in your purest form. You're like the overly made-up girl who, unbeknownst to her, is far prettier without all of her make-up and high heels. You don't need chemicals, or stabilizers, or multisyllabic words; no, you're at your best when you're just being you, when you're nothing more than the simple sum of your most basic parts: egg, acid, spices, oil. Granted, in your full-fat, mass-produced form you don't possess these additives (save calcium disodium EDTA), but I just could never bring myself to sacrifice those calories to a condiment I just didn't beleive in. And your "healthier," so-called "lite" counterparts, well let's not get started on their blasphemous ways.

Oh mayo, I have seen the light. I have enjoyed freshly-made, bright, sunny, lemony mayonnaise; I have dipped everything from french fries to artichokes. I have seen your versatility - how quickly you go can from mayonnaise to tartar sauce, from mayo to sauce verte; your effortless pairing with sriracha can turn any sandwich into a treat.

You're a Cinderella of sorts; from your meager beginnings as simple pantry staples you become a luxurious a decadent spread capable of elevating the most basic of items. Your generosity cannot be overstated, you eagerly lend a hand to so many dishes, and they are all the better because of it. Vegetables are never stronger than when paired with you - how quickly they go from veggies to crudites thanks to you. You have shown me what mayonnaise is meant to be; and because I cannot always stand about whisking, I have even grown to tolerate the jarred stuff (if begrudgingly so).

I have patiently whisked and eagerly dipped, and I've returned to whisk some more, and damn it, I'm a believer. And yes, every once in a while you'll break on me, but I cannot say I blame you. I have given you no reason to heed to my desires after these years of poo-pooing you. I was so wrong, so blind to your undeniable deliciousness. I can do nothing now but ask for your forgiveness, and lament the years wasted, spent in a dark, mayo-less existence. But that is my cross to bear, and I hope that you'll let this slide, because, believe me, I will never turn my back on you again.

Love and kisses,

Shelbs



Mayonnaise

Yes, mayonnaise contains raw egg. If for some reason you can't stomach raw eggs, or are pregnant and therefore must be avoiding such things, mayonnaise is probably not for you. But trust me when I say that raw eggs have never had it so good.

I have included a couple of variations below. Alton Brown's was the first I attempted at home; it is a great, classic version, and provides an excellent jumping-off point for just about anything. You really must be patient with the whisking, adding the oil very slowly at first, and allow the emulsion to really show itself before speeding things up. If your mayo breaks, don't worry, you can probably fix that, just keep on whisking and you should be alright. The whisking can get a bit tiring, but hey, you're getting a workout, so you can feel that much less badly about eating mayonnaise. I mean, that is how it works, right? Also, believe me when I tell you that once you make your own mayonnaise, you may never be able to go back to the jarred stuff again. It's cheap, it's delicious, and you know exactly what goes into it.


Mayonnaise is made up of 5 basic ingredients, to which you can add spices, herbs or other items your liking, it's really infinitely adaptable. The proportions of the main ingredients are generally as follows: For one egg yolk, you'll need 2-3 teaspoons of acid (be it vinegar or lemon juice, though you can add more to taste, if you like your mayo quite lemony feel free to add more), 1/2 teaspoon salt, 1 teaspoon mustard (prepared mustard, if using dry, you'll use less) and 1/2 to 3/4 of a cup of oil. I don't recommend olive oil for mayonnaise because the flavor is quite strong and will overwhelm everything else. Neutral tasting oils, such as canola, are a good bet. Apparently you can also make mayonnaise in the blender; I have personally not given it a go yet, but if and when I do I will report back.

Making your mayo will be easiest if all of your ingredients have been allowed to come to room temperature. To make the mayo, whisk all of your ingredients except the oil in a bowl. Slowly, and in a thin stream (very thin at first), whisk in the oil. It's best to start slowly with the oil; you'll be able to pick up speed once your emulsion has come to be. Ta-da! Mayonnaise!

Once this base is formed, you can add whatever you'd like - you can make dijon mayonnaise by simply adding some dijon mustard to your prepared mayonnaise; you can make tartar sauce by adding some capers, parsley, chives and cornichons.

Alton Brown's Mayonnaise
adapted from Alton Brown

1 egg yolk
1/2 teaspoon fine salt
1/2 teaspoon dry mustard
1 pinches sugar*
2 teaspoons fresh squeezed lemon juice
1 tablespoon white wine vinegar
1 cup canola oil
In a glass bowl, whisk together egg yolk and dry ingredients. Combine lemon juice and vinegar in a separate bowl then thoroughly whisk half into the yolk mixture. Start whisking briskly, then start adding the oil a few drops at a time until the liquid seems to thicken and lighten a bit, (which means you've got an emulsion on your hands). Once you reach that point you can relax your arm a little (but just a little) and increase the oil flow to a constant (albeit thin) stream. Once half of the oil is in add the rest of the lemon juice mixture.

Continue whisking until all of the oil is incorporated. Let stand at room temperature for a couple of hours, and then refrigerate in an air-tight container for up to a week.

*NOTE: the original recipe calls for 2 pinches of sugar, I generally leave out the sugar, but if I do use it, it's hardly ever more than a pinch.

Actually Delicious Charoset

Every passover, there are, without exception, at least seven items that must be served as part of the Seder meal formalities. Aside from the matzoh, the other six appear on the seder plate, each representing a different aspect of the Jews' escape from persecution and slavery in Egypt. For the most part, these items are not particularly delicious - some are downright inedible (and not meant to be eaten, obviously), and that's alright. But charoset has the potential to be something delicious, and something that you'll find yourself craving throughout the year.

Charoset is a sweet, sticky mess of nuts and apple - at least the charoset of my past was. The charoset of all of my future seders, however, will be no such thing, because this recipe has changed everything I knew about charoset. Typically charoset is eaten as part of the seder, spread on matzoh to symbolize the mortar on the bricks that our ancestors were forced to use before their exodus; then it usually sits there, neglected. Not this charoset though, huge piles of the jewel-colored mixture adorned the plate of each of my seder guests last year, and I found it impossible to reach into the fridge without sticking a spoon into the leftovers for as long as they lasted (not long).

This charoset recipe features flavors and spices often associated with Sephardic Jews. Since the ancestral beginnings of the subset were largely in the Middle East, dates, figs and cinnamon often find their way into Sephardic Jewish dishes, with flavors oftne reminiscent of Moroccan cuisine. It is leaps and bounds better than any apple-spiked charoset I've tasted before. The fruit and toasted nuts provide wonderful contrast in texture, the sweetness of the dates and apricots mellowed and contrasted so perfectly by the toasted nuttiness of the walnuts. The spices provide warmth and depth, and the lingering smell of ginger soothes you as it makes its way into your mouth. The sweet passover wine, nearly unbearable in its unadulterated state, is used sparingly, providing just enough liquid to bond it all together and disperse the flavors, while mellowing out what the potential brashness of the ginger and cayenne.



Charoset
from Gourmet, April 1993; recipe also here

This mixture may seem a bit spicy at first, but it mellows out with time. I would plan on making this at least a few hours ahead, to give the charoset a chance to come together and allow the flavors to marry.

2/3 cup dried Mission figs (6 oz)
2/3 cup dried apricots (6 oz)
1/3 cup pitted dates (4 oz)
1 1/3 cups walnuts (4 oz), finely chopped
1/4 cup sweet red wine such as Manischewitz Extra Heavy Malaga, kosher for passover
1/4 teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon cayenne
1/8 teaspoon ground ginger

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Place the walnuts on a baking sheet and toast for about 8 minutes, checking often and stirring around pan as necessary to ensure that they don't burn. Allow nuts to cool.

Finely chop the figs, apricots and dates, then transfer to a bowl and stir in walnuts and wine. Sprinkle spices evenly over mixture and stir until combined well.

Can be prepared 3 days ahead.

Choice Eats 2009

I returned not too long ago from the VIllage Voice's Choice Eats tasting event, which featured 56 restaurants showcasing 37 different cuisines. By the time I arrived at the Lexington Avenue armory at 6:20, I was forced to make my way to the back of the line, since they had yet to start letting people in. So I walked along, following the line, and walked, and walked, until I finally found the end...on Park avenue. Slowly, but steadily, the line started moving along, and I think we finally made it into the building a bit before 7, maybe around 6:50 or so. Lesson one: Arrive very early so that you are not waiting on the longest line ever; one long enough, in fact, that about one in every four people passing by felt compelled to inquire as to the cause behind the congregation of this motley crew.

I managed to eat a great deal, both in terms of variety and sheer quantity, and my stomach is still feeling the effect of my gorging. I managed to snag the following bites, which I will recount in as much detail as my memory and compromised physical state (read: huge food coma) will allow. Lesson two: Bring a note pad (and a camera).

Thanks, but no thanks:

Mama's Food Shop: Macaroni and cheese with ham. This was the biggest disappointment of the night (or at least the biggest disappointment once in my hands, the fact that a bunch of tables I really wanted to hit up were "finito" by the time I made my way to them is a whole other kind of disappointment). How can macaroni and cheese really be that bad? I don't know! I understand that mac and cheese is the type of dish best served immediately - the gooeyness factor is what you really want, after all. But the lack of goo wasn't even the issue, it was completely and utterly tasteless, with the most fleeting hint of salt provided from the teeny specks of ham interspersed throughout the mess of elbows and white cheddar (I think it was white cheddar...). It was, by far, the most bland thing I ate all evening.

Cabrito: Jalapeno releno with pollock, capers, raisins and a mini-shot of horchata. The horchata I actually really liked, and could have dealth with a larger serving of it, especially since it muted a lot of the flavors fighting for attention on my palate. The jalapeno itself though was kind of gross, it just tasted fishy, but far too mushy to be pleasant, and the salinity of the capers was not strong enough to make their presence felt. It was the same story with the raisins, though I think I'm happy abnout that. Now that I'm describing this, I'm not sure why I even picked this up - chile + pollock + capers + raisins can equal nothing but fail.

Jimmy's No. 43: Pulled pork with orange (maybe?) marmalade. Honestly, this kind of just tasted of booze. Bizarre.

Tortilleria Nixtamal: Beef enchilada with mole. I'm not really sure why I didn't like this, I just didn't. At all. Maybe I'm just not a mole fan? I don't think that's true though, but I can't pinpoint exactly why I didn't like it. I just took one bite and put it down (which I pretty much did with everything, since otherwise I would have exploded, leaving only partially digested, potentially identifiable ethnic foodstuffs in my wake. Lesson three: I need a larger stomach.

I Could Take it or Leave It:

Barbao: Spicy beef salad with pomelo, pineapple and peanuts. This was good, but nothing great, and nothing that I hadn't seen or tasted before.

Cheburechnaya: lamb dumpling-type thing; rice with beef. The rice tasted like nothing, while the lamb dumpling thing was interesting. The lamb had good flavor, nestled inside what looked and tasted like a won-ton skin, which in retrospect I guess makes sense for an Uzbek eatery, since the nation falls directly between two regions with incredibly different, and strong culinary traditions, it's unsurprising that they'd take from each - the dumpling wrapper from Asia to their East, and the cumin-carraway scented lamb from the Indo-south. The plate was accompanied by a tomato sauce, which was very thin, and while quite acidic, it didn't have any of that pleasant brightness that tomatoes usually impart.

Eisenberg's Sandwich Shop: Chopped Liver on Marble Rye. Chopped liver is chopped liver, unless it's REALLY bad, in which case, no thanks. This was definitely not really bad, but it lacked the oniony-eggy punch that I love about chopped liver. It had a pleasantly smooth texture, but the chopped liver I know and love isn't totally smooth, which may be unfair to Eisenberg's, but that's what you get when messing with nostalgia!

Fatty Crab - Coconut Rice with curry chicken. I barely tasted this, I was infuriated at this point by the jerk who unceremoniously barreled his way up to the table, totally unfettered by the line of people patiently waiting their turn to be served unconscionably demanded not one, but two plates. Lesson four: take anger management prior to attendance. Lesson five: lower expectations of the good-naturedness of humans in general.

Kabab Factory: Chicken, beef, with different sauces. Only tasted a tiny bit of this. Tasted like kabab. Decent kabab, though.

The New French: roast pork on pizza bianca. Don't really remember anything about this besides the fact that the pork was really soft; the flavor totally escapes me. I'm honestly not sure if it even was pizza bianca on which the pork was served.

Motorino: Donuts filled with chocolate, vanilla or raspberry-rhubarb. This was my first disappointment. I wanted PIZZA. But then I got there - and donuts. Just lots and lots of donuts. The vanilla custard itself was quite good, the chocolate was unimpressive, and the rhubarb was totally lost in the jammy filling. However, the donuts had obviously been fried far too long before the event, and they were way too cold and honestly kind of stale. Note to Motorino - "bomboloni" is a cop-out; a deep-fried, sugary cop-out. I get if they make wood-fired pizza they're not going to be able to get us an adequate representation of their fare in this sort of setting, and risk ruining their reputation if they serve a sub-par product, but still. I wanted pizza.

Kuma Inn: Tofu with mirin and mushroom. This was pretty good, but nothing too out of the ordinary. It tasted exactly how you'd expect it to upon taking the plate in hand, nothing more, nothing less. That being said, I could see potentially myself ordering this dish were I to eat there, but this dish itself isn't driving me there anytime soon.

Queen of Sheba; Misir Wat - lentils stewed with onion, garlic and a blend of spices, served in the typical injera pancake This was pretty good, though incredibly heavily spiced. It killed my taste buds for a while, but probably worth it. Probably. That's the danger with the disproportionate representation of ethnic eateries: while all delicious, they feature really aggressive spices, and after a while the jerk in the chicken and the chiles in the salsa start making it difficult to taste even the most fragrant curry. Lesson six: bring some sort of palate cleaners, perhaps ginger candy? But that would take up precious stomach space...I'll think about this one. Recommendations welcome.

Peppa's Jerk Chicken: Jerk Chicken, obv. Really flavorful, though I got a bit screwed with a super bony piece and was too full to validate fighting the crowds to go back for another one to get a better sample. The piece I had was pleasantly spicy, not mouth-numbingly so, and sitll had pretty balanced flavor. A bit dry, though.

Pinche taqueria: carnitas burrito and corn. I had intended to get a taco, but didn't realize that they were kept separately from the burrito pieces, so I thought they were gone. The pork in the carnitas, though, was really flavorful, though my gripe with burritos held true here - just too much going on, obscuring the taste of the meat, especially since I got the end piece and had an excess of flour tortilla, and I prefer the texture and taste of corn tortillas at all times. I snagged a little bite of Andrew's carne asada from his taco, though and it was moist and tender.

I'd hit that again:

Dirt Candy: Portobello mousse with with portobellos and fennel-pear compote. This was totally surprising - the richness of this little bite was so far beyond what I had expected. Though I had heard much about this mousse, in my mind I still knew it was made of mushrooms, and so I felt it hard to believed all the hype. The hype was well-deserved - it was complex, with the deep, earthy flavor that I love so much about mushrooms (and which I often think portobellos lack), concentrated into a dense, unctuous richness. The fennel-pear compote brightened the plate and was a great contrast to the mushrooms.

Porchetta: One of the few eateries giving a genuine taste of what they offered - I guess it's hard for them to do otherwise, though when there is but one main thing on their menu - it would have been pretty ballsy for Porchetta to show up and serve beans (I'm looking at you Mercadito and your mango guacamole). Half sandwiches were on offer: a generous smattering of meat and crispy, caramelized pig skin that wasn't as crispy as I would have believed from the descriptions I've read - it was better, in fact - the texture was more complex than just pure crunch. The initial crunch gave way to a chewy, almost caramel-like quality that was just begging to be stuck in your teeth. It was divine. I feel that the actual sandwich could only be better, since I think that in the rush to keep the sandwiches coming, a bit of the moisture, which would typically be sopped up by the bread, was sadly separated from the porcine beast from which it leaked, bidding it a sort of bon voyage from the cutting board deck as the plates were whisked away from the table. Regardless, it left me wanting more, which is precisely what these establishments want - our return business.

There were a few places I wanted to try but just didn't get to in time, which kind of just sucks. Lesson seven: finagle media pass.

Momofuku Milk Bar and Bakery: I think they were giving out their notorious compost cookie, or at least that's what all the blissfully happy people I passed by looked like they were enjoying. This kind of pissed me off, though - they left a little note that they brought 500 cookies and they were all gone by 7. 500 cookies? For a crowd of over a thousand? That's not to even mention those working the event for the various eateries and sponsors that were given the opportunity to walk around before the event started. That's bad math. And I really wanted a cookie.

Fette Sau: I've heard much about Fette Sau, and it was unlikely I was going to eat there anytime soon, so I was pretty excited to try this. Unfortunately, fail. Andrew's constantly on the lookout for barbeque, and I had really wanted to see if their offering would entice us to head to Williamsburg. Has anyone been there that can vouch for its deliciousness?

Kampuchea: Andrew and I recently did a little sandwich tasting from Num Pang, which is the new Cambodian sandwich shop recently opened by the owners of Kampuchea. The sandwiches we had were all great, so I was looking forward to seeing hat they had to offer. No dice.

No. 7 had some sort of dessert. I ran into someone who said this was great, when I headed over to try it, they were packing up. Lame.

Baoguette: This isn't a total fail, and they don't deserve to be in this category, since they had plendy of food to go around. I've been there before and have had their sandwiches (the catfish sandwich is seriously good). That said, had there not been a ginormous line for their table, I definitely would have hit it up, but I there was, so I didn't.

And so it was an evening of Choice Eats. I will likely attend again, though I will heed my lessons and be approach the event with a better strategy in hand. Maybe it's all in the personnel management, amassing a tasting team, dividing up and acquiring a range of plates may be the best way to ensure that all is tasted. The biggest issue is the lack of areas to really stand and eat, and you're constantly running into people balancing three plates of biryani in one hand, while holding a fork and beer in the other, and trying to figure out how to eat in the midst of never-ending throngs of people. I definitely left feeling supremely full, and next time, oh next time, with lessons learned, I'll leave even fuller.