Andy Rapoport's Blog

The first time I saw one of these bikes in person, was in 1975,...

Thu, 05 Jul 2012 10:06:07 -0400

The first time I saw one of these bikes in person, was in 1975, the summer after third grade. A kid in the next neighbor over cruised down 38th Street astride this god-like bike, taking his time and making sure we ALL saw what this lucky little fucker’s parents bought him. I hated that kid so much. These were OUR streets, and our bikes sucked! How dare he!?

I never got the Schwinn of my dreams, but I took some satisfaction in learning that this kid was a bully and his dad was complete asshole.

I am proud to present my, and my esteemed partner, Ryan...

Tue, 15 Nov 2011 17:29:50 -0500

I am proud to present my, and my esteemed partner, Ryan Dunsmuir’s new company.

A.F. Rapoport, Ltd. Hot Buttered Rum

“Taste the Luxury!”

Classic Specs at a Classic Price

Wed, 12 Oct 2011 17:37:20 -0400

My dear friend (and killer bass player), Richard Ray Ruiz, has at least two things going for him: Untouchable rock-star hair; and an absolutely kick-ass company right here in Gotham- CLASSIC SPECS. Check ‘em out online, and set yourself up with a pair of stylish frames, WITH prescription lenses, anti-reflective coating and free shipping…ALL for just $89!
…EIGHTY-NINE DOLLARS.

Here I am in my own pair of their “Quentin” frames in Carbon Black.
Thank you, Dickie Ray.

I mean, come on

Mon, 10 Oct 2011 17:39:32 -0400

I mean, come on

You want a good cup of coffee? Yeah, well, take my advice. Don’t use a French press....

Thu, 15 Sep 2011 09:41:13 -0400

You want a good cup of coffee? Yeah, well, take my advice. Don’t use a French press. Just…don’t. You know why? ‘Cause they suck. They’ve always sucked, and they always will suck. And I don’t wanna hear, “You have to measure the grounds just right” or, “You have to remember to grind them coarse” or, “You have to use filtered water.” It doesn’t matter. The coffee will make you hate French people.
So, from now on, here at chez Rapoport, we’re serving coffee how it’s SUPPOSED to be served…um, if you’re a hosting a Tupperware party…in 1972.
‘Cause Tupperware is cool, parties are cool, and percolated coffee is the coolest.

Sautéed Cod Fillets, Lentils & a Night Off the Hooch

Wed, 24 Aug 2011 17:07:00 -0400

This past February I was part of a weight-loss competition with some local (and very much younger) restaurant fellas. We acknowledged that we were all getting a little too “doughy” for our liking. So, with a $100 buy-in, we stripped down, weighed ourselves, and set the rules: no surgery and no bulimia. The bet was “who could lose the most weight in a month”. Winner take all. (And no, it wasn’t lost on any of us that February is the shortest month of the year). At the end of the month, we stripped down again, and had our weigh-out. Yours truly came in second with 15 lbs. lost. But, I must tip my hat to Eric and Eric (chefs at Jeffrey’s Grocery) who lost an impressive 20 lbs each.

Throughout the month, I knuckled down and made many, many sacrifices (read: NO HOOCH). This was my plan:
No dairy, no bread, no pasta, no desserts, and no alcohol. Steel cut oats for breakfast everyday, and the gym 5 days a week, where I did 45 minutes on the spinning cycle thing, and a lot of sit-ups. That was it. And I gotta say, I felt great, and looked better than ever. It wasn’t easy, and it wasn’t fun. And I really missed cooking with scotch…

This was one of my favorite meals that was borne out of that horrific experience. Bear in mind, I was just making up recipes that whole month with ingredients I don’t use very often (I made a whole meal out of eggplant one night!). All because I wasn’t too comfortable with dishes that didn’t involve heavy cream, roast meats, butter, mashed potatoes, and cooking hooch.

(I want to add at this point, that I am currently enjoying some Dewar’s “12 Year-Old” and making Indian food. Yes, I’m drinking and blogging about a sober meal. Yes, I can do both. Settle down)

So, start with a pound of green lentils and bring them to a boil with just enough (unsalted) water to cover ‘em by a couple inches. Cover the pot and let the lentils simmer for 45 minutes, while enjoying your, um, cooking-glass-of-water. While the lentils are simmering, finely chop up 3 cloves of garlic, and a medium-sized yellow onion, and heat up 2 tablespoons of olive oil in your sautee pan (I use All-Clad’s 3 qt. Stainless Steel lidded number. If you’re interested in getting one, I recommend going on eBay where you can get brand new ones for a LOT less than in stores)

While all the above is going on, and you’re confused by the sensation of cooking while not being buzzed, chop up some flat leaf parsley, (a vastly underrated herb…and that’s not just this Dewar’s talking) like so

After you’ve transferred your chopped parsley to a mis en place bowl of appropriate size (I’m fan of these from Crate and Barrel, and use them all the damn time), check your onions. When they’re just taking on some color, shut them off. Meanwhile, when your lentils are done transfer them to a strainer. They should look like this

After your lentils have finished, um, straining, and you’ve instinctively reached for that glass of scotch that isn’t anywhere to be found, transfer the lentils to the pan of onions and begin to sautee over medium-low heat. Everything’s already cooked, so you just wanna bring the flavors together…or marry them. Season well, and add a couple tablespoons of chopped parsley, and the juice of half a lemon. You can add some water if you think it’s getting too…um…water-needing (really, Rapoport?). I’m pretty certain I added a teaspoon of cumin powder here. I mean, it seems like something I would do (unlike, WRITING SHIT DOWN SO I DON’T FORGET).

Shut the heat off your sautee pan, and cover. Now, take your cod fillet and season it well on both sides with Kosher salt & fresh cracker pepper

Seeing that I actually took a picture of this it appears that I thought it wise to make three smaller fillets. So…um…make three smaller fillets

Heat up another couple tablespoons of olive oil in a large non-stick pan. When the oil is shimmering carefully add the fillets. Cod isn’t the sturdiest of fish, so be careful when it’s time to turn over the fillets (after about 3-4 minutes)

After another 4 minutes of cooking…and after you’ve done your best to fasten the broken fillets together again….the fish should be ready. To plate, simply make a bed of lentils, and lay your fillets atop ever so gently. Garnish with lemon and chopped parsely.

Ingredients:

1 pound green lentils
1 medium yellow onion
3 cloves garlic
1 bunch flat leaf parsley
2 lemons
1 pound cod fillet (watch out for bones!)
cumin
olive oil
Kosher salt, cracked black pepper

WOMEN OF THE FRENCH RESISTANCE, PART: DEUX These gals are...

Mon, 08 Aug 2011 17:19:00 -0400

WOMEN OF THE FRENCH RESISTANCE, PART: DEUX

These gals are members of the French Maquis. Here they are posing with their rifles and pistols in 1944 after attacking the Nazi garrison at Marseille.
But, who are they?

(From: Left to Right)
First up is Bernadette. She’s the den mother of these gals. And that’s her “go-to” outfit. The Maquis men are terrified of her, and rightly so. And the Nazis? Oh, they know all about her. In fact, Nazi headquarters refers to her as “Der Schottenkaro Ochse” (“The Tartan Ox”).

Next to her is Josette. Josette is wearing wedges. She’s all like, “I like them!!”. So, she wears them to KILL NAZIS. Poor Josette never laughs. Ever. She’s promised that she “will not laugh until every Nazi invader is dead and buried.” She suffers no fools.
And unfortunately, standing behind her is a fool.

There in the middle, and behind the gals, is Mathilde. Mathilde doesn’t get a gun. She gets a flag. Why doesn’t she get a gun? Well…there was an incident.

Standing in the center, sporting her white satchel, is Agathe. Agethe wears black. For, she is in mourning. Her husband, Claude, was killed when a “not supposed to be dangerous” mission got badly fouled-up. (Let’s just say, Mathilde had something to do with it). That white satchel of Agethe’s is filled with plastic explosives.
But they’re not for the Nazis.
Nope.
She’s saving them.
For Mathilde.
Poor Mathilde.

Ah, yes. Sabine. Everyone loves Sabine! Naive? Perhaps. Simple? Somewhat. Eager? Oh my god, yes! She’s also the group’s mascot…a mascot sniper who can take out a Nazi office from 500 yards! Vive La France!!! The stock of her rifle has a hash-mark for each Nazi she’s killed. In this picture, the count is up to 247.

And last is Colette. Colette’s rifle stock is also filled with hash marks. But they don’t signify Nazis killed. No. See, Colette, and her white wedges…and earings…and lipstick…and mascara…knows a lot of the men in the Maquis (and, according to some of the gals, a few men in the German army). Her hash-mark count is up to 1,275.

WOMEN OF THE FRENCH RESISTANCE, PART: ONE Seriously, just stop....

Sat, 06 Aug 2011 15:59:00 -0400

WOMEN OF THE FRENCH RESISTANCE, PART: ONE

Seriously, just stop. Are you kidding? Come on! First of all, she’s a French Partisan, and she’s probably seventeen. And that MP-40 slung over her shoulder? That’s a German submachine gun. Which means the poor Kraut who did own it is probably dead, and has no idea whose hands it’s in now. Oh, and can we talk about that blouse? She’s wearing that in combat….with denim shorts. AndMessieurs, seriously, don’t even think about it. Do yourself a favor, and just walk away. She’s not interested. She’s engaged to this Maquis leader who’s off blowing up railroad tracks in Southern France. And he’ll be back. And when he gets back, he’s gonna marry that girl.

Every once in a while (though it seems like it’s been...

Wed, 20 Jul 2011 16:05:27 -0400

Every once in a while (though it seems like it’s been decades) a band, a sound, a new wave comes around where substance and form are on equal footing. When proficiency and creativity conspire to make something fresh and meaningful…and uneasy for the mainstream. Something that fills a void.
Maybe the nostalgic punk in me is too romantic and can’t let go of the past, when music seemed dangerous and important…and mattered…but at least this happened once upon a time. And it still gives me the same chills….

This Wasn't Supposed to Happen

Wed, 20 Jul 2011 12:15:00 -0400

(Yesterday at the grocery store)

“Alright, what the hell am I gonna make for dinner?….It’s butt-ass hot outside, so, maybe something light?…Like, fish?….Yeah, fish would be nice…Oooh, maybe with, like, an orzo salad, or a, like, a rice pilaf?…Wait, did you just say “rice pilaf”!? Jesus christ, why don’t you just whip up some Ratatouille? …Rice pilaf!?…Who’re you, Rhoda!? …Idiot…OK….Well, wait a minute!….I could do a potato dish…Like, a potato salad with, like, a light dressing, and maybe some fresh herbs in there…Dude, I don’t wanna make a potato salad…Fuck…Oh, man, but you know what is good?! Scalloped potatoes…Oh yeah, totally…Wait, I think I need cheese for that….and cream….Oooh, some Gruyère would be awesome…Dude, what the fuck happened to eating light? And salmon? Really? You went with salmon?? Salmon is the loaded potato skins of the marine world…Oh, my god….Loaded potato skins??…OK, I’m in trouble….”

Rotisserie Chicken Pasta with Cream Sauce and Big-Ass Cans of Sapporo

Mon, 18 Jul 2011 18:06:00 -0400

To honor the Japanese Women’s World Cup team’s victory over the U.S., I bought myself two big-ass cans of Sapporo, congratulated the staff of the izakaya in my building, and made a “spur-of-the-moment”, completely made-up, big-ass pot of pasta for dinner. The logic being that a big-ass pot of pasta is kind of like a big-ass bowl of Ramen…(insert grimace and shrug). The only liabilities I faced were that it was getting late, and I was getting kinda drunk.

After enjoying the first of your big-ass cans of Saporro, and before things got out of hand, you’re gonna want to pickup a rotisserie chicken from the market. They’re, like, $8, cooked to perfection, and look sexy as hell. Then head home, after stopping to pick up more tasty, big-ass cans of Saporro, and shred the chicken into fairly big-ass bite-size pieces, being sure to season well with salt and pepper. (The reason want big-ass sized pieces, is because during the cooking, mixing and stirring, the pieces will break up a bit).

Setting the chicken aside, and commenting out-loud to no one, “You know, seriously, Saporro is really fucking awesome! And why does this all silver, tennis ball can-sized container feel so good in my hand?!” (I left that last bit hanging in the air as a rhetorical question since no one was here to offer an explanation of how the crafty R&D guys at Saporro came up with that can design. But whomever you are, Arigatō!), lay out your six scallions…

and chop up the lower half (starting with the white ends…which you’ve detached from the roots) into quarter-inch size pieces, and the upper halves into a finer mince. After that, and since you’re gonna want to get as much blade-work out of the way before opening the next big-ass can of Saporro (trust me on this), mince up 5 cloves of garlic

At this point, you’re gonna want to attend to a couple things: Bring a pot of water to a boil for your pasta (in last night’s case, I went with rigatoni); and turn to your Mac and say, out loud, “Wait. Why the fuck am I listening to Yngwie J. Malmsteen’s Rising Force!? …and more to the point, why do I even own any Yngwie J. Malmsteen’s Rising Force?! Great! Now she’s unleashed the fucking fury!!”). When you’ve finished putting on something that wasn’t written by a petulant, Swedish, Heavy Metal guitarist, you’ve got to ask yourself, “Olive oil or butter?”

It’s often a toss-up, depending on what you’re sauteing, what you’re looking for in taste, how chubby you’re feeling at the moment, how awesome you’re feeling after a kamikaze squadron of Japanese beers, etc. (But, given how great I was feeling (and lemme tell ya, folks, I felt really great) I went with the obvious choice)

Duh.

(This was a tablespoon…which was followed by another tablespoon).

Over med to med-high heat melt the butter till it stops foaming, then throw in your scallions (the bigger pieces) and garlic. Stir throughout the cooking so the garlic doesn’t burn, and grab your bottle of Vermouth

Pour in a few glugs (see: Jamie Fucking Oliver) of Vermouth, and cook until it’s mostly evaporated and you’ve got a thickened mess of butter, vegetables, and booze. At this point, especially if you’re still coping with the butter-guilt from earlier, open another big-ass beer and get over it.

This will help

Yeah. That’s a pint of heavy cream right there (I just laughed out loud when I remembered that at this point, I was double-fisting Saporros and slices of a baguette spread with butter). Pour in the cream, raise the heat and simmer till it thickens. By now, your pasta water should be boiling, so go ahead and toss in your pasta. As the sauce tickens season w salt and pepper and a good teaspoon of dried thyme

Finally, when the sauce is thick and rich, you probably won’t be able to resist calling one of your idiot friends to say, “Dude, I am making the BEST FUCKING PASTA EVER. And seriously, WHY is Saporro SO good!?”, incorporate the chicken and stir to coat. Let simmer for 10 minutes or so, drain the pasta and toss together with the sauce. Garnish with the finely chopped scallions and a few hefty gratings of parm. You will probably be in that “between buzzed and drunk” happy place, so get ready to eat more than you should…or need to….but will want to.

Ingredients:

rotisserie chicken
pint heavy cream
butter
bunch of scallions
head of garlic
vermouth
pound of rigatoni
Parmigiano-Reggiano
dried thyme
as many big-ass cans of Saporro as you can manage

I love this shot of W. Tecumseh looking like a bitchy, prissy, ...

Tue, 28 Jun 2011 16:59:00 -0400

I love this shot of W. Tecumseh looking like a bitchy, prissy, choreographer. You look at that and think, “Oh, yeah. I can so see him throwing a huge tantrum and firing the entire chorus line. And then storming out of the theatre, screaming for a cigarette…to burn Atlanta to the ground.”

And then going out back of the theater w one of his underlings who’s holding an umbrella for him while he shivers in the rain smoking a Kent 100 and bitching about Grant riding his ass all week about “getting the job done!”. And Sherman’s all like, “Hello!?? I have ONE week to get this train wreck of a show up and running, for fuck’s sake! I’m working with troops from all over the goddamn Union, half of whom can’t even do a simple fucking chassé! And that “Mary” wants me to do this, do that, torch Atlanta, march to goddamn Savannah, burn and pillage! Well, you know what? He can burn and pillage my sweet ass!!”

Jambalaya (...I think)

Tue, 14 Jun 2011 18:14:00 -0400

Remember that week when you were sick with the flu (actual flu, not the “drinkers flu”), or you tried to get off Klonopin by going cold-turkey (“a YUGE mistake”), so that whatever you may have cooked and photographed you have absolutely no recollection of whatsoever…until you stumble upon some folder hidden in another folder in your iPhotos?

Well, this is that meal from that week.

I wish I could provide more accurate ingredients, measurements, and step-by-step instructions for this one, but since I don’t have any, you’re gonna have to settle for my after-the-fact play-by-play. Starting with, from the looks of it, that I was trying to make jambalaya….without a recipe….or any experience with Cajun cooking….and, (judging from the missing obligatory scotch pic), no hooch (Oh Gads!!).

It looks like I started with three boneless chicken breasts, which I seasoned and browned in a pan with, (being Maxine’s son), no doubt, a hefty dollop of bacon fat, ‘till they resembled these

Next, I carefully (as opposed to one of my earlier mishaps) sliced up some Kielbasa, and sauteed them in the same pan with all the chicken drippings, and probably a little more fat, till I had a nifty collection of these

Here, it looks like I was whipping up a roux. Roux comes in different shades, from golden brown to a deep brick red, and this one here wound up being….and I’m just speculating, based on my standard impatience in the kitchen, coupled with my adult attention deficit disorder, and lack of photographic evidence…that it was probably deep dark gold color. And I’d like to point out that at this point, there’s no way in heaven or on earth I wasn’t drinking something. Seriously. And why I didn’t photograph whatever it was I was drinking is beyond me. But, if I were to make this dish over again, right this minute, I’d be reaching for the Dewar’s…’cause it’s brown…tasty…and I have one of those big-ass bottles with a handle. A HANDLE.

OK, I guess I chopped up some green peppers and onions and garlic and…OK, there’s definitely some spices in there, right? Maybe some Cayenne pepper? Cumin? Some fancy Cajun blend? I guess, try a lil’ of everything? Anyway, it looks colorful

Wait. Knorr chicken bullion cubes?? Knorr!!?!? Elvis, what happened??!

Overlooking that last ingredient, which came outa nowhere, it appears I tossed everything back into the Creuset, and added a few quarts of water….as well as those bullion cubes (just stop). Knowing what I know, I’m gonna guess I brought it to a boil, lowered it to a simmer, and then covered it and let cook for an hour…or so

In that time, it appears I boiled some rice, to which, (again, being Maxine’s son), I added a long-weekend’s worth of butter (Yeah, I should probably call the ol’ gal and apologize in advance for these mentions). Right before plating, it looks as though I chopped some flat leaf parsley (which reminds me of my brother chastising me…OK, hollering at….for once (and only once) using curly leaf parsley for some dish he saw me preparing (“Dude! ‘the fuck!? You are not using curly leaf parsley!”). Love that kid.

And here we go. A dish I clearly made…and probably enjoyed

Wait. Wait. Wait! What…the hell? There’s shrimp in there, too?

Shrimp?

Fuck.

Elvis and Tom Jones talking watches in Vegas, while an epically...

Thu, 09 Jun 2011 14:27:46 -0400

Elvis and Tom Jones talking watches in Vegas, while an epically coiffured Priscilla looks on, her eyelids weighed down by 4 lbs of mascara. Between E smoking a cigarillo, both he and TJ sporting turtlenecks, and Tom at the early stages of growing out his soon to be massive Welsh Jew-Fro, 1971 was one goddamn hell of a stylish year.

In Praise of "The Sinatra Celebrity Cookbook"

Wed, 27 Apr 2011 16:39:00 -0400

A number of years ago, I was invited to a book party in SoHo for the Lee Brothers’ first cookbook. Typically, I blew all my cash on pre-party-beer that evening, so I couldn’t afford a copy of the boys’ brilliant book (yes, I did buy one eventually, as well as a copy for my mom). I felt bad for walking out of there empty-handed, so I counted my cash and was psyched to learn that I had just enough to buy a used copy of one of the most satisfying cookbook/train-wrecks ever published.

Back in 1996, Frank and Barbara Sinatra were trying to come up with a way raise money for the Barbara Sinatra Children’s Center. So, with Frank’s love of food, and the phone numbers of thousands of sycophantic stars in his Rolodex, a cookbook was the the perfect means. Legend has it that when Frank asked a favor of you, you bet your ass you accommodated the Chairman of the Board, or risked being sent into Peter Lawford exile. Forever.

Frank: “Rickles, I need a favor”

Don Rickles: “Fuck you, Frank!”

Frank “No, fuck YOU, Don!”

Rickles: “No, Frank, fuck YOU!”

Frank: “Goddamnit, Rickles, fuck you!!”

(30 minutes later)

Frank: “What in the goddamn hell is Mandel Bread, you crazy kike!?”

Frank: “Hey, Farr, you cross-dressing freak. It’s Frank. Get your Lebanese ass in gear and send me a goddamn recipe….pronto! Capiche!?”

Jamie Farr: (nearly wetting himself) “Sure, Frank, sure! I was, uh, gonna visit my dying mother in the hospital…But I can put that off. I’m sorry for even mentioning it…sorry…”

Apparently, Larry “J.R.” Hagman just couldn’t be bothered.

At all.

And Henny just couldn’t help himself.

Henny: “Frank, listen to me. Use the joke. Don’t forget. It’ll work. I promise.”

Frank: “For Christ’s sake, you washed-up schmuck, how are you even still alive!? That lame joke was lame when you wrote it…back in World War I!”

Frank: “This is Frank. Listen, T.C., or whatever the hell you played in that goddamn Magnum show…”

Larry Manetti: “Actually, I played ‘Rick’, Mr. Sinatra? Remember, you told me that story about how you and Bogart…”

Frank: “I DON’T CARE! Now listen up, you little prick….”

Frank: “Loni, it’s Frank. How ya feelin’, baby? (lowering voice) Listen, I want to thank you again for coming out to Palm Springs last week when Barbara was away. You take such good care of me. You make me feel like a kid, again… and Jesus….that rack of yours….

Loni Andreson: “Aw, Frank, you’re too sweet”

Frank: “Henry, it’s Frank. Listen, Barbara received your recipe this morning. I gotta say, we were hoping for something ethnic from you….but, JEW ethnic! Not this goddamn Charlie Chang recipe you sent us! You are one crazy mother, you mother! L’chaim”

Frank: “Carol, for Christ’s sake!! That goddamn photo of yours has my grandchildren afraid to go to sleep at night! Jesus, for a broad your age you may wanna think about goin’ easy on the war paint, already!!”

Chicken Korma, Auchentoshan Classic Scotch & No Neil Diamond

Tue, 11 Jan 2011 15:10:00 -0500

Full confession: I am not Indian. Nor, do I have any expertise whatsoever in Mughlai cuisine. Having said that, I absolutely love Indian food, and for years have been coming up with completely bastardized versions of some of its more popular dishes….usually the ones involving a lot of cream. To be sure, I don’t want to offend anyone and imply that I know what I’m doing, but I will stand by the claim that this is an absolutely kick-ass dish.

The first thing you’re gonna want to do is find yourself an Indian grocery store, if you haven’t already (in New York Kalustyan’s is the place). I always wind up spending 4 times as much as I planned because inevitably a dozen items will catch my eye that I hadn’t planned on buying. And when buying in bulk, the prices drop dramatically. For this dish, get yourself some Basmati rice, ghee, cumin, turmeric, cardamon pods, coriander, and…OK, if your not up for that much effort, and don’t feel like grinding your own curry powder (which will give you a fresher mix), a jar of store-bought stuff will do. That’s not to say it’s the same, but for an unauthentic dish like this, it’ll do in a pinch.

On the way home from the market, while your eating the vegetable samosa you bought in their take-out area, pop into your neighborhood liquor store and purchase a bottle of Auchentoshan Classic single malt scotch. This is a terrific, triple-distilled scotch from the Lowlands of Scotland. It boasts an extremely smooth, light, fragrant taste. It’s very easy to drink as a “session scotch”….in this case, the time it takes to prep, cook, and serve this dish.

First thing (at this point, I don’t think I have to mention that “first thing” means AFTER you’ve poured yourself a “Scotch-For-This-Recipe” scotch into your favorite rocks glass w a few cubes)

Whoa….OK, even I am gonna admit that’s a fucking lot of scotch in a rather large rocks glass. If I recall correctly, that was due to me being overly-caffeinated that day, and this damn song coming on my iTunes:

(While I love my fellow Heeb, Mr. Diamond, I don’t recommend this song for this dish…or any dish…ever).

But, I digress.

Next, cube up two boneless, skinless chicken breasts, and 3 or 4 boneless, skinless chicken thighs, and toss into a bowl. Add a good tablespoon of salt, teaspoon pepper, and 3 tablespoons of your curry powder. If you prefer to mix your own powder, this is an awesome recipe from the legendary Madhur Jaffrey. (*see bottom of page).

Mix well so that all the chicken is covered. Next spoon in 1 cup of plain yogurt and stir well.

Ideally, you’ll want to refrigerate this overnight, but a few hours can do quite a lot to flavor and tenderize the meat. Of course, if you’re like me (that is, caffeinated and buzzed on late afternoon-scotch) you’ll take the short route.

When you’re ready to get this sucker going, heat up your trusty Creuset, or Dutch oven of your choice, over medium heat and spoon in three tablespoons of ghee.

Ghee, basically, clarified butter, is made by slowly simmering butter until the water has cooked out and the milk fat solids have sunk to the bottom. Strained, you’re left with a rich and shelf-safe fat. When the ghee is heated toss in one finely chopped onion, six cardamom pods and, after the onion has brown, two chopped cloves of garlic.

Carefully dump in all of the chicken and yogurt mixture and stir well. Keep stirring everything around, taking “stirring sips” of your scotch throughout (I just typed, “stirring sips”…jesus), for about 15 minutes. When the chicken looks cooked and takes on some color, toss in a quarter cup of finely chopped cilantro.

Stir well, and pour in a cup of heavy cream, and another teaspoon of salt.

Stir through and cover. Simmer for 40 minutes. When done, serve with Basmati rice (I’m an unabashed Ina G. fan, and highly recommend her recipe. I’ve made it many times, and it never disappointments…as I’m sure it’s never disappointed her well-fe+d husband, Jeffrey) and garlic nan (no, I don’t have a tandoori oven in my apartment, but it, along with owning a squadron of tanks, is one of my life goals). Garnish with more fresh cilantro and dig in.

Ingredients:

2 boneless and skinless chicken breasts, 3 boneless, skinless chicken thighs
1 onion
2 cloves garlic
bunch of cilantro
1 cup of plain yogurt
1 cup heavy cream
6 cardamom pods
curry powder*
ghee
kosher salt and pepper
1 bottle of Auchentoshan Classic

(Serve with Basmati rice and Nan)

*Curry Powder

Makes about 5 to 6 tablespoons

2 Tbls. whole coriander seeds
1Tbls. whole cumin seeds
2 tsp. whole peppercorns
1 1/2 tsp. whole brown mustard seeds
3 to 4 whole cloves
3 hot dried red chilies, crumbled
1 tsp. whole fenugreek seeds
1 tsp. ground turmeric

Set a small, cast iron frying pan over medium heat. When it is hot, pur coriander seeds, cumin seeds, peppercorns, mustard seeds, cloves and chilies. Stir around until the spices emit a light, roasted aroma. The spices will just begin to turn color. Add the fenugreek seeds and turmeric and stir for 10 seconds. Empty the spices out to cool. When cooled, grind as finely as possible using a spice grinder or food processor.

The New Pinky Ring...Hand-Crafted, Personalized, Elegant & Kicks Ass

Sun, 09 Jan 2011 16:03:45 -0500

This past holiday season, when I wasn’t guzzling HBR’s and scotch, my good friend Karrie A. surprised me with a simply kick-ass Hanukkah gift: a personalized pinky ring. I haven’t worn a ring in ages, but something about this one completely renewed my desire.

Made by the phenomenally talented and super bad-ass Brooklyn-based jewelry designer, Camille Hempel, it’s got all that a fella needs in a ring: it’s silver, it’s got my initials engraved boldly upon its face, it’s Camille’s personal design, and most importantly for a pinky ring, it doesn’t make me wanna pronounce paste e fagioli, like “fa-ZHOU!”, and then go “Ohhhhhh” like Andrew Dice Clay. But, more than anything, it’s one of a kind.

Presenting “A.F. Rapoport’s HBR Batter & Spirits...

Wed, 22 Dec 2010 17:01:00 -0500

Presenting “A.F. Rapoport’s HBR Batter & Spirits kit“™.

The manufacturing of this fine winter elixir was made possible only through the efforts of design genius, Ryan Dunsmuir, and the good people at Dunsmuir & Rapoport Chemists ™.

A limited-run batch is in effect now, but will soon be available at apothecaries everywhere.

(For purchase of an “HBR Batter & Spirits” kit, stay posted on the blog for stores and ordering information)

Hell of Growing Up in the 70’s: It’s 1976, and since...

Fri, 17 Dec 2010 12:04:05 -0500

Hell of Growing Up in the 70’s:

It’s 1976, and since spring you’ve been incessantly nagging your parents every day that all you want for Hanukkah this year is a GI Joe. Finally, the day comes and your parents shock you by totally screwing up and buying you this loser!

Best BLT Since the Battle of Britain (come on, that was nice alliteration)

Mon, 13 Dec 2010 18:47:00 -0500

So, yeah, you can buy yourself a package of “thick cut” bacon at your grocery store. But, what you’re gonna get is a shrink-wrapped, greasy, stack of bacon as thick as a poker chip. That’s not thick. And that’s not gonna work for this BLT. Why not find a local butcher and get yourself entire SLAB of bacon? I strolled over to Florence Prime Meat Market here in the West Village, and bought a slab six inches wide for ten bucks.

Once home (and no, I am not advocating scotch for this project. A. It’s 11:00 AM. And, B. A really cold can of Coke is the only thing you want with this beast). The first thing you need to do is make up a bowl of cocktail sauce/steak sauce. Peter Luger’s Steak Sauce is the best for this, but if you can’t find a bottle you can make up your own version using ketchup, Worcestershire sauce, brown sugar, wine vinegar, olive oil, horseradish and salt and pepper. How much of each? That’s entirely up to you. I’ve been eyeballing it for years and it’s never the same. When you’ve got a bowl to your liking, set it aside and start slicing your bacon. THICK. Like, between a quarter and a half an inch, and then cut in half. When done, slather the slices with the sauce and set aside. Set your oven rack on the space below the very top one, and crank up your broiler.

On a baking sheet, place a cooling rack on top, and lay the slice across, like so

When the oven has reached broiling heights, slide in the bacon (I just typed “slide in the bacon” and didn’t laugh). Now this will go by quickly, so don’t run off to watch “Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade” (particularly, the scene in the castle when Sean Connery says, “I should’ve mailed it to the Marx Brothers!”….ahem). Take a peak after a few minutes. If the bacon is crisping and rendering lot of fat, you’ll wanna get ready to flip ‘em over….with tongs…and a lot of sober care

Do the other side (I just typed “do the other side”) and, again, check on ‘em after a couple minutes. When done, let them cool down a bit on the rack. Next, slice up a pain au levain, or any hearty, white, country bread of your choice that comes in a big-ass loaf. Lightly toast two slices and slather both halves (that’s BOTH HALVES) with mayonnaise…Hellmann’s, of course…and top with slices of ripe tomatoes.

Top the tomatoes with a few good slices of bacon, like so

Tempted as you may be, there’s no need to add salt here. Next, slice up a nice ripe Hass avocado and lay (lie?) slices atop the meat. And yes, season the avocados now

Finally, add some crisp iceburg lettuce, put the top on, and carefully slice. Hell yeah. Now, eat this

Ingredients

slab smoked bacon
iceberg lettuce
ripe tomato
Hellmann’s mayonnaise
Hass avocado
loaf of pain au levain
ketchup
Worcestershire sauce
wine vinegar
horseradish
brown sugar
olive oil
kosher salt
pepper
can of Coke