The Lunch Encounter

An intriguing alert came in over the transom a while back from Suits-Herself-Cindy:

Jon and I went to dinner tonight at the Lebanese Butcher and Market in Falls Church. It was delicious. He had lamb chops and I had a Saudi Arabian goat dish. Really, really good. Yummy rice and sauces and little pickled veggies, plus the delicious meat.

But, you should check out the sandwiches. They have some crazy lamb sandwiches — lamb liver and heart sandwich? Lamb brain sandwich?

I think Freya would like it because they have a big tacky waterfall that she would think was cool. Plus I want to check out the market which I did not do on this visit.

Lotsa labne and cans of “Luncheon Meat”. Whoa.

Wondering what to do with labne?

Labne and Mint Sandwiches (Recipe from Desert Candy)
1 sheet marquq bread (Lebanese mountain bread), or savory crepe or other very thin bread
Labne
Olive oil
Fresh mint leaves
Pitted black olives – nice ones

1. Preheat a griddle. Spread a thick layer of labne over half the bread. Drizzle with olive oil, scatter mint leaves and olives over top. Fold bottom half of bread up over filling, then fold in half to form a triangle. Place sandwich on the griddle just to briefly toast each side. Slice sandwich in half into two smaller triangles, eat immediately.

A few people I know have mentioned it. It’s in this little corner of Falls Church where there are a lot of hole-in-the-wall restaurants. I don’t know how many of them are good, but this one was great.

At one point a man walked through from the store carrying this enormous, very ornate gold platter with a lid. I think that you can probably order a whole goat for a party and it comes in something like that. Jon and I both said to each other at the same time that WE want to have a party with a goat on a huge ornate platter. We’ll have to think of an occasion.

The place is on the dingy side with, as I mentioned, a large tacky waterfall. So, the ambiance is lacking a little. But it didn’t really matter at all.

If you are interested I’ll go with you and try the liver and heart. Not sure I can do the brain one.

I could, and I do, and I did. Cindy, to her credit, took a healthy taste, and liked it. Loving seeing this sort of thing – a maligned food – on a menu and hope that it is ordered often enough to keep ’em available. After all, in the words of frequent Lunch Encounter guest David Kmetz,

“If you think about our ancient ancestors, they fed mostly on fruits, nuts, berries and greens – things that were easy to harvest and consume with a minimum of fuss. Bringing down a 3-ton mammoth or mastadon was a totally different matter, and probably was the rare exception to the omnivore diet. Plus, they used every bit of that kill – the skin for warm clothing, the bones and tusks for weapons and tools, the guts for food and casings, etc.”

And the brain for sandwiches, I betcha.

Lamb brain sandwich on the left, heart/liver/kidney on the right. We both preferred heart/liver/kidney. Enjoying brain…nature or nurture? I prefer them with nice, brown, crispy edges. Sautéed in clarified butter does the trick. You gotta play tricks on the mind to eat a brain.

Color me 40 shades of inlove with Lebanese Butcher. 40 shades of inlurve, inloaf, inlabne.

Pickled Turnips
KABEES EL LIFT

This is an Authentic Lebanese Recipe

2 cups water
1 cup vinegar
2 tsp. salt
1 beetroot
Several garlic cloves

Big glass jars of these rose colored pickles decorate the front windows of many Arab restaurants in the Middle East. They are easily prepared and are very good with meza.

Wash turnips well and cut off a slice from the tops and bottoms. Slice lengthwise into quarter-inch slices to within a half-inch of the bottom of the turnip. Do not separate the slices entirely from each other. Soak in water overnight. Wash well in the morning. Place in glass jar with the beetroot, to give color to the pickles. Cover with the pickling solution prepared from the above ingredients.

These pickles may be eaten after three days.

The letter read,
Dear Aunt Barb,
Today was a grat day.

The bf, his kids, my kid and I had grat day out in Charlottesville, VA. Monticello, the beloved and inventive home of Thomas Jefferson is just outside of Charlottesville, and a visit to Monticello precipitated the outing, obstensibly. Thomas Jefferson is cool and all, author of the Declaration of Independence (can you imagine?) and all, the man who brought ice cream to the United States, founder of the University of Virginia with it’s graciously porticoed dwellings, innovative farmer, and the man who had the instinct to bring vanilla from Paris to Virginia.  Yup, Jefferson is cool and all, all 6 feet 2 and all….but we hadda have lunch!

FEAST

Yup, it was a grat day, way back when. Earlier this year, I think, 2010. Now we are headed towards 2011 and a whole new world of lunch encounters. Declaring independence indeed.

Speaking of TADAAAA, the Thor T@da has me filled with lustful desire. When the workday clock ticks in half time, I dream of a sandwich safari, Tada in tow.

T@B just got bigger. Introducing T@DA. (Pronounced “Tah-Dah”)

The mighty fine boyfriend and I went to Mexico and, naturally, it seems like eons ago, although it was just earlier this year, during the stretch we thought would never end, the snowmaggeddon stretch that ~pouf~ evaporated into bursting-at-the-pollen-puffed-seams SPRING. Boing, bounce, bing, boing. It is as warm here now as it was in Mexico then.
The choices, thanks be to the gods, are limited on Isla Holbox, when it comes to lunchtime. Limited choices in all things there. More thanks, genuinely. We revisited Pablo’s sweet lunch encounter under the tarpaulin, and he was a first class act through and through every day, in or out of his chef whites. The beauty of small town life was incapsulated there. Richness and depth within limits, something that has been hot on my mind lately after being reminded by Wendell Berry that parameters are a thing of beauty. An unavoidable gift.
Tortas were new to me. Just when you think there is nothing new to be revealed to you, along comes a torta, or rather, along came I, TO the torta, and life was fresh again. Fresh and exciting, both exotic and wonderfully ordinary.

Pablo said “Spag-ghe-teeeeee” when I snapped his picture. Try it yourself. Loosens the cheeks more naturally than “Cheeeese”, which sometimes turns a smile into a jaw-clenching grimace.

Heat is good for my appetite. When my shoulders unhunch and my fingers are limber enough to wrap themselves around an oozing zeppelin of a sandwich, the conversation simultaneously brightens and slows, companionship over a table appeals again, and I feel hungry, truly hungry, for meals that hang ten over the edges of the plate, and for the crawl of juice running down my arms.Phoenix Magazine knows that a Mexican torta is not for dessert and that it is not goopy. Goopy?? Not on Isla Holbox under Pablo’s canopy. And not The Cochinita, distinguished on the mag’s best sandwich list.

As many times as I have been to Arizona, I have yet to set foot in Phoenix. Some folks say it is a culinary desert, but I don’t believe it. I don’t believe in culinary deserts. There is always something good to eat, if you look hard enough and with unlimited parameters.

SANDWICHUESAS

Meatball Addendum
A meatball sub is one of those Let’s-See-What-We-Can-Put-On-Bread-and-Get-Away-with-It sort of sandwiches, and the category is shared by many stellar mega-meals. The Mother-in-Law sandwich, the Eggplant Parmesan sandwich, and the Spaghetti sandwich, is a trio that springs to mind fully loaded.

$5. Let’s do the math. That’s 41.66666666666¢ per inch. Even at that low, low, low, how-low-can-you-go low price, I’m not tempted. Meat may be my favorite condiment, but I was not ment to be cond. Puffy bread? No thank you. Twelve inches of puffy bread soaked soggy in sweet sauce? No thank you. To be frank, I do not want the words “foot” and “meatball” paired unless we are discussing a medical condition, in which case, let’s take that up after our meal, please.

The sub in this photo stared me down, stretching four feet across and two feet tall. OMG, and I do not mean, Oh Meatball Goodness, that thingama-bob was huge. A true thingama-robert. Hugh-gggh. With the emphasis on ugh.

Don’t get me wrong. I am not condemning meatball subs. Notatall. No no no. But I’ll take a pass on footlong. Footlong. Footlong. Footlong. The word itself is utterly weird. No thank you. Six inches will do.

SHE IS THE SOURCE OF ALL FOOD.

Earth Day 2010 has come and gone, and the earth remains. Phew.

One of the pleasures of being a parent is school events FOR WHICH YOU DO NOT VOLUNTEER! The 40th anniversary of Earth Day at Barcroft Elementary included an extremely popular quote-unquote VOLCANO, which erupted over and over and over onto the blacktop. Whooee that blacktop must have been sticky the next day, all that diet coke and mento shrapnel. Not sure what this all had to do with Earth Day, but we hotfooted it outside each time an eruption was on the brink.

There were “stations” in the all-purpose room, manned by parents and teachers and other people who are not bothered by chaos and cacophany. We learned stuff, such as, uh, something to do with friction and a cd spinning on a table, and, uh, uh, oh I dunno. Ask a 4th grader. Little sponges, they are. Not like me, mind made of impenetrable concrete. We made food faces, don’t ask me why, although I was hungry so it worked out fine. Broad strokes, don’t you know. They get the drift – food, earth, friction, earth, reuse, reduce, recyle, earth, chaos and cacophany, earth. Connecting the dots is something kids seem to do without question. Big and little leaps, without stuntmen.

I have been hammering it into his head for almost 10 years now, and he seems to know on which side his bread is buttered. The mother side. If you are a mother, or have a mother, or have a mother figure (my figure becomes more motherlike every day…) you know about buttering her up. When the mom is happy, everyone is happy. The converse is something we never want to see…again. It is scary. I have seen the reflection of my unhappiness in my son’s eyes and it was super scary. He does know to be kind to his mother and to his mother earth. The latter’s wrath is immeasurable, and she does not bounce back at the drop of a simple little apology.

My dad had a whole lot to do with the first Earth Day and I like to brag on that. Funny to think of inventing a holiday and having it take hold so firmly, and become international. What is another word for amazing, something more accurate? Let me check the What-Is-Another-Word-For-Thesaurus. Those were some solid men, back in those days, Gaylord Nelson for one, my dad’s boss. Astonishing.

There.

Can the Jewish Deli Be Reformed?

I am so excited and happy about all the changes that are happening with food in the US, all the changes that involve any of these catchwords: grass, fed, sustain, ethical, local, individual, community, food……… I don’t care if this makes me a cliche and I don’t care if anyone uses any of these catchwords to describe me: bleeding heart, knee jerk, yellow dog…. Happy to have a happiness that is ethical, sustainable, local, grass-roots fed, and in an unprocessed state. That happiness need not be individual. How bout global? I could be sustained on that.

Let’s toast the end of tax season with Rick’s Picks pickles! We’re here to give you a well deserved break with FREE SHIPPING! Just purchase a minimum of four jars of our mouthwatering pickles, and we’ll ship to you anywhere in the contiguous US absolutely free. It’s that simple. Now is the time to treat your loved ones – that includes you! – to some wholesome pickled goodness. You can choose from one of our awesome giftpacks or mix and match as you prefer. As long as you order at least four jars, shipping is on the house.

Please remember that our free shipping offer ends Saturday, April 17 at midnight EST.

Don’t forget to include coupon code taxbreak when you check out.

Order your pickles today!

Cheers,

Rick’s Picks

Feelin’ all patriotic, taxes paid. Phrugal Phanny is the new Phat Cat. Free shipping? I’m all over it like pickle juice on the front page. I owe, I owe, so off to work I went. Home now, home sweet home, and lining up some sour rewards in the form of peeeeckles!

Oh Meatball Goodness

You get some bread with your one meatball.*

The world has never known a more perfect meatball hero. The bread is a demi-baguette from Il Forno Bakery in the Bronx, crusty without being so tough that the ingredients squirt out the sides. The cheese is excellent fresh mozzarella—not the packaged stuff that masquerades as mozzarella, smothering

most of the city’s meatball heros like a vengeful heir with a pillow. Chunky and bright red, the sauce has a bit of zip to it, but does not overwhelm the other ingredients. And what about the meatballs? They’re of small circumference, beefy, and slightly herbal-tasting.

I acquired this magnificent sandwich at the Meatball Shop, a new restaurant on Stanton Street that does only one thing, but does it very well. While the $9 price tag may seem excessive, especially with a similar-size hero available at every pizza parlor in town for $5 or $6, note that this one comes with a baby spinach salad topped with lemon vinaigrette and thinly sliced apples, transforming your hero into a balanced meal.

Read on.

Ahem, a hero is a balanced meal. Don’t you remember, from In Defense of Food, a person can practically survive on hotdogs, like for months?? A meatball sub is SO much more than a hotdog. Not that I am knocking hotdogs, cause I am not. I swear.

*ONE MEAT BALL

Little man walked up and down,To find an eatin’ place in town. He looked the menu thru and thru, To see what a dollar bill might do.

One meat ball, One meat ball, One meat ball, All he could get was one meat ball.

He told that waiter near at hand, The simple dinner he had planned. The guests were startled one and all, To hear that waiter loudly call.

One meat ball, One meat ball, One meat ball, All he could get was one meat ball.

Little man felt so ill at ease, He said: “Some bread Sir, if you please.” The waiter hollered down the hall: You get no bread with your one meat ball.

Little man felt so very bad, One meat ball is all he had. And in his dreams he can still hear that call You get no bread with your one meat ball.

Googie-of-the-Month Club
Kite Coffee Shop 1961 by Hyun + Whitney Architects | 9131 S. Vermont | Inglewood

Googie Style

Came upon this last week on Route 66 just a tiny bit east of Flagstaff. Still open and in need of a little tender loving care. Could I take it home, pretty please, and build a sandwich shop around it?