Oddities and Obsessions

CASEYMANIA: Gnocchi American (Idol) Style

This past January, something hot and sexy began creeping its way through the chilly winter snows in Idyllwild, California. Locals were struck with the highly contagious Caseymania, which is like Beatlemania but without the screaming hysterical teenage girls. Well, not in Idyllwild, at least. But to inhabitants of this tiny mountain town, it was close to the same thing.

The median age of the town’s 4,000 inhabitants is 47.2, so hysterical screaming might have been at a minimum, but instead, this all-American town offered up enduring and low-key pride. Casey Abrams is the town’s boy, they own him, they love him and they support him. Even now that he’s been “voted off”, their hope springs eternal.

“He gets to tour, bound to make upwards of a hundred-fifty thou,” you hear an old-timer say with the cantankerous certainty of a gold prospector. Poor Casey never stood a chance. He had three big strikes against him in the TV-blurred minds of the American Idol voters (them being tweenage girls).

Strike 1: He’s funny-looking.
Strike 2: He’s a ginger.
Strike 3: He’s undeniably talented.

I Don't Like the Rules

Let me just say it right here, with the internet as my witness, "I have a serious addiction to potatoes." There, my secret is out.

It's sad, but I am unable to consume a reasonable amount of potatoes when they are placed in close proximity.

Whether they are mashed, made into gratin, scalloped, french fried, baked, latkes, chips and even tater tots, (I could go on and on), I have a propensity to over-indulge in this tuberous root vegetable.

Even when called a tuberous root vegetable, it still doesn't turn me off. I think I'm a potato ho.

I rank potatoes right up there with butter and mayonnaise. Spuds and I go way back.

What I don't appreciate is the "unspoken potato rule". Yes, there is one.

The rule is, "we always wait for the main course meal to enjoy this perfect food".

WHY?

The Chicken Pot Pie

I am on a constant hunt for The Chicken Pot Pie. A hunt that has become dangerously like an obsession. I talk about it constantly. My close friends are pretty much bored with my singular food quirk. I, decidedly, am not. I was talking to a friend of mine at work, groaning over the lack of flavorful snacks in our immediate vicinity and she mentioned The Chicken Pot Pie. I was floored, to say the least. How did she know? Perhaps I was going on about it. Again

She directed me to a restaurant in downtown Los Angeles called WoodSpoon. I made a beeline after work to 9th and Spring, around the corner from the Fashion Mart. WoodSpoon smells like spices and the comfort of home. I ordered one of the last Chicken Pot Pies. (Apparently, they're famous for them.) It arrived topped with a light flakey crust and chock full of savory, shredded chicken and fresh corn with just enough spice to take it from the blandness that it's chicken pot pie brothers and sisters often have.

The Care and Feeding of a Shellfishaholic

Hi, I'm Dave and I'm a shellfishaholic. My wife wants me to stop writing about shellfish because they aren't everyone's cup of tea. But I can't resist the temptation. When we were in Boston recently, the one restaurant I had to visit was the Union Oyster House. While Michael and Michelle rested at the hotel, I snuck away and happily indulged in a dozen oysters and a bowl of clam chowder.

Today at the Santa Monica Farmers' Market, Carlsbad Aquafarm had fresh oysters, clams, mussels, and live abalone. I wanted to buy everything. I showed some restraint. I only bought the oysters and clams.

A nice thing about shellfish is they keep in the refrigerator for several days as long as you follow a couple of suggestions. Oysters need to be stacked in a bowl with the rounded part of the shell down, so the oyster sits in its own liquid. Clams will drown if they're submerged in water. Save a plastic basket that comes with strawberries. Cut it in half, put it on the bottom of a bowl and the clams on top. That will keep the clams above any water they spit out while they're waiting in the refrigerator.

Butter Pines

A few years ago I started a poll on Facebook. I wanted to know what possessions make people feel wealthy that aren’t expensive or fancy. Like toilet paper. When I have ample rolls of toilet paper I feel strangely satisfied. And pens. When I have a lot of pens I feel very, very rich in a weird way. I just love to not have to go searching high and low for them. I like bundles of them in the office and kitchen and living room and a few in the bedroom even. I know it’s weird. I know.

The thing that always makes me feel rich in the kitchen is butter. When I have copious amounts of butter I feel that anything is possible.

A month ago Shannon and I took a short road trip down to North Carolina. He has two grand-aunts in Southern Pines that he hadn’t seen in years and felt like reconnecting with. I was a little reluctant because I would be addressing two of my biggest fears – elderly relatives of boyfriends and my belief that all relationships end on long road trips. I’m happy to report neither of my fears came to fruition. In actuality, Shannon’s grand-aunts are about as adorable a pair as I’ve ever met; little and feisty with high pitched, low toned drawls that made me chuckle every time they said anything.

Oddities and Obsessions