Mango And Pomegranate Molasses Glazed Ribs

What beefy braised short ribs are to winter tenacious baby backs are to summer. You don't need a smoker (or even a grill) to make these bad boys. Just a regular oven, 250 degrees of heat and four hours. The marinade, which owes it's complexity to sticky, sour pomegranate molasses, a staple Middle Eastern condiment, becomes the sauce when reduced. Baste the ribs every hour on the hour and finish under the broiler for a glossy mahogany lacquer we really dig.

Marinade:

1 cup pomegranate molasses (hit Bitar's on Federal)

1 can tamarind juice

2 limes, juice and rinds

2 garlic cloves, smashed

2 stalks lemongrass, smashed

1 cup fresh mango, roughly chopped

1/2 jalapeno

1/4 cup rice wine vinegar

Put all ingredients in Ziplock bag. Add ribs and marinade 1 hour to overnight. Remove ribs to cook, then add marinade to saucepot. Bring to a boil, then simmer till glossy and thick. Remove garlic peel and limes, add reduction to blender with another cup fresh mango. Puree till smooth, adding water to thin if necessary. Season with salt and pepper. Use the sauce to glaze the ribs, reserving some extra for tossing ribs in before serving.

Photo: blogalicious

$40, Fork Etc.

We've been itching to get to Fork etc. for Terence Feury's $40 Wednesday dinner. Tonight just might be the night after seeing the menu via Profile PR on Twitter:

First Course

Copper River salmon tartare
red sorrel, mustard oil & crispy shallots

Second Course
House made swiss chard-ricotta agnolotti with garlic scapes, lemon and parsley

Third Course
Choice of:

Pan roasted duck breast
pickled local cherries, wheat berries, spring onions, red wine-glazed cippolinis
or
Seared skate
toasted hazlenuts, local green beans, aged balsamic reduction

Dessert

Blueberry Clafouti with house made gelato

Uh, yum.

Photo: Fork

Brotherly Love: Summer In Philly, Says Bon Appetit

The just-dropped July ish of Bon Appetit treated our fair city to a two-page travel spread. Woo-wee! Restaurant Editor Andrew Knowlton (AKA the dude that made every critic in the city, present company included, revisit Little Fish after placing it on his Top 10 US Seafood restaurants round-up) drops the official rec on nationally recognized favorites Franklin Fountain, Zahav and Osteria, but also impresses us by including SPTR, Johnny Brenda’s and Bella Vista Beer Distributor. His nugget about that last one really has us ear-to-ear:

“Skip the shops selling mini Liberty Bell replicas and head to this 40,000-square-foot beer store behemoth for a souvenir you can really enjoy. Choose from Stoudts, Sly Fox, Tröegs, and more of the area's many craft brews.”

It’s nice to be recognized when you do something right, and as screwed up as Philly occasionally is, beer is definitely an area where we come correct. Beer is actually a common thread running through Knowlton’s round-up. Nice. In the same issue, there’s a cool story on American India Pale Ales that shows love to both Dogfish Head’s 60 Minute and Victory Hopdevil.

Photo: Randy Harris for BonAppetit

Headhouse Highlight: Yoder Heirlooms' Nasturtiums

Edible flowers. If you've ever been to a wedding reception, or a certain breed of trying-to-be-chic-but-not-really-succeeding restaurant, you've seen them. Orchids, probably. Dewy and crisp. Vain white petals, bursting open to flaunt their fuchsia insides from a corner of the plate. We spent six years working in catering, during which we saw (and ate) enough of these showy (but flavorless) blooms to make us cringe when we hear the words 'edible flower.' Turns out, though, all blossoms are not created equal. Case in point: nasturtiums. We're growing them this year (along with johnny jump ups, an edible violet), with a seedling from Longview Farms. They've yet to bloom, so when we saw these red-and-yellow nasturtiums on Matthew Yoder's table at Headhouse Square, we snatched them up for an advance screening. Nasturtium means 'nose-twister'; one bite of this crunchy, peppery flower and you'll understand why. Watercress and arugula are good flavor comparisons, and you can use the blossoms anywhere you'd use either of those greens. They're dope in salads, where they lend a shot of color and spice, or with fruit (above). We tossed them with strawberries, dried peaches, a squeeze of orange, salt, pepper and Chinese five spice for a sweet sidecar to yesterday's lunch. Today, they top our Wildflour challah french toast.

The Easiest Summer Dessert You Will Ever Make: Granita

At blogalicious, we like to cook, which involves tasting, guessing, improvisation. We do not, on the other hand, like to bake, which involves math, science, measuring and all kind of yucky numbers that just make us hungry. To this effect, you might say we're like Rachael Ray. With better boobs. Due to this baking aversion, dessert in our kitchen in the summer often involves granita, so easy it practically makes itself. This week, we zipped up a zinger: strawberry-lime-and-black pepper, spicy and sour and sweet and icy and so wickedly refreshing. Recipe below, but once you master the basic concept of making the stuff, the flavor combinations are endless. Peach and ginger? Cantaloupe and basil? Chocolate-espresso? Yes, yes, yes. The key: Keep it seasonal, with the best local produce you can find.

Strawberry-Lime-Black Pepper Granita (4 servings)

2 cups fresh strawberries, washed and hulled

4 limes, juice and zest

2 tbsp. agave nectar

Handful mint, chopped

Freshly ground black pepper

Blend berries, lime juice and agave in blender till smooth. (Straining the mix is optional; we like the texture the seeds add.) Pour puree into freezer-proof square or rectangular casserole dish. Scatter chopped mint on top of the puree. Add a few twists of black pepper. Pop in the freezer. In 45 minutes, remove from freezer and scape across the surface of the frozen puree with fork, creating ice crystals. Return dish to freezer and repeat every half-hour until the granita is the texture of a coarser, drier water ice (about three times). Spoon granita into bowl, garnish with mint spring and a twist of black pepper.

Photo: blogalicious

See Scapes

We've written about these curly green critters before, but truth is, we love us some garlic scapes so much you're just gonna have to sit there and listen to us extol their virtues all over again. The twisting coils impart such a cool garlickiness to dishes; the flavor is not quite ramp, not quite leek or scallion, definitely not full-blown head of garlic. Singularly scape. They're great raw, roasted, sauteed in butter and olive oil, but our favorite vehicle for the garlic scape's unusual flavor is pesto. We just whipped up a batch with scapes from Weavers Way based on last summer's recipe, with a few improvements. Instead of straight almonds, we used half almonds and half pignoli (and toasted a handful of both to bring out some smokiness). Also, we rounded out the basil with some grapefruit mint and lemon balm, both of which are threatening to overtake the yard (but really, pesto loves all herbs, so by all mean, use what you've got). The ingredient that made the difference in this summer's scape pesto might surprise you: green grapes. Scapes on their own can be a little astringent; the grapes' natural sugars smooths the rough edges, accentuates the sweetness of the herbs and provides a burst of mouthwatering juiciness we dig. Be sure to use green grapes, so as to not fuck with your pesto's beautiful green-yellow hue. Make a huge batch; it freezes so well you'll be able to eat June long into December.

Top Chef Master Speaks To PW

Christopher Lee, former four bell-winning Striped Bass chef and current big fish at NYC's Aureole (we really just want to keep calling it Aereola), spoke to us last week about his experience on new Bravo series Top Chef Masters. Dude had some interesting things to say.

Photo: NBC

Hot Blog Alert: Panemiele

In scouring the web for a truffle shot worthy of the post above, we stumbled across this awesome blog: Panemiele. If high school Italian serves us right, it means ‘honey-bread,’ and blogmistress Elisabetta Tiveron, has put a spell on us with her so-good-you-could-eat-them pictures of fiori di frolla, peach and lavender muffins, almond budini and (above) pink peppercorn frullati. Once we removed the laptop from our mouth, we learned Tiveron is a culinary consultant in Venice. Feel free to translate her blog and website to English, but both are so much better in Italian. For a straight food porn fix, head right to her Flickr photostream.

Photo: Panemiele

Chocolate News

Every Tuesday through Friday from 5:30pm to 8pm, chic chocolateria La Golosa runs a happy hour with specials on its chocolate shakes ($4.50), hot chocolate ($4) and truffle degustazione (10% off). We’ve already creamed over the frothy clove-and-cinnamon-spiced chocolate frullato here; now owner Fabio Scarpelli is aiming for multiples with new flavors like Chocolate Coconut and Salty Chocolate & Caramel. Florentine chocolatier Andrea Bianchini supplies the interesting truffles: Olive Oil & Tahitian Vanilla, Passion Fruit & Sichuan Pepper, Saffron and more.

In other truffle news, late-to-the-gate blogalicious recently discovered been-around-forever Sazon, the Venezuelan BYOB on a stretch of Spring Garden that looks a lot like downtown Bangkok. Inside, though, was straight tropic retreat, the kind of place a Caracas concierge might direct you to if you asked where the locals go. We’re reviewing for PW, so deets are embargoed for now, but know that Sazon serves an array of hot chocolates and truffles, made from in-house starting from the raw cocoa beans.

Photo: Veronica’sTestKitchen

Mysterious Mr. Mack & Manco

Every summer, there is one meal we just can’t wait to tear into: Mack & Manco pizza on the Ocean City boardwalk. From the moment we finish the last slice of Labor Day pie, the clock starts ticking down the months till the following Memorial Day. This storied pizza parlor—there are three on the b’walk—is open year-round, but out of its summer context, it’s just not the same. So it was with great vigor Memorial Day Sunday 2009, we drove from the summer digs in Ventnor to the OC, braving the myopic Jag-driving Margate bubbes and feral state troopers on the Longport Bridge along the way.

The place was buzzing. Swarms of sunburn WASPs filled the tables. Green vinyl stools and tweeners in OCBP hoodies lined the long counter, behind which the pizzaiolas in fashion pies from floured discs of dough, bus-pans full of shredded cheese and tomato sauce pumped from a hose. They doughboys wear threadbare Mack & Manco’s logo tees and all manners of bandana and sweatband. With the double-decker rotating pizza ovens right behind them, shit gets hot.

We slid into one of the sloping faux-wood booths covered in shamrock-green vinyl, ordered large Pennsylvania Dutch Birch Beers from the fountain and two pies: a large plain and a large white with spinach and broccoli, approximately 20 slices of pizza for three people. Mack & Manco’s signature thin-crust—the crust we’ve been eating since we were shoobee bambinos—it’s so beautifully thin, putting away four slices isn’t a challenge, it’s a given.

The pies came one after the other, crowing the tabletop, forcing us to Tetris the soda cups, cell phones, paper plates and oregano shakers. This was it, the moment for which we’d been waiting eight months. One bite, another…. Then another… Something was wrong. Something was different. The cheese didn’t taste the same. Nor did the gravy. Instead of the signature opposing swirls of red and yellow, the cheese bled into the sauce, clinging to it like an infection.

Devastated. The right word to describe the mood at the table. Keep in mind, as long as we’ve been eating solid foods is as long as we’ve been eating Mack & Manco’s, and it’s always tasted deliciously the same. Devastated. We looked around, searching for the waiter to tell us we’d been punked. Things began coming into horrible focus. The pizza-makers, we didn’t recognize them. Nor the waiters. Dudes whose faces we’d seen summer after summer—Chipmunk Guy, Guy Who Looks Like A Male Version Of Our Friend Cara, Bug Eyes, Older Guy Who Sweats, Jayson Werth Twin… None of them weren’t here. And where was the Coppertoned matriarch, her head hiding under a bottle-blonde bouffant? It was like the cocktail party scene in Mulholland Drive, when Naomi Watts is looking around and slowly realizes something is very, very wrong.

Ok, ok. We had accidentally come to the Eighth Street location. Without fail, we hit the Ninth Street parlor, AKA The One With The Bathroom. That was explanation, we told ourselves. It had to be. Never mind all three locations serve exactly the same pizza. It was the only thing that slightly made sense, and we seized onto it like a life preserver.

A return visit was scheduled. This past Tuesday night. Again, we drove from the summer digs in Ventnor to the OC. The myopic Jag-driving Margate bubbes and feral state troopers seemed more foreboding than usual. It had just rained, and there was a fierce blood-orange sun sinking below the misty gray marshes of Great Egg Bay. Halloween horror movie stuff.

This time, we went to the Ninth Street outpost, settled into a booth, ordered Birch Beer and a large plain pie, extra-crispy for good measure. It came. We sweated. It looked all right. The opposing sauce and cheese spirals, there. The very light sheen of oil, present. Big bubbles around the rim, check. What would we do if this pie sucked too? Never eat at Mack & Manco’s again? The possibility, well, it seemed downright apocalyptic. There’s no doubt better pizza to be found at Osteria, Tony’s Place and elsewhere—but none of those pizzerias are as tied to our formative eating experiences and food memory bank as this bare-bones joint facing the dark surf and salt-laden breezes.

One bite. Another… The crunch, the slippery onslaught of sauce and cheese. The burns on the roof of our mouths. There it was! That mysterious trinity of smoky, charred bread; bright, lightly sweet tomatoes and cheese, hot, stringy, gooey and comforting. Folks tend to speculate on Mack & Manco’s secrets: olive juice in the gravy, extra-sharp white cheddar mixed with the mozz. We don’t know—or care to expose—their magic tricks. We’re only thankful for their pizza, for another summer at least.

Photo: blogalicious

Headhouse Highlight: Blooming Glen Strawberries

Late spring means one thing: strawberries, baby. Yesterday, we picked up two pints of Tom Murtha and Tricia Borneman’s pretty little antioxidant bombs at the market. Today, they were the sweet-tart foil to creamy Patches of Star chevre in a summery breakfast salad. Eat your heart out, Driscoll’s.

Photo: blogalicious