Editor’s Note: iPhone Down. (aka the “To Upgrade or Not to Upgrade Photography?” Post)

For better or worse, thus far one of the conceits of the BLD Project is to use photos taken with  my iPhone.

avg. iPhone low-res photo

Which means no flash, no high-res, can’t get too close otherwise, no focus, either.

Pros: On the other hand, having taken thousands of photos with the iPhone camera, I’ve gotten fairly good at it.

Plus, taking photos with an iPhone allows me to fly in stealth mode as much as possible, which is always a good thing.

Cons: Yeah, I know. Often, the photos sort of suck. Particularly the dark and blurry ones. (But isn’t that okay?)

This is going to be a moment of reckoning for the BLD Project.

using a 5.1 MB digital camera

Most likely, my iPhone is truly lost (still in denial). Most likely, I’m not getting a new iPhone until the 4G comes out in a few months.

But I’m certainly not taking a break from blogging.

So what to do?

Digital cameras are so small and amazing in 2010. Should I embrace the moment and upgrade BLD Project to photos worthy of food porn status? Or should I stay true to the blog’s guerrilla style?

Finding the South of France in the Most Unexpected of Places

J’adore, as in love, love, love, the South of France, and so often, all that love has nowhere to go.

No longer! I’m utterly smitten with Pates et Traditions, a quiet little restaurant on a pleasant block of Havemeyer Street just around the corner…

Its bright interior is so charming — a mix of sturdy country woods and wrought-iron table sets, walls adorned with bric-à-brac from the region — that if it weren’t for the large picture windows overlooking the brick walls of a local printing business, you very well may feel as if you’d clicked your heels three times, opened your eyes and found yourself nowhere near New York (or Williamsburg). (This is a good thing.)

In addition to keeping true French hours — Pates et Traditions may or may not be open for lunch on weekdays, depending on the weather — the menu is so quintessentially French:

House wine starts at $5 a glass (and it isn’t bad); a short list of fresh salads feature Provençal herbs and olives. There are a few pasta dishes and some regional specialties — such as la pissaladiere, a Niçoise pizza topped with onions, herbs, anchovies and olives from Provence ($12) — but on this first visit, I never got past the crêpes.

Sweet crêpes, savory crêpes, how to choose!

From a list nearly 20 deep, I settled on the forestiere ($10): strips of ham, mushrooms, garlic, parsley, in a creamy bechamel sauce, tucked in a pocket-like fashion into a traditional buckwheat crêpe.

(Known in France as a “galette,” buckwheat crêpes have the added bonus of being gluten-free and loaded with good nutrition.)

On a quiet early evening in the middle of the week, the pleasant pattering of the conversation en français between the proprietor and the single server was a pleasant backdrop to a solo meal.

In a quiet state of contemplative happiness, my crêpe and wine before me, I imagined myself sitting in all the different seats in the house eating my way through the entire menu — from the pillow seats in large, picture windows, and once the weather’s just a touch nicer, saddling up on the high chairs out front and watching the world go by.

It appears that I will not be moving out of the neighborhood anytime soon.

Pates et Traditions, 52 Havemeyer St. at N. 6th St., Brooklyn, 646-409-4019. Cash only.

Editor’s Note: Hey There, BLD Project (aka the “Sunset Over My 2009″ Post … Which has Nothing to do with Moon Over my Hammy)

Hey There, BLD Project. I’ve missed you. I’m ready to get back to it.

December 31, 2009,
New Year’s Eve,

So … the days of fresh fruit platters and free mini candy bars piled high in the sky (no joke, I remember such a thing) are long, long gone.

On domestic flights, even the free meal in first class is more novelty than quality these days. But, hell, it was New Year’s Eve. The sun setting over the decade — there’s no way I wasn’t going to live it up.

(It should be noted I do have a small affinity for United Airlines’ snack box program. I’ve been entirely on board since they started charging $5 for the things like, several years ago.)

I splurged and ordered the “Luxe” ($7) and a small French-produced sparkling wine ($8):

A little Rondele spreadable cheese, olives from the Spain, sesame breadsticks from Italy, squeezable hummus from … (Portland, Oregon?), a big chocolate-covered pretzel, and, and…

Really, with this sunset, what did it matter where or when I landed. I was already on board.

(Post Script: I’ve missed the rest of you who read this blog, too.)

Saturday: Follow that Roving School of Goldfish (aka the “Observations from the Art Fest in DUMBO” Post)

One of the tenets of the BLD Project is that it isn’t just a blog about eating (although that certainly happens a lot). It’s also about how we get there, the decisions, the factors that influence us, along the way.

So I loved stumbling across installations at the Under the Bridge Festival in DUMBO on Saturday — one of my favorite annual cultural events in the city — that directly and indirectly addressed the decisions we make on a daily basis about what to eat.

In the Gemini Corporation’s short film, “Barter,” which screened continuously inside The Cardboard Gallery, an alternative art space made of recycled cardboard, residents of a small Eastern European village bartered for artworks with food. “For this one I would give 40 kilos of potatoes,” says one man.

Elsewhere, Reina Kubota’s The Tree of Life installation transformed plastic take-away bags into bulbous, blooming sculptural works. I interpreted it as both an overt commentary on consumption (too much), and on New York’s unique food culture (fact: we eat out a lot).

Down the road, while festival-goers nursed pints and took the chill out of their bones, Ernest Concepcion & Mike Estabrook, who make up the collective called The Shining Mantis, worked diligently in the background at a local bar, tag-team drawing the stunning chalk-on-wall mural, Kangarok X: This Time, It’s Sorta Like Risk.

The bar wasn’t originally going to be the site for the mural, but it was such a perfect fit: Punchy, poppy, a social work to begin with — it feels right at home among the low clamor of festival-goers discussing the highlights of the day.

Editor’s Note: Bringing BLD Project on Board (aka, the “Welcome to I Heart August Month” Post)

An excerpt from an e-mail, titled “I Heart August Month: Kicks Off Tonight!”, sent August 3:

I love August. Probably my favorite month of the year, which also happens to be my birthday, and Burning Man (usually)! So this year I’ve decided that I want to celebrate all month long: celebrate summer, celebrate the heat and sun (bring it!), celebrate the glorious long days and warm nights, celebrate with food, friends, festivities, free culture (while it lasts) …

I’m kicking things off tonight with a new super blonde ‘do! Come check it out and toast to August with margs and appetizers at Tortilla Flats on the Westside — think, pinata fringe hanging from the ceilings, Bingo, velvet Elvis paintings, …

Being the recently-blonded author of said e-mail, I can assure you that I Heart August Month indeed kicked off with an ole!, and has continued in full effect.

But you wouldn’t know that by the neglected state of this blog project, which I also adore. I just haven’t had the discipline, the heart, to write 17 posts x week — it’s not the good meals but the mediocre, shitty, in-between ones that I’m getting hung up on. Which means I never get to some of the good ones, and then other shit ones happen, and before you know it, I’ve built my own proverbial dam. (Damn!)

It took me a while, but I finally figured out what to do:

I am going to align the BLD Project with I Heart August Month. It is so ridiculous that I ever thought they could be separate.

I am going to experiment with the format of the BLD Project. For the duration of I Heart August Month (which ends Labor Day weekend), I am temporarily giving up on the 17 posts x week requirement and instead focusing on my favorite things: travels, eating discoveries, food I adore, food-and-drink-related hijinks, maybe even a little (relevant) shopping or product-related discussion — which I always envisioned would be a part of the content, but I haven’t so far been able to get to it as I’ve been buried in the grind.

In essence, I’m bringing BLD Project on board. If this is my personal marathon, then this is the part where I break off from the designated route and check out some scenic stuff. By no means is it done.

Welcome to I Heart August Month.

Editor’s Note: Don’t Hate Me Because I’ve Gone Blonde (aka the “Excuses, Excuses, Excuses” Post)

I’m not sure how often you check in with the BLD Project.

But for better or worse, this blog is my lifeline to the ideas, the experiences, the motivations, the people, that drive my thoughts about food on a daily basis (whether or not I write about it).

Food for survival, food for satisfaction, food for pleasure, food for ribbons (the winning of awards and kudos kind): We’re all eating, all the time. I’m just supposed to be writing about it. Which brings me to the topic at  hand: My errant ways.

Last week was a lost week, for many reasons. I am going to rest the blame on the serious amount of chemicals that went into my head to return to blonde — let’s call it dinner, Monday night.

The recipe was something close to:

90 sheets of foil (aprox.)
(1 1/2) containers of
BW 2, 10 oz.
1 bottle Clairol pure white,
etc.

To that fine concoction, mix in a couple of pitchers of margaritas at Tortilla Flats, my own neurosis and BINGO. (Literally, Tortilla Flats hosts a lively Bingo scene on Monday nights.)

All joking aside, for many reasons, collectively the week was a wash. So I’m going to pick up with Thursday afternoon, when I’m on my way to the airport for “BLD Minnesota Edition,” and we’ll just call the rest … roots.

Lunch: This Burrito Might Not Be a Winner, but Maui Tacos’ Salsa Bar Is

If, as the song goes, there is a season for everything, then there is a time to be purist about one’s Mexican food, and there is a time to just give in, and let it go. And generously pour the Pineapple Paradise salsa on your mediocre burrito, because it tastes soo good.

Yep, I said it. Pineapple Paradise salsa. I might have been exaggerating just a tinge about how good it is — truth be told, it’s a little watery — but I am absolutely serious about both the excellence of Maui Tacos‘ salsa bar — five housemade salsas, chopped white onion, pickled jalapenos, fresh cilantro and lime wedges — as well as the overall mediocrity of the food. (Judging by how heavily the salsa bar was utilized by every single person at lunchtime, I’m not alone in using the food as a vessel for the salsa.)

These salsas are no Red Hook taco truck salsas, which come in almost neon-flourescent colors and as diverse a range of flavors, in giant, industrial, white buckets. Yet, they deserve their due. Here is my report on the salsa bar’s contents (top to bottom):

Pineapple Paradise: a mild, lightly-sweet tomatillo-pineapple salsa. A little watery; best paired with fish tacos. Would make an excellent breakfast salsa —on top of a tamale for breakfast, or what about this on pancakes? Some kind of Mexican-style french toast?
Hula Heat: A hot salsa made with chile arbol peppers. It’s buyant, supple, with a little residual oil gleaming on the surface, in that good way. Good fiery heat that sneaks up on you.
Maui Firedancer: A hot Chipotle salsa, which means you get the deceptively sweet note up front, followed by that chipotle smoky signature taste, then it gets fiery on the back. A complex and delicious salsa.
Maui Mex: A mild, average tomatillo standard (disclaimer: I did not try this one.)
Hola Aloha: A mild tomato salsa, fairly standard. Bonus if you’re trying to learn the same, simple words in multiple languages. (disclaimer: I did not try this one.)

So what about the burrito itself? In short, too much orange rice; too little black beans; total lack of greenery or freshness, other than the cilantro and onion I stuffed into mine; oversized for no reason. Oh, and my side of chips (at least I got a side of chips) came in a Ziplock bag. Still …

330 Fifth Avenue, btwn. 32nd and 33rd Street, 212.868.9720.

TIP: Maui Tacos does a cheap, if cheesy, happy hour 4-7p at the 6-stool Tiki Bar that includes 2 x $6 import and domestic beers, and much, much more. A perfect place to slip away to if one finds oneself in the midst of Times Square madness.

Photo of the Tiki bar after the jump:

Dinner: Playing with Fava Beans

I love playing with food. One great playdate: Produce (or greenmarket) curiosities. And these oversized, lumpy, browning fava bean pods that I found the other day are just about a perfect match.

For starters, I know what fava beans are; I’ve had them dozens of times, mixed in pastas, or sauteed with garlic and shallots (a side dish). They’re that bean that almost looks like a lima bean, but isn’t, and tastes so much better.

But who knew these things are locked away in such a high-security ward: To get to the bean, you have to first shuck these pods from the shells, then you have to extract the beans from a second, interior pod (see below). This recipe ended up being the loose basis for my fava bean experiment:

First, shuck: Just break the pods, and open. (It gets easier as you go).

Second, blanch: Dumped the beans in their inner casing into boiling water and let bubble away for 2ish minutes. Drain, and dump the beans into a new vessel, let the cold water run (maybe throw a few ice cubes in). That’s blanching.

Third, pop out the beans: Just don’t squish them. The Internet tells me, there are various methods of doing this. My own method was moderately successful.

Fourth, blend/puree: Just do it. Put the blanched beans, plus minced garlic, plus olive oil (liberally, as needed), plus lemon juice (also as needed), plus salt, pepper, and  whatever else you’d like. The blades shouldn’t get stuck too much; if they do, tap down with a spatula and add a little more olive oil.

I didn’t do this, but one solution might be: Add a dollop of sour cream or greek yogurt.

When it gets about the texture of humus, it’s done. Scoop, smile and enjoy saying the word “crostini.”

Dinner: And This Is What I Call “Scrounging”

Open fridge. Open cupboards. Repeat until inspiration strikes. When this activity occurs during periods in which grocery shopping is needed direly, this is what’s called “scrounging.”

I managed to devise: tortilla chips, topped with hummus, slices of radish, bits of leftover chicken. Not much, but then, it was sort of a placeholder meal to begin with. I was either going to a.) go to bed early, b.) get motivated and pick up something to go, c.) get motivated to go out with friends and eat again later. Which do you think happened?

Dinner: Cupcakes and Wine In a … Plastic Pop-Top Bottle? (Keep Reading, There’s More)

After the day  I  had, I would have been entirely alright if dinner was a cupcake (or two) and 550 ml of red wine (or more).

We were at the Prospect Park bandshell on one of the loveliest summer evenings yet so far this year, Femi Kuti was coming on in a bit, with all his brass and his feel-good music and rump-shaking ladies. The air was festive. Lounging on blankets, hanging out in the late-afternoon sun, drinking wine and eating cupcakes — it felt like one of those time-outside-of-time moments that I treasure.

Later, concert over, bellies began rumbling. Someone apparently knew something about the neighborhood, knew where to go, and I followed, literally having no idea were we were, or where we were going. Zoom out on Google Maps enough and I could point out that we’re in Brooklyn, sort of in the vicinity of the southwest corner of Prospect Park, but bring it in any closer and … nada. Which was fine. I love getting a little lost on occasion, letting someone else drive. I get to check out the scenery.

We ended up at Cafe Steinhof in Park Slope, a wonderland of German food. I was immediately enamored, this menu is bomb-ass. (Apparently they do an amazing goulash on Monday nights, according to the local insider.) Chicken liver pate, served with sour cherries and cornichons; bratwurst (fresh), kielbasa (smoked), weisswurst (veal) and debrechina (spicy) sausages; cheese spaetzle — I felt like ordering the entire menu.

I finally decided on the Wiener Schnitzel sandwich ($10): Several pork cutlets tenderized until flat, coated in breadcrumbs and lightly fried, accompanied only by a couple of requesite slices of lettuce and tomato in a sturdy kaiser roll. Slightly dry — problem solved after I slathered the schnitzel with hot mustard from a little pot on the table — incredibly hearty. I ate half, and the salad, and hit the wall. Which means one thing: You’ll be seeing more schnitzel soon.

TIP: The food all-around was excellent, but the seafood ragout stole the show. Generous servings of trout, mussels, shrimp, cod and salmon swimming in a creamy broth — if this is the Austria’s version of bouillabaisse, I’m sold.