Beggars Can be Choosers

I work in a high-end grocery store as a prepared foods chef. Working here grants me access to back hallways and other departments store-wide. I know store practices and food safety checks are done regularly, so there is very little time to let things get out-of-control messy and unsanitary. I cannot say this for most other grocery chains that boast cheaper prices. Once you spend so much time in a place you know what to expect and what things should look like when things are done correctly in a similar setting. To most people certain practices seem routine, however once you've been behind the scenes you can see what's off, even if it's by a hair. So maybe their lack of effort is justified by their "great deals." From my personal experiences, dating back to last August when I began shopping for myself, the "great deals" aren't that great if you take the time to investigate pricing and package sizes.

I, too, fell victim to this school of thought. I thought, "I have to go to Shoprite or Acme because Whole Foods is WAY too expensive." With a stigma like "Whole Paycheck" attached to it, it is hard for most people to think otherwise. I do receive a 20% discount as an employee, but I will not consider this in my investigation to be fair. I will lay out the facts pre-discount.

After my shift I usually want to run home, screaming with frustration (see "Walk a Mile in My Crusty Shoes" post), however I have found comparison shopping to be calming, educational, and fullfilling. I clock out, grab a cart and survey the areas. As I walk I am heckled by co-workers, "Yo, moneybags, what are you buying?" I name some feminine product and they blush and run the other way. Mission accomplished and now I can carry on.

I read price per pound, sales signs, and item sizes. Anyone can tell you how bad my memory is, but when it comes to price checking, I'm Rainman. When I find that I can buy organic or at least conventional products from a cleaner more reputable place I feel like I've solved the Rubics cube. And I've proved everyone wrong! Here is some hard evidence:  I spend at least $60 every time I walk into Shoprite It never fails.  Truthfully all I am buying are things Whole Foods won't sell because they contain unnatural ingredients and preservatives. Things like SmartOnes, Crystal Light, etc. But when I leave Whole Foods I have FOOD; veggies, proteins, bread, diary products, all-natural lunchmeat and I spend the same, if not less, than a typical trip to Shoprite costs me.

It's easy to lose track of what you are shopping for and buy too much or buy things that you don't really need. Here are a few pieces of advice for your future shopping trips:

1-Have patience. It takes time and a few trips to become familiar with item size, prices, and quality. You need to compare all of these things. Save your receipts if you must (apologize to roommates/bfs/gfs in advance. It tends to annoy them). Keep in mind that although something may seem less costly companies do package less in larger containers. Tricksters.

2-Beggars can be choosers. You probably live beyond your means when it comes to clothes, cars, and nights on the town. Why can you be ballin' then but not when it comes to nourishing your body? Choose wisely.

3-Execute a game plan. They always say, "Don't go grocery shopping when you're hungry." I want to add, "Don't go grocery shopping without a list." Make sure you know what you need and what you are going to do with it. This prevents you from adding nonsensical items to your cart.

4-Be flexible. If you see a sale and you like the item and you can think of at least 2 ways to use that item, buy it. Make sure you can find a way to incorporate it into this week's game plan or next week's.

5-Don't feel bad about sloppy seconds. Buy things that you know you like, that you know you can use in more ways than one or that you love so much you will use the same way twice.

I really want to hear your comments on this one. Let me know how it goes and if you need any additional advice. 

Happy Shopping and Saving!

Waiting on You-Episode Four

After my first week and major meltdown it seemed to be a bit smoother sailing. Dare I say as smooth as the Captain sails? No. I should have taken a page from his book and just kept my mouth shut. The rule I always fail to acknowledge was the next to bite me in the ass.

I have heard of the saying, "see no evil, hear no evil." So, does that mean if evil can't see you it can't hear you? Apparently not.

Tuesday, as I was brainstorming about Wednesday's crabcake lunch, Chef #2 stopped by. He was Chef #1 by all means, I was just full-time compared to his part-time schedule. He had been working with the X's for over 4 years, the third longest term anyone has spent with them. They really wanted him on their full-time staff but he ran his own restaurant and he wasn't going to give that up to be tortured day and night for less money. As to not lose them as references, he covered the interim between chefs quitting and also when chefs were granted vacation time.

Mrs. X was at the lunch club in the city this particular day so we walked and talked around the estate. We talked about what the X's liked and didn't like. We covered everything from thyme to tattoos. We stopped at each room, patio, atrium, and conservatory that held parties, lunches, dinners, teas, and cocktail hours. He showed me how she liked everything set up and carried out.

We walked to the basement and passed through the chef's linen closet which housed uniforms and table cloths then back to dry storage for utensils and servingware then we hit the freezer chest. He casually threw open the lid and then gasped. "Does Mrs. X know you have all of this fish frozen in here?" he asked.

"I'm not sure," I said. "Office Manager said it would be best if I purchased a bunch and kept it on hand for any curve ball dinner parties thrown my way."

"Marie, she will have your head if she knows you are serving her frozen fish. You should never freeze fish."

I dropped my head because I knew he was right. I only listened to Office Manager against my better judgment because, at the estate, she was a hall-of-famer compared to me. I could only say, "Mrs. X has no idea. She LOVED the lemon sole I served last night. I had to make a second portion for her."

Even still, Chef #2 advised I get the fish out of there before she conducted one of her routine walk-throughs and found it. I said I would.

FLASH FORWARD-Wednesday's crabcake lunch.

Two minutes later she rang.

I gulped down the bite of my sandwich. I gulped it down hard. Everyone at the table turned their eyes to me. I smiled nervously, pushed my chair from the table, stood up and headed towards certain doom. I knocked on her door and was startled (can we say, 'jumpy?') by her voice coming from the library. "In here, MAHRIE." I entered the library. She was concealed behind the Inquirer. I smiled and asked, "Is there something else I can bring for you Mrs. X?" I glanced at her dish and noticed the crabcake smashed around on the plate with the avocado creme fraiche tossed aside like an unwanted thing. "What is for dessert?" she asked, still buried in her paper.

I began to stutter because I could not concentrate with all the thoughts flopping around in my head. I thought, "Did she hate it?" "Is she serious?" "What dessert do I have?" "It's only 1230pm and she wants dessert?" "What the hell am I going to do?" I blurted out, "Coffee ice cream, chocolate pudding, truffles." Before I embarrassed myself and added, "oreos," she cut me off. "I will have three scoops of coffee ice cream with two truffles. And please remove this from my sight. I would rather not eat thawed, time-capsuled food. We prefer freshness over convenience in this house. Thank you!"

Somehow, while she was 30 miles away in the city the previous day, she heard me. I am terrified at the possible scope of her omnipotence. I didn't speak the rest of the day.

Saved by the Bar

I was so excited to go to Chifa. I think I browsed the website for 20 minutes just so I could read the menu and hear its theme music. Because it was only a few hours before I desired a reservation, I didn't think we could get in but I scored one online at Opentable.com. I wanted to book for 930pm but as we sat and debated that slot was scooped up right in front of my eyes. OK, 645pm it is.

We were running a little late (we were having too much fun at Dave and Buster's), but they said they would hold the table for 20 minutes. We arrived and I noticed a virtually empty but still noisy dining room. We walked through the blindingly bright upstairs, past the partially enclosed, partially private dining area (for parties, I assume) down narrow and winding steps. I thought maybe we were being led to a sacred, sacrificial ritual chamber, but that would have been paradise compared to where we were actually headed.

It was dark like a dungeon. It was only because of my website stalking that I recognized my surroundings: the bar, the lounge, the interlaced, dark brown, wooden "walls." Initially, I was pleased with our final destination. Much less boisterous and less bright than upstairs, it made me feel like I had discovered this little treasure myself. It also helped me to forget that it was only 7pm. However, I suddenly longed for the loudness and bright lights.

Please refer to my blog entry "Pass the Crack, Please" to fully grasp the next portion of this post. I squeezed myself through an opening so small that I think I ended up with some BBQ sauce on my ass. Oh, well, I guess they will just have to eat around that section of the ribs. My remorse faded after a moment. The lady to my right was SO annoying that I wanted to sit on the rest of her food then force feed it to her. She had an ear-piercing voice and since we were lucky enough to be sitting so close I went partially deaf. Our server returned and I begged that we be seated elsewhere.

We relocated to the lounge. Otherwise a great place to hang out for a few drinks and small plates, it was no place for the meal I planned to devour. Distress must have visibly stretched across my face; our server mentioned that the bar had just cleared out. Finally, I could concentrate on the menu.

Another Jose Garces small plates restaurant, Chifa focuses on the Peruvian food influenced by a small population of Chinese immigrants. To start, we drank Pisco Sour and Watermelon Lemonade. Pisco Sour is a traditional cocktail topped with egg white foam. Interesting, but I think I'll switch to the Pineapple Ginger Caipirinha. 'Desayuno' was the Peruvian steak and eggs; braised oxtail and sunny-side up egg that poured over the tender meat and clung to my taste buds. 'Chaufa' was fried rice topped with soft, pillowy scallops. It was a little bit over-salted, maybe it was the soy, but I still enjoyed the dish. One of my favorites was the 'Lobster' with its luxurious ribbons draped in a creamy sauce of lobster, bacon, and peas. I wished we ordered two because I did not want to share. In desserts there are three things I love: chocolate, bananas, and pumpkin. Two out of three ain't bad. My second favorite, 'Banana Picarones,' is Garces' version of funnel cake; fried, swirled, pumpkin spiced dough coupled with banana sorbet. Bringing street food up to gourmet ranking was a smear of peanut sauce and a sugar crisp made with honey and anise.

Overall, there wasn't anything I didn't love, except maybe the egg white foam and the obnoxious lady in the corner.

Have Your Cake and Eat Everything Else, Too.

In my family, about a month before you complete another year of life, the question is posed, "What do you want for your birthday?" I rarely have an answer, primarily because I think it's rude to ask for things. However, now, I'm thinking about it. I'm thinking about it because a friend suggested I outline my ideal birthday. Not that anyone has to follow these suggestions on or around this July 17th.

Usually, I am dieting. My birthday is like my get-out-of-dieting hell-free card. I have to eat all of my favorite foods. Even if I am stuffed. Even if it doesn't make sense to eat an hour before dinner reservations. I must consume as much as possible. I do realize how ridiculous this is but, um, "Shut up. It's my birthday."

So where does this marathon of eating start? Here is the route I have mapped out:

Starting Line- Breakfast at the diner. Where I am will determine what I eat. If I am in Philadelphia I'd like to go to Melrose Diner. For Old Time's sake, I have to get the creamed chipped beef and sit at the counter. If I am at a Jersey diner I will most likely order a bacon and american cheese omelet with rye toast. I will be very tempted by the Smoked Salmon platter, but I won't give in. To drink I will have oj, chocolate milk and coffee.

Marker One- Shopping. After eating every last bite of breakfast I will absolutely need a few hours to decompress before shopping. I will go home after breakfast, or to my parent's house if I am in Philly, to relax and complain how bloated I feel. Once I feel like I can try on clothes without inducing feelings of rage or tears, off we go either walking around Center City, King of Prussia Mall or a few different shopping centers in NJ.

Marker Two-Starbucks. Starbucks' are strategically placed in all three possible destinations so I have that covered. I will stop here for a mid-morning Frappuccino snack. Something with mocha, chocolate chips, or brownies. Large. I mean Venti.

Marker Three-Lunch. Contingency plans are necessary since I may be shopping in any of three different locations. If we are moseying around Center City I would probably try to find somewhere new. The city has so much food to offer I hate eating at the same place twice. A quirky place with outdoor seating and a good margarita or draught beer and sandwiches are my criteria. Shopping at King of Prussia mall always leads me to a meal at California Cafe. You really can't go wrong here. Modern decor and fantastic fare that is ever-changing and eclectic make it hard to walk by this place. Supposing I never made it out of Jersey, I'd probably eat lunch at Redstone Grill in Marlton, The Cheesecake Factory or Seasons 52 in Cherry Hill. All offer elevated lunch cuisine and classy-casual atmospheres. My decision would be based on my coordinates at the point of hunger and my food mood. All offer outdoor dining, which I love, so I'd have to further consider the menus. Would I prefer something wood-fired at Redstone or Avocado spring rolls, tamale corn cakes and cheesecake at the Factory or a lower calorie meal at Seasons 52?

Marker Three point Five: Snack. I can assure you there will be a snack involved because dinner reservations will probably be LATE. Also, I will begin to sense time is running out. I know that after dinner the gorging will be over and it will be back to dieting hell. Most likely I will rummage through cabinets or stop at Wawa for that candy bar or bag of chips I have been craving. Are we close to a pizza joint?

Marker Four: Dinner. I like to get dressed up and go out for dinner. It is my favorite hobby. Wherever my family goes will be somewhere I have researched for weeks. It will be somewhere new and unique to the dining scene. We will all get dressed up. We will have cocktails and wine. We will all eat more than seems possible in record time. We will all still want dessert.

Marker Five/The Home Stretch: Dessert. If something intrigues me on the dessert menu I will order it. I have to try everything, it is part of my job. (How do you like that excuse?) Honestly, what I want more than anything a restaurant can offer is coffee and pound cake at my parent's house. We get back, get loud, take off the painful shoes, and drink my Mom's French-pressed, cinnamon spiked coffee with Potitio's pound cake. I have been eating this cake forever. I MUST eat this on my birthday. The cake is buttery yellow and crumbles then melts once it hits your tongue. The sweet, slightly stiff and crunchy icing is spread in a thin layer. Too much icing would overcome the cake, all good bakers know that.

Marker Six: Bed. I may have to sit up for a little while because the food that cannot fit into my stomach is still lingering in my throat. Once it settles in, I'll pass out. There is a good possibility I will wake up for a mid-night snack.

If you know me, you know the affection I hold for clothes, shoes, bags, etc. All these are welcome as gifts. But if you really want to make me happy, run with me.

Waiting on You-Episode Three

As a private chef for Captain and Mrs. X, I worked from 12pm until whenever dinner was done (usually 8, but later if guests were tardy, dogs escaped, medicine was lost, but this is all for another episode).  Each day I arrived at noon and we had staff lunch. Part of my job description was to food shop not only for the estate but for staff lunch which consisted of chips, cookies, and deli meats and cheeses for sandwiches. If we ever had more than that, for instance, if someone brought a home-cooked treat to share, and Mrs. X walked by she said nothing but her face screamed with disapproval. My interpretation of that was that she didn't think we should eat as well as she.  Later, to remind us of our peasantry, she would add, "The Captain and I would never eat leftovers." 

As we sat and munched on simple food we talked about the day and the days to come. Where was Mrs. X going, who was visiting, what plans had changed four and five times by noon were all topics of discussion. In the middle of staff lunch, Mrs. X liked to be served hers. I would rarely sit and eat as I rushed to prep her lunch tray and attempt to guess what she would like on that particular day.  I started planning menus and getting things ready the day before. One afternoon I planned to serve broiled crabcakes with avocado creme fraiche and a light mixed green salad with Mrs. X's house vinaigrette (I failed to mention that in an effort to "teach" her chefs a thing or two, Mrs. X attended culinary school centuries ago. Lucky us.). Mrs. X buzzed for me and I sped down the corridor to her office. I stood in the doorway waiting for her to look up from her computer. The last time I interrupted her seemingly blank stare at the computer she alleged that I ruined her train of thought and she was incapable of finishing her uber-important email. I think she was reading spam.

She finally looked up and asked for her lunch. "My pleasure," I replied and sped back down to the kitchen. I set the tray with a pretty red and pink napkin scheme, yellow flowered plate, silver utensils, and crystal chalice. I placed the lightly breaded, oil-kissed, golden brown mini cakes on the plate and plopped the dollop of light green creaminess on top. Beside the cakes I gingerly mounded the mixed greens that I already tossed with X-house dressing. Finally, a sprinkling of chives for garnish. The most aesthetically appealing lunch-to-date made me smile as I confidently carried the tray back down to the office.

Mrs. X was not at her computer. I heard noises from the adjoined bathroom suite so I quickly set-up her lunch on the tray table next to her desk (another lesson learned: Never place lunch directly on the desk. Drinks could and almost always will spill over extremely crucial and sensitive documents). I felt I still had a bit of time so I ran to the library, grabbed a small vase and picked a tiny flower from a plant that decorated the hallway. I left her office with an even wider smile than before. Satisfied with the job I had done I sat down with the rest of the staff to finish lunch. I had earned it, or so I thought, as did everyone else at the table.   They gushed with compliments and joked, "Is there any left for us?!" I say "joked" because eating the same meal, even the leftovers, as Captain and Mrs. X would lead to termination in the very near future. Keyword: Peasantry. I appreciated their support, though.  "Thanks," I said, "I hope she likes it."

Two minutes later she rang.

Size Doesn't Matter

More and more restaurant concepts are developed around one, tiny thing. These places have laid their small offerings on the table to show that size really doesn't matter. I couldn't agree more.

Appetizers aside, the first notable small plates or "tapas" on the bill in Philadelphia were served at Amada. Jose Garces' flagship locale in Old City is still packing in people years later. What impresses me most is that he hasn't changed his menu much since Day One. If it you ain't goin broke, don't fix it. Since Amada's inception and immediate popularity, Garces has sprinkled tapas-based places all over the city. First, Tinto then Distrito and now Chifa (see Facebook album, "Chifa"). Here, on tiny plates, you will savor the big, modern taste creations of Latin America and Spain.

Other tapas places to pop up are Bocca, Valanni, Tria, and Philly Mag's #1 rated Zahav (stay tuned...pics to come on Facebook!). Out of these few only Zahav and Tria remain faithful to the tapas creed. Most restaurants boasting small plates seem to be size-conscious so they offer a separate "regular" menu. They can't commit to the cause 'cause they are afraid of losing business. Paranoia sets in and owners wonder, "Who would be satisfied after only a few small bites?" Admittedly, I have left tapas dinners un-stuffed, but is that a bad thing? Perhaps this is the way we should be eating. It is probably wise to leave a little room to breathe after a meal. Easier said than done but these places are serving up such delectableness that it's not as hard as it used to be. 

My recommendation is to order 3-4 plates and a dessert per person. When I think about it I'm getting more for my money eating tapas. The cost of 5 tapas plates averages out to the same as 3 courses at a large plate restaurant.  However ordering tapas gives diners a larger sense of what the chef has to offer and more of an eating experience. 

Five is better than three. Numbers don't lie and size definitely doesn't matter.