Condiment Grrl

Truffle Salt heralds a return!

2009-11-08T19:56:00.000-08:00

Hey all,

Sorry I took the summer off - I got carried away with trips to California and cruises to Alaska.

It was my first time on a cruise ship and I was NOT impressed by the food. And don't get me started on the condiments. It was really about quantity, not about dipping sauce. But I do like laying around a boat for a week. And Baby Balsamic made quite a mess of herself with one of the finest condiments in the history of indulgent delights - hot fudge sauce. And we saw a bear. And bear poop - which just might be a condiment to SOME species somewhere.

Anyway, I belong to a delightful foodie group - Memento dining club! Here's our deal - there are six couples (actually 5 couples and 1 delightful woman with enough looks and cooking skills for 2!) We meet up about every 2 months for a night of gastronomic excess - 2 appetizers, 1 salad, 2 entrees, 1 dessert. The person making the dessert course comes up with their dessert and tells the people making entree 2. The person making entree 2 comes up with something that would precede the dessert well, then tells the person making entree 1 what entree 2 is. They do not tell what dessert is going to be. So, you only know what's coming after you, not what's coming before you. And we have themes - asparagus, farmer's market, tropical rainbow, etc.

We've had some amazing dinners. Some highlights that I will blog about in the future:

- cured lemon peel preserve - an amazing salad garnish
- bacon infused old fashioned - nothing takes the sting off whiskey like bacon fat!
- creme fraiche - apply to the thigh via the mouth. Totally worth the tight pants the next day!

However, at our last dinner, we were served a rich pasta dish that had a flavor I hadn't experienced before. It was musky and sophisticated. Salty, but with a range of savory flavor.

Truffle salt. So intense. So different. Putting it on eggs or pasta or a salad is like looking meeting up with an old dear friend and discovering that they also understand the complete mystery of the night skies, that they've seen the seven wonders of the world, peeked under Nefertiti's mask. The truffle flavor has so much depth and complexity and history. It's hard to explain that it tastes old, but it's not old like spoiled or musty. It sparks memories. It's the fourth dimension.

Of course, truffles are incredibly expensive. They were selling them at my favorite high-end market - Metropolitan Market - for $159 a pound. The jar of truffle salt I bought for Mr. Mustard cost about $20. But man, it was worth draining Baby Balsamic's college fund for this!

The brand I've been using is Casina Rossi Truffle & Salt. Their website is down, which allowed me to find a new website name I adore - www.thefrenchybee.com.

Truffle salt is a great way to experience the truffle flavor combined with an everyday flavor (salt).

I highly recommend it. Next time I take a cruise, I want it to be one of those luxury ones where they have it on all the tables. Yum.

Condiment Grrl

Finally - Bacon done right in a Product!

2009-07-14T22:33:00.000-07:00

Regular readers of my column will recall that I have reviewed and subsequently eschewed both Bacon Salt and Baconnaise. They are bad, chemically infused imitations of the truth, the bacon salt especially.

I then formally declared far and wide, to all those who would listen to my ramblings, that bacon is ONLY good in its original form. You cannot transform it into another substance. And so it was said and the people all obeyed me as they are wont to do.

BUT! I have been proven wrong in the form of Mo's Bacon Bar -- a product of a newish chocolate company - Vosges Haut Chocolate.

This is a tiny little picture, I know, but the real box is a thing of beauty. And the chocolate, well it worked! I was a bit dubious, given that the main ingredients on the box are listed as:

applewood smoked bacon
alderwood smoked salt (although I am recent convert to the salt + chocolate combo)
deep milk chocolate (not my usual favorite, but they have just come out with a dark chocolate bacon bar! Let the world rejoice!)

But it found just the right balance -- the bacon actually hit your taste buds first, then, unexpectedly blossomed into chocolate. And, rather than seeming out of place, it was like a sense of deja vu, "oh there you are bacon and chocolate combination. I've always known about you in my heart of hearts."

Now, I could engage in a hearty round of mea culpa, but, upon careful inspection of the chocolate (the things I do for you people!), I find that I am actually seeing little bits of bacon embedded in the chocolate, so I am not wrong. Bacon is best in its original form and yummy when intertwined with chocolate.

But let me leave you with the words of the founder of Vosges Chocolate, who almost seems like a Colette for food. Her goal is to "Travel the World through Chocolate in a mission to create a sustainable, luxury chocolate experience, to bring about awareness of indigenous cultures through the exploration of spices, herbs, roots, flowers, fruits, nuts, and the obscure."

And, here's how she (or a very clever copy-writer who is clearly my twin) describes this bar (I do like that she's a bit of a food whore like me):

"Breathe…engage your five senses, close your eyes and inhale deeply. Be in the present moment, notice the color of the chocolate, the glossy shine. Rub your thumb over the chocolate bar to release the aromas of smoked applewood bacon flirting with deep milk chocolate. Snap off just a tiny piece and place it in your mouth, let the lust of salt and sweet coat your tongue. "

I almost want to tell her to get a room, but I know where she's coming from. Enjoy!

Oh for heaven's sake, everyone knows that Hollandaise isn't Dutch!

2009-07-07T23:14:00.000-07:00

A friend pointed me to an article on CNN about the origins of some condiments. It's a little bit interesting, but it's just your basic -- "and then they had a dude ranch and then they made ranch dressing." It's pretty light -- no backstory on the combining of the ingredients, the subsequent tastings, the discovery of what the condiment worked with and didn't work with...and so on..

Anyway, I think, and I'm not bragging kind of, that my post on the origin of Norman Bishop Dill Garlic mustard is far more informative. And it's totally 100% true!

The Pimento -- the Quiet Friend Who Wears Glasses

2009-05-22T20:37:00.000-07:00

Okay, y'all, I've been hanging onto an empty jar for awhile, waiting for some time to crop up to blog about this MOST AMAZING OLIVE. And now that I've downloaded the new Green Day, I feel the time is write to reveal that I'm leaving all my other Olive relationships for this one --

Ybarra Aceitunas Manzanilla verdes OR A green olive stuffed with Pimento.

Now, before you say, "Oh, Condiment Grrl, COME ON, those olives are everywhere. And salty and BORING." That's what I said to when I first viewed the jar, introduced to me by Mr. Mustard (and it was introduced to him by a good friend, another foodie, as available at the amazing Big John's PFI (Pacific Food Imports) in SODO). But, then the jar was opened and I tasted the olive.

OH MY GOODNESS!

It was kind of like in those ridiculous Chick movies where there's the silent friend with glasses who never says anything, but who swirls in in divine purple chiffon with no glasses (because glasses are ugly, right?) and leaves everyone gasping for air with his/her attractiveness, general desirabilty, and oddly detailed knowledge about erogenous zones.

These olives take the glasses off the misunderstood pimento. Until you've tasted these olives, you haven't really tasted pimentos. Honestly, I don't think I ever really understood what a real pimento tasted like before because most pimento stuffed olives are so so so so salty.

Not these, there's this wonderful rich flavor -- I can't really describe it and do it justice -- but, it's kind of peppery, kind of musky, and wonderful that imbues the olives. They're not overwhelmed with sodium. They exist in their own pimento-stuffed olive world -- glorious, green, red and perfect.

Anyway, here's a picture of a related jar. I couldn't find an exact one on the web:

Take out the picture of the garlic and mentally put in a lovely red pimento, looking oddly like a pair of very kissable lips, with or without glasses.

Enjoy!

Artichoke Mousse -- one item too many

2009-03-29T22:30:00.000-07:00

I carry a heavy load; although, I like to think I embrace zen philosophy, in reality there are too many "things" I feel I need: warm socks, thin socks, warm pants, thin leggings, a book to read, another book to read in case I finish the first book, another book in case I don't like or get bored with one of the other books, a brown sweater, a black sweater, boots, tennis shoes and sandals. You name it, I feel I need it.

And, occasionally, a glass jar or two is lodged in my suitcase. Perhaps I am going to a desolate land without decent condiments (you know who you are) and I need to bring a spice or mustard or two to keep my spirits up. Perhaps, I discovered a new thing that I must bring home to take up yet more space in my groaning refridgerator door.

I was just down in California caring for an extremely cranky and doped up Big Mama Salsa post-shoulder surgery and I had to hie myself to the nice market near her house on several occasions. They have an okay condiment collection -- I discovered the Napa Valley line there, which I adore -- but they are a small space that serves a certain area of Oakland and for some reason, they'd prefer to have more "food." Whatever.

Anyway, on one of those missions of mercy, I strode down the condiment aisle to see what's what and saw a coy little jar winking at me from the shelf. It had little round sides and an intriguing condiment name: Artichoke Mousse. Mmmm...the tangy unique flavor of the artichoke enmeshed in a cream base. Very intriguing. And not only that, the little hussy was on sale!

I tucked the jar in my bag and headed home. And after Big Mama Salsa had thrown her plate of food at me for the umpteenth time and demanded more percocet, I opened the jar to see if it could sweep me from the house of recovery and into a place with rainbow ponies and no weak shoulders or slippery stairs or stubborn mothers who refuse to move their bedrooms down to the first floor.

Sadly, there were no rainbow ponies awaiting the bottom of the spoon. It was a very faint artichoke flavor with a bland cream sauce. I expected artichoke mousse to bring home some of her good friends: lemon, vinegar, sesame, SOMETHING. But it was sadly bland and I couldn't help but regret the Weight Watchers points wasted on this bland concoction.

Which is a travesty because condiments should NEVER make us feel we have unwillingly ingested fat. We should delight in the oil or the cream or the butter, not feel ashamed.

There was no space in my bag for the artichoke mousse. Nor is there space in this blog for the name of the artichoke mousse. It is a mystery best left unspoken.

Condiment Grrl

As It Says in the Good Book...

2009-03-12T22:58:00.001-07:00

of something or other, as quoted to me by an old friend who's a Unitarian Minister, in response to my bacon salt posting:

"In my house we use salt as a gentle memory of bacon's greater promise..."

Now, here's a religion that I could BEE-LIEEVVE in. Maybe I already do...

A Treatise on Bacon Salt

2009-03-11T23:03:00.000-07:00

As I sit here at my computer (obviously), listening to a variety of tunes on Random Play (Fleetwood Mac, then Green Day, then Shirley Temple. Awesome) after spending entirely too long on Facebook (or Crackbook), I am aware of the transient nature of technology and community and networking and music. We all flow apart, then sometimes find each other again, at different places in life, but still connecting on the same old jokes and shared memories. Then sometimes you start to build something new, some new strange connection that initially makes no sense, but in your new life, with your new hair and your new love of mushrooms and possible acceptance that everything Neil Diamond recorded wasn't total crap, it makes sense.

Sort of like Bacon Salt. "You have a friend request from Bacon Salt."

On first take, it makes no sense. Bacon is meat and salt is a condiment. Does not compute. They are two different substances. They serve two different purposes. But then you stop and think about the experience of eating bacon. Of course, there's the delicious sizzling smell, the grease squirt as you bite into a perfectly cooked piece, the feel of the slice in your hand (only heathens and lovers of zuchini bread cut their bacon with a knife and fork), and the flavor of the bacon sliding down your throat, the tingling salt and nitrates.

Stop! Salt?

Hmmm...maybe this does make sense. Bacon is very salty due to all the preservatives and smoking and things they do to it to turn it from pig into bacon (I just re-read "Little House in the Big Woods" and I know all about this process now.) So...what is bacon flavor? Is it the actual meat or is it the chemicals that go into the processing of the meat? What came first -- the meat or the chemicals (or condiments) that create the bacon?

Sometimes I like bacon bits on my salad. I always like salt. What if the two were combined? Would I get the succulent crackling sensation or would I get more of a chemical burning of my taste buds?

So, I put bacon salt on my salad. And I am sad to report that I found that I missed the meat. The chemical burning won out. It was just too...too...unnatural. The flavor was too removed from the actual flavor of the food. I like bacon flavor, but I also need the fat, the grease, the slice in my hand to fully enjoy the experience. I'll just have my salt separately.

I am ignoring the Friend Request from Bacon Salt.

What's this? A Friend Request from Baconnaise? Hmm...I shall have to explore

I'm back! With a delicious tapenade in tow...

2009-01-21T21:43:00.000-08:00

I return now that I've recovered from the thrill of Obama's election and the fear that something would happen to him prior to Inauguration. Now it's over!

It's a bright new condiment-filled day!

And there's one I've been meaning to write about for a very long time, by one of my new favorite brands, Made in Napa Valley -- purveyor of the savory treat.

Seriously, their website is almost akin to voodoo doughnuts in making me drool -- things like Country Dijon With Merlot & Shallots (I sense a deep affection for the shallots! Also, this was a tad disappointing), and Sun-Dried Tomato Tapenade with with Balsamic and Garlic (Yummy!). They just get the mixes and the flavors and the goodnesses right (like Obama!).

This is a sweetish tapenade with a delicious tangy note to it, but what keeps me coming back for more is the texture -- not too lumpy, not too smooth. You can pile it on your plate next to a piece of chicken, or slavish it on a cracker on top of blue cheese -- that is the best!

Seriously -- a really good blue cheese, a deep red wine, and Fig & Roasted Shallot Tapenade and it's like you don't need love, or laughter, or friends, you have it all built on top of a gluten-free cracker (let us not forget my crazy German naturopath).

I actually think it would be super good on scrambled eggs as well but I literally just thought of it (Condiment Grrl in Action!) and now I think I will have scrambled eggs tomorrow...

I've also tried their tomato tapenades, tomato vodka mustard, and orange balsamic mustard -- all very yummy, unique, and in this tree-hugging era -- all-natural.

I know times are tough, but don't we all deserve to put a little something special on our eggs? And if you try the Fig & Roasted Shallot Tapenade, you also get a dose of fruit and vegetables, right?

And yes, ketchup is a vegetable. So was Ronald Reagan, let's move on...it's a new era!

Condiment Grrl

Vice Presidential Condiments

2008-11-02T20:38:00.000-08:00

It's been an exciting two months. We are in the middle of the most historic election of my lifetime and I have managed to get my nose out of the mustard jar and into the action. Far too much. I should join a group called "Pollsters Anonymous," because I'm so addicted to studying all the news related to the election.

So, I bet you're thinking, "but how do you work in condiments into the election girl? How?" And I say to you, it's so easy:

Vice Presidential candidates are the condiments for the Presidential Candidates. They are the assist that makes the presidential main dish shimmer and glow or sink it like a heavy mole sauce on a fluffy salmon fillet.

First up, Joe Biden. Or as Baby Balsamic calls him, "OBiden." Barack Obama's scapping long-time Senator and Vice Presidential candidate from Delaware is one of the working class guys. The type who are used to ordering the usual fried liver and onions (yum!) from their favorite greasy spoon. The guy who liberally shakes salt over Aunt Millie's experimental Sweet Potato/Zuchini roast and keeps a big shit eating grin on his face as he eats it.

Honestly, he's the guy who could be a meal on his own.

And to drive that point home, for me his condiment identification is chutney. I know it's a "furrin'" dish, but it contains apples and onions and carrots and all kinds of filling ingredients in a think, sweet and spicy sauce. Good on cheddar cheese and elitist gorgonzola pork rind pastries. Delicioous with the very substantial, complex yet straightforward main dish that is Obama, but it could easily be a meal on its own.

Now, Sarah Palin. Sigh. She likes to sell herself as superior for being from a small town as opposed to us big city elitists who clearly aren't moral or don't love their children as much or...(I could go on forever here. It's a very sore point.), but when you dig a little deeper, you discover something insubstantial that leaves a bad aftertaste in your mouth.

She reminds me of a standard table condiment you would get put in front of you at Applebee's or Cracker Barrel. Supposed good, down home country fare, but it's really run by some massive corporation that's doing all it can to replace mashed potatoes with mashed potato-like product and run the old single proprietor cafe out of business.

She's a bottle of "Applebee's Own Catsup" -- old tyme spelling to evoke the Americana nostalgia. You open the lid and it smells just a little too sweet. You pour it on your plate and it makes your french fries bitter and acrid and your processed meat loaf product dissolve into a grainy paste. It's overly sweet, with a nasty afterkick. Then you read the ingredient list and you see all the very bad things we're told not to eat: partially hydrogenated soybean oil, high-fructose corn syrup, and a million chemicals that we don't recognize. And sadly, it only makes the overcooked turkey that is John McCain tougher and more difficult to swallow.

It cannot in any way shape or form be a meal on its own.

Clearly, I, Condiment Grrl, am biased, but it's my right. And while I would love it and shower you with virtual Norman Bishop Garlic Dill mustard if you voted for Barack Obama, I really, truly believe that the most important thing you can do is get and and VOTE for whoever. Seriously, it's your right. Do it!

And God Bless America and all the Condiments that make it great.

Condiment Grrl

Feeling Blue and Plain...

2008-08-20T22:22:00.001-07:00

Sorry for no blog posts. I just haven't found anything to crow about lately. No new sauce or dip that enriched my life in a new and special way. I did re-discover Soy Vay lately for a lovely marinated flank steak recipe.

Recipe:

Get some flank steak
Slice it thinly
Put in a tightly fitting container with lots of Soy Vay
Let it marinate for 4 - 24 hours
Cook on a BBQ
Delicious, tasty cow flesh with yummy savory spice

However, it is the easy way out. As a child, I watched my mother prepare this old faithful by chopping up tons of garlic and ginger, then layering thinly sliced flank steak, ginger, garlic, and Teriyaki sauce into a jar until it was a tightly packed glass vessel of raw yumminess.

I always wanted to drink the remains after the meat had been removed for cooking, but, of course, even I didn't do it. Raw meat juice BAD. Of course, I eat sushi, but that's fish and for some reason it's different. I guess they haven't found mad fish disease yet.

Which reminds me of an old joke from the heyday of mad cow:

Two cows are standing in the field:

Cow 1: This mad cow thing is really freaking me out.
Cow 2: Yeah, good thing I'm a chicken.

See? I didn't even get that right. Sigh. I need to order some Norman Biship Garlic Dill mustard in bulk.

Condiment Grrl

A Condiment Synchronicity at "Spin the Bottle"

2008-08-06T19:57:00.000-07:00

So, I'm quite a flexible person. Beyond the Yoga and Pilates, I also have been known to perform. And people have been telling me, "Condiment Grrl, your stunning beauty and your witty way must be on the stage! Now!" Okay, maybe they didn't phrase it quite that way, but you get the point.

So acceeding to their wishes and my own lust for fame, last Friday night, I performed in a late night cabaret with the estimable Annex Theatre, Spin The Bottle. This is a fabulous cabaret that has been going on for years and years, always hosted by the wonderfully dry Bruce Hall. You can see everything and anything there -- I myself have seen The McDonaldLand Theater company, dirty fun smut from Kerri Healy, sublime sexy shadow puppetry from Scot Augustson, and all kinds of cool things.

Of course you are all thinking, "But Condiment Grrl, how could you possibly be involved in something that might be R-rated!" And I say to you that my readings, except for my treatise on Savory flavored Love Toys, were all ready for good family fun.

While I was waiting in the lounge with the other performers, I watched a lovely young woman loading condiment bottles with their matching colored condiments -- ketchup, mustard, mayo. Then I watched her take off all her clothes and paint blue stars on her breasts. As it turned out, without any pre-planning by the Artistic Director, Bret Fetzer, of the event, they were also showing condiment related burlesque!

The Moon was Clearly in Mustard.

Sadly, I had to leave at intermission and missed the act which involved a young woman in a secretary's outfit attempting to put condiments on her lunch, only to spray herself "accidentally" causing her to constantly remove one layer of clothing after another. It sounds delightful and I shall have to go and look out for more from these young women -- Bianca Cabrerra and Jenna Bean Veatch. Clearly, they are destined for great success.

Maybe, in fact, we should do a variety show devoted entirely to condiments.

It's a thought. And clearly, the world awaits!

Condiment Grrl

The elusive Potsticker dipping sauce

2008-07-30T22:30:00.000-07:00

Mr. Mustard decided to prepare pot stickers (or Jiaozi) for dinner tonight. Mmmmm. Pot stickers. They were all I craved when I was pregnant with Baby Balsamic, so much so that I was privately, hormonally convinced she would come into this world in a doughy wrapper. And now that I know the Chinese word for potsticker is Jiaozi, I'm depressed that I didn't name Baby Balsamic that even though she's pretty much 100% European mutt.

So, normally when you get those Ling Ling pot stickers, they come with a little packet of dipping sauce that is MSG-yy yummy. But never enough; I run out after two pot stickers. But Mr. Mustard, ever penny wise, decided to buy a giant bag from Trader Joes.

No dipping sauce!

But he knows I can whip something up -- he did marry me -- so he asks what we put into the sauce. And I reply "soy sauce, rice vinegar, a bit of brown sugar, and sesame oil." We sit down to eat and I've had one potsticker before I'm up with my bowl of sauce and back in the kitchen, to just add a touch more sweetness: a little more rice vinegar, a little more sugar. He's shouting after me, "What? What do you need? What are you doing?"

I bring my doctored bowl back in and start again to eat. But something is still missing. I'm up again and in the kitchen. This time, I add a touch more rice vinegar and a tad more sesame oil. But the sauce is still to salty.

It was good, but I never got it just right so that when that pillow of pot sticker bursts in my mouth, my mouth quivers with the perfect balance of salty, sweet, and doughy.

It's elusive, this pot sticker sauce. Very elusive. I must do more research. I'll start with the Ling Ling recipe here. Let's see if I can replicate.

Condiment Grrl

The next post is a new one...

2008-07-29T23:14:00.001-07:00

I just took forever to compose it because I got busy....

50 ways to clean your Refridgerator...

2008-06-13T20:20:00.000-07:00

Even I have a breaking point. As you all remember from my very first post back in May of 2006, I have far too many condiments in my fridge. And sadly, there are too many condiments that I have opened up, tried, only to discover that I only wanted one date with it.

You know the score, there you are, dewy eyed, holding hands with a fresh new jar of okra relish. You project onto it all kinds of happy dreams, "Maybe this is the one that will finally make me like tofu." You show the jar into your kitchen, soft ambient lighting, mood music like The Wiggles or Tori Amos or Tori Amos covering the songs of The Wiggles or vice versa playing in the background, and you squeeze the lid of the jar gently, opening it with a soft 'pop.'

You lift the jar to your nose, sniff, and, wait, what is this? A slightly displeasing smell -- perhaps a bit too much stearic acid or you discover the relish has, horrors, roasted red bellpepper in it. You soldier on, maybe when you get the relish out of the jar, it will all change. You take a spoon and softly insert it into the greenness. As you bring it to your mouth, your tastebuds quiver in anticipation, perhaps your about to expand your aural horizons. Then the mixture hits the tongue and wait a minute, this didn't get better, and what is this condiment, and where's the lid, and why did I buy the jar in the first place, why can't it be the beginning of the evening all over again when I first walked into the store with such high hopes and happy dreams for a nice dinner?

But you've invested a ridiculous amount (according to stingy Mr. Mustard), $8.95, into this condiment and you can't just chuck it. So you put it in the fridge and hope. You hope that one day you will be preparing sweetbreads and need just one..more...thing to make it perfect. And maybe that okra relish will be it. Hey, it happened with the Blackberry Chipotle marinade.

But, and if there's one bit of wisdom I could impart to future generations, its that most condiments don't change. What you open is what you get.

I am a notorious packrat -- one of my anthropology professors said that there are two types of people in the world "hoarders" and "sorters" -- so I can't get rid of anything easily. There comes a tipping point in every refridgerator cycle and you must get rid of the old to make way for the new.

Thusly, I cleaned out my fridge and behold the condiments being sent to the large pantry in the sky:

Actually, I really did love the Olive Relish, it was just that it was time to go. "I guess it's over, time to call it a daaayaayaaa!!! Too much, too little too late to try again with yoooooooo"

Big Daddy Condiment always brings over relish when he visits so we just had TOO MUCH!!!

I will never speak again of the Peach Salsa. It was an abomination. Let this be a warning to you other condiment lovers out there...

Condiment Grrl

P.S. All the Olive Oil, vinegar bottles behind the row of condiments are not being thrown away. We just have no clear surfaces in the kitchen! Oops!

A fantastic discovery that's Atkinsy, but not too douchey

2008-06-12T21:58:00.000-07:00

Welcome back everyone! I have finally taken up arms against a sea of condiments and resumed my mission of bringing good condiment knowledge to all!

I have experienced a range of new deliciousness in the two months since I blogged and I will share it all with you. Let us just say, for now, that the award for the very best name of a condiment company is bestowed upon The Girl and The Fig -- a gourmet place in the land of wine, decadence, and marijuana, medical or otherwise - Sonoma.

But first! An unlikely discovery in the produce section: Sunkist Almond Accents. Now many of you have heard of my travails with my crazy German naturopath who has made gluten verboten. However, I do love a texturey salad. The burst of fat from a slice of salami, the eager co-mingling of tomato juices and balsamic vinegar, the crunch of the rib of a ripe leaf of Romaine lettuce, and, bien sur, the crunch of a well-made (read: oily) crouton. Mmmmm...croutons. I do love them especially when they're large, dark and toasty, like I like my chocolate sundaes (what did you think I was going to say?).

But, if I have croutons too often, it can cause me some digestive upset. Now, you may say, "Well, just don't have salads that often!"

This is not to be.

Salads, how shall I put this, are my life. Literally, and I am not exaggerating (I never do that!), salad has been my favorite food since I can remember. And, it turns out, that salad is a beauty treatment. Really, I was reading on some health-food website about the power of eating salad in terms of preventing aging. No one would ever guess that I am 67 years old.

Really, I eat salad usually once, and many times twice a day. It is the wind beneath my wings.

So, imagine my joy when I found Sunkist Almond Accents -- Roasted Garlic Caesar Flavored Sliced Almonds. They're crunchy, cheesy, and garlicky and they make me not miss croutons at all and my German naturopath can rest easy knowing that I am (mostly) following her strict diet.

Except when I'm not. I mean, c'mon, the lady told me that blended banana with ice and melon is "bettear zen schocolat!"

But I like the almonds.

Condiment Grrl

The Evil Temptation of Foie Gras

2008-03-11T22:35:00.000-07:00

Yes, it's true. I am pure evil. I am evil incarnate. I should kick orphaned puppies as I pass them in the street on my way to the Republican rally.

My name is Condiment Grrl and I LOVE Foie Gras.

For those of you who don't know, Foie Gras, read up on it on Wikipedia, here. It's the diseased, engorged liver of a goose or duck. See? Evil.

But oh so good.

I remember distinctly the first time I had Foie Gras with a foodie friend who I shall ever after refer to as Trapeze Girl, because that's what she used to do. We were in a restaurant in San Francisco that was called something like Woodland, under an overpass toward the Mission district. I took a bite of a dish that was placed in front of us, unsure of its contents, but knowing it was something meaty with a savory sauce. And it was the most delicious, buttery meaty thing I had ever had. It's like they took all the beautiful songs about fat that have ever been written and distilled only the purest, sweetest notes.

I heart it.

How did we even order it since the very idea of it would have repulsed me? Did a fallen angel whisper it in my ear on his way to his Cannibals Anonymous meeting?

I only let myself have Foie Gras once or twice a year because I do have the tiniest shred of a Good Angel still sitting on my shoulder saying "Condiment Grrrrrlllll...think of the Geesies and Duckies...."

And that's what I was doing when I watched Anthony Bourdain investigate a Foie Gras producer in the Hudson Valley for his ironic Holiday special. He, too, had the same conflict that I had about the rumored horribleness of life for the Geese involved. He went to a producer called Dartagnan and toured the farm. The Geese did look moderately happy in their shelter. And the woman who owned the premises emphasized that happier Geese make better Foie Gras, so they really do try and make these Geesies short life happy. Not only that, but the force feeding doesn't hurt them; it only lasts a minute and, they have separate throats for food and air, so it doesn't choke them. Then a veteranarian came on and said that the Geese for Dartagnan probably have happier lives than Geese in the wild who are probably devoured by starving Orphan Puppies being fattened up for a Republican fundraiser.

So, you see, the moral of this story is that good begats good. And Foie Gras rules. And I really really really want to try the French Kisses from the Dartagnan website; what's not to love about prunes marinated with French Brandy then stuffed with Foie Gras mousse?

OK, I'm drooling on my keyboard.

Yes, I'm evil.

Condiment Grrl

The return of Condiment Grrl and the Fritessaus!

2008-03-09T22:21:00.000-07:00

First up, I must apologize for my blogging deliquency. My day job sent me away on a key mission overseas to the land of bounteous mayonnaise, marijuana and bicycles -- the Netherlands.

Please note, for those of you from said place of employment who may browse here, that I engaged in only two of the three national pasttimes listed above -- bicycles and mayonnaise. Although the mayonnaise (or fritessaus) is rich enough that it should be against the law.

I have a series of blog posts planned for this week, each of which explore a different condiment aspect of my trip abroad. But today I wanted to focus on the thing that added 4 pounds to my weight during my travels -- fritessaus.

Exhibit A (actually, the only exhibit so I don't know what you call that)

Of course, I barely took any photos of the sights, just lots of photos of the condiments. I should have been an important photojournalist, except for that whole I suck at photography thing. So, I was blown away by two things in this aisle at the Super de boer:

- The amazing variety of fritessauses

- The giantness of the fritessaus jugs. They're HUGE.

It's like, how much fritessaus can one nation go through? Every single meal I had there, it didn't matter what kind of restaurant, the waitress would place a bowl of french fries in the center of the table and next to it, a little pot of fritessaus.

And let me explain a little bit about fritessaus. At first taste, the creaminess and texture remind you of mayonnaise, but the flavor is richer, deeper. I couldn't tell you what made it different, what the flavor was, but I can say that it was like they took the best of what makes mayonnaise taste good and kicked it up a notch. It was so good, that even when I knew I was waiting for some yummy carpaccio (man, they love their raw meat over there) or some crispy kipfilet (chicken), I would find my hand buried in the fries, then swiping again and again through the fritessaus.

I know many of you are thinking, "Well, was her hand acting of its own accord?" And the answer my friends is "Yes." Maybe it was the blue skies, the canals, the cobblestones, but it was a hunger beyond reason that drew me to the fritessaus. And though it is my hands that commit the crime, my thighs are the innocent bystanders that pay the price.

Another interesting fact -- there are barely any overweight or fat people in Holland. Really, hardly any, even with the apparent consumption of jugs and jugs of fritesaus. A clue might be what I referenced in my first paragraph - bicycles. Lots and lots and lots of bicycles that people ride everywhere. And the walking through places like the photo below.

So, my thighs could get moving and help serve the time the hand caused with fritessaus consumption. And now, here's a photo of the city I was in, Eindhoven.

More later on the international condiment situation.

Condiment Grrl

Can this Marriage Survive?

2008-01-16T21:18:00.000-08:00

You know, everyone is always telling me I should also do restaurant reviews. Clearly, I love food and the right to fine dining should be enshrined in the Bill of Rights. However, I have a deep, dark secret (I know, I know, ANOTHER one) -- I'm kind of a picky eater. My mother swears that I was fine until I was three and then it all went to hell. It's probably part of what started my life-long love affair with condiments -- one of the few things I would eat was a mixture comprised of mayonnaise, ketchup, and red wine vinegar. I know I've blogged about it before and I'm too lazy to search back through my surprisingly extensive archives.

I would put that special dressing on everything - salad, carrots, liverwurst (Oh My God, that was the best and worst treat ever. I'm salivating).

Okay, but back to the idea of restaurant reviews. The picky eating thing has a bad effect on that. All these reviewers are like "And then we had the pickled quail eggs over Dover Sole stomach with a fricasee of sparrow nostrils." That just doesn't sound good to me. I like to get what I like to get. I wouldn't want to feel compelled to sample everything on the menu, especially if there was some nasty things on the menu. I don't care how high-brow your restaurant is, there are dishes on the menu that will always be nasty.

And those dishes usually contain zuchini and button mushrooms. Before I continue, I must note for you that that used to read "and all mushrooms," but in my later years, I discovered that I liked fancy expensive mushrooms (see some of my "switched at birth" posts). But I hate hate hate hate hate hate that demon zuchinni. I'm not even going to bother looking up the correct spelling.

I think it goes back to my organic Bay Area roots and the horrific proliference of zuchinnnii plants and that slime-of-the-earth output: zuchini bread. My stomach would clench in horror when some birkenstock beclad friend of my parents would flounce in the door and announce, "Hey I brought you some fresh-baked zuckini bread!" I still need special therapy.

Anyway, Mr. Mustard is Italian, half-Italian actually, but as a co-worker noted, "Even if you're only part Italian, you're all Italian." And it's been a sticking point in our relationship that I hate mushrooms, and zucchini and eggplant(!). But he's soldiered through the pain and suffering, occasionally resorting to what he resorted to last night: adding sliced mushrooms and yunchini to the top of his salad like a...like a...like a...condiment.

Look, I can get through dealing with those supposed foodstuffs as vegetables, but to turn them into CONDIMENTS?! In front of my face! That's adding insult to injury. I just don't know how I can go on. Sigh.

Condiment Grrl

A Simple beginning to 2008

2008-01-03T19:52:00.001-08:00

Greetings all and Happy New Year!

I am planning to do a round-up of the year in condiments, but I have been still recovering from all the crazy merry merry of the holiday season. Condiment and family overload (in a good way - Hi Mom!). And I just haven't had the energy to do my big wrap-up, but my new Zen calendar for 2008 prompted me through its gentle, meaningful sayings to perhaps start with something simple.

Which is perfect, because I've been meaning to blog about a simple thing; a simple solution to an old problem - more texture in salad. Say you're like me and have been verboten by your crazy German naturopath from eating wheat so "NO CROUTONS FOR YOU!!!" And you're putting together your yummy salad and longing for something crunchy, something tangy and tantalizing that will give your salad the proverbial "legs."

Experiment.

I had the dregs of an evil, evil bag of salt n' vinegar chips (a condiment and fat-lovers dream come true, but manufactured in hell). In an act of inspration, I poured the rest of the bag out over my salad and smashed the rest so they would disperse throughout my salad.

It was good, it was tangy, it was simple. And so we have my motto for 2008 - Good, Tangy, and Simple.

Happy New Year

Condiment Grrl

Another Day, Another Mustard

2007-12-09T22:46:00.000-08:00

Well, I'm back. I'd like to say that my blogging absence had to do with my horrible mistake about butter not being dairy, so I retreated into a monastic state to meditate on my relationship to each food element that makes up the foodstuffs that complete our lives. To really think about butter, and pure cane sugar, and each egg, and blah blah blah.

Truth is, I got sick and ended up spending too much time on the couch watching Season One of Project Runway. And I don't care what anyone says, I have to like a contestant named Wendy Pepper.

Tonight, I present to you my thorough and bias-free judging process for a new mustard. Also, let me add that this mustard is actually not new to me. I've tried it before, but I think it was the wrong phase of the moon or something, because I barely noticed it.

We're having Kurabata Ham for dinner and the stove is broken and I was feeling destitute because I couldn't glaze the ham with a savory-sweet mustard/honey concoction. So, I slathered over my true feelings with mustard. Stonewall Kitchen Maine Maple Champagne Mustard to be exact. I was cranky about only having a mustard. I figured I would need to add things to it for the exact taste combination I was craving (Maple Syrup and Apple Cider Vinegar). I opened the jar and dipped my finger in, put it in my mouth to figure out combinatiosn, etc. and was delighted to find the exact taste that I was actually looking for. I capped the jar and put it on the dinner table as is.

It went quite well with the ham. I put a pile on my plate, then loaded up Baby Balsamic. She initially wanted ketchup, but I talked her into the specialty mustard because it is really sweet. Then I had a little battle in my head because it's so expensive and ketchup is cheaper, but we get Heinz ketchup (we don't want the terrorists to win!) and it has all those fructose corn syrup chemical ingredients and this mustard has only wholesome ingredients like Maine Maple Syrup, clearly collected by a fresh apple-cheeked girl who only eats organic vegan tofu. So, Baby Balsamic had two platefuls of the more expensive alternative (after licking salad dressing off another plate; it's like she's my clone, not my child).

Then later, I bring the mustard in my office to make sure it really has what's advertised on the bottle. Again, I dip my finger in, and I can actually taste a touch of champagne, the maple and, obviously, the mustard. I think the champagne is what I'm going to term a bridging ingredient -- the bubbles dance the maple and the mustard together. That's got to be the reason. The two other flavors are so heavy that this lightens up the whole mixture.

Hmm...that's a lot of deep thought for 11:10 p.m. on a Sunday. Enough, in fact.

Condiment Grrl

Hey - Butter IS Dairy!

2007-11-26T22:14:00.001-08:00

Turns out my Chocolate Fudge Pie recipe isn't dairy free. Oops!

Cheese baked into bread - Give Thanks!

2007-11-23T15:55:00.000-08:00

This year for Thanksgiving, I decided that the only way to celebrate the arrival of the Mayflower along with the Pilgrims which led to much future merriment with the Native Americans was to bake a chocolate pie. Nothing says, "Hello! We come in peace, but there will be horrible horrible consequences for your people!" like a delicious DAIRY-FREE chocolate fudge pie. I found a nice recipe in a 1950 "The Best of Gourmet Cooking." You know, when recipes all assumed a certain base of cooking knowledge so they're very short and sparse, "peak the egg whites, fold into the mixture, bake in a moderate oven." These days the recipes are like "turn on the oven: if you have an electric stove, you'll do this by a dial at the top. For gas stoves, you might have to be sure the pilot light is on..."

I had to buy some good hardcore unsweetened chocolate (yeah, that's right. That's for those of us who are truly hardcore) for the recipe, so I had to fight the Thanksgiving crowds and get myself to Metropolitan Market. I was trying to be good and restrain myself when I saw that there were free samples out in the food "porn" specialty area. And what samples they were - brioche with brie! Yep, a lovely brioche with a wheel of brie baked right into it. Each of the sliced samples was lovingly placed in an earth-killing plastic cup. And not only that, there are other condiments to add to the brioche with brie, brandied cranberries! Yum! Let's see, for those keeping score at home, that's fat (brie), carbs (brioche), and alcohol (brandied). The brioche is a light bread that complements the creamy brie perfectly, which leads me to muse:

Which is the condiment? You see I said "there are other condiments to add to the brioche with brie." That means I consider the brioche or the brie a condiment. Something that enhances the other. In this case, I would consider the brie a condiment for the brioche, mostly because you could also spread the brie on the brioche.

I can give thanks that I have enough abundance in my life to afford these lovely luxuries. That I can toss these in the basket for all to enjoy while the kiddies put on a Thanksgiving pageant that involved Baby Balsamic playing with a yo-yo while a solemn 11-year old intoned "And the Pilgrim women took care of the sick and the children." Baby Balsamic let out a laugh, not acting very sick. She also enjoyed the brandied cranberries.

Happy Thanksgiving,

Condiment Grrl

The Secret Ingredient

2007-11-19T06:35:00.000-08:00

At the headquarters of my corporate masters (no, Virginia, blogging about condiments is not a cash cow), there is a cafeteria which gets a B- on condiments. Standard oil and vinegar offered at the salad bar, but also balsamic vinegar (it's the new black) and olive oil vs. your standard vegetable oil. They only offer tabasco in little plastic packets, not by the bottle anymore.

This trend towards little plastic packets vs. the full bottle is disturbing to me. An indication of the general trend in our society towards insular living, holed up with our plastic media devices spewing light rays in high definition at us (of course, I type this sitting at said same object) vs. being out in the giant bottle of humanity.

Anyway, I usually get a salad, but this day they offered a tantalizing pulled pork mojito wrap with an Orange Chile sauce. The sauces are usually fine, but on this day, as I watched the nice woman behind the counter steaming up the tortilla, I noticed that the bowl containing the sauce for the wrap looked awfully homemade. So I inquired about its origin. Turns out, this lovely woman working in a corporate cafe which would bring me to my knees and/or a morphine habit in about 2 minutes, made the sauce herself. I was a tad surprised - I thought all these things came out of a bottle.

She gave me a taste and I tried to discern all the ingredients. I really, really wish I was better at this. I always wanted to be one of those people who take a sip of wine, then reel out "clearly contained in an oak barrel made of oaks from the northwest region of California, probably the small forest outside the town of Booneville, a man wearing boots that had tracked through blackberries walked over the dirt where the grapes grew, and a plane route flying a load of Florida citrus on a regular run flew over the vineyard twice a day, except on Sunday...."

I managed to guess olive oil. And that was it. It turns out she reduced orange juice (which I didn't know you could do), added Chipotle peppers, paprika for color, and the secret ingredient? She gave me a sly smile..."Dijon mustard."

I didn't guess it. I should have turned in my condiment grrl badge (Man, a condiment badge would have kept me in the girl scouts, but noooooooo, only stupid things like knots).

There was this crazy energy around the revelation of the secret ingredient. The furtive joy in knowing something only you know. Like having a secret crush, knowing that you see one additional thing in someone that no one else sees, that turns somebody you know into somebody special. We all have a secret ingredient. What's yours?

Condiment Grrl

The Family that Eats Mustard together...

2007-11-11T18:27:00.001-08:00

Tonight, at Sunday dinner, we served a yummy pot roast with assorted vegetables (including purple potatoes!). As is my wont, I put out two condiment jars on the table: cream-style horseradish and my new favorite Lemon Dill mustard from Earth & Vine. I like mixing the earthy, sinus-clearing experience of the mustard with the delicate lemon infused mustard. Now, for those of you keeping score at home, I am already on my second jar of my new favorite mustard. And it's approximately $8 a jar. No worries -- it's all coming out of Baby Balsamic's college fund. There will be no college after the oceans raise and flood out humanity; I'm just going to teach her how to surf and wear sunscreen. Lots and lots of sunscreen.

Big Daddy Condiment was over tonight and after sampling the Lemon Dill mustard, held up the jar and said, "Would you mind if I just dumped the contents of this jar straight into my mouth?"

And here's one for the baby book: Baby Balsamic asked for "condiments" with her dinner. It was the first time I can remember her using the word "condiment." It's almost as memorable as the first time she said "Mama," which I actually can't remember now.

Baby Balsamic's habit and the cost of the jar did give me pause as she went through piles of the expensive mustard with her dinner, just like I do. Everytime there was a hole on her plate, she would say "More mustard, please." I think she ate about $3 worth with her meal. The beef cost more. Ah well, now she will never have bad diseases due to the turmeric content.

Clearly, I was switched at birth with someone like Paris Hilton, so Baby Balsamic should be eating only the finest condiments off of silver plates in our summer home on the French Riviera. Wolfgang Puck would create a special ketchup just for us to eat at the grand openings of all his flagship stores, we would attract so much attention.

Condiment Grrl

What does this say about me?

2007-11-06T22:32:00.000-08:00

I've always thought that you could see the entire history of my life if you just rifle through enough of my t-shirts. A unique time-and-place imprint lurks beneath the cotton and iron-on decals that define my existence on this planet; a fabric piece of a puzzle that combine to create my own unique soul-DNA:

"Esperanto!" (My father was the president of the Esperanto society.)

"Hardy Boys Fan Club" (I don't want to hear about it. And yes, Shaun was my favorite.)

"UU - Liberal Religious Youth" (you know who you are)

"It will be a great day when the schools have all the money they need and the Air Force has to hold a bake sale to buy a bomber." (Still so true.)

"Peace Now" (Yes, I was a Berkeley girl. This shirt is purple with a pretty tree.)

"Ugly from the Front" (You have to be a Lyle Lovett fan to understand this one.)

"Davis Whole Earth Festival" (You had to be there to understand.)

"San Francisco Mime Troupe" (Not silent Mimes! Go here for more info.)

"Clinton/Gore '92" (Sigh.)

"Righteous Babe." (You gotta know the music of Ani DiFranco.)

"Condiment Phrenology." What's that you say? You've never heard of this shirt? Well, I just found out today when I received my mailing from the Mount Horeb Mustard Museum. I LOVE the whole "This is Your Brain on..." jokes. There can never be too many of those for me. They always crack me up. And this one just spoke to me, to my soul in a way that sang of new depths of my experience, of my life, and my emotions.

Mine and Baby Balsamic's should be on its way to us now. You can order yours here. As soon as it gets here, I will pose us both so you can see us for who we are now in our life. Of course, if Baby Balsamic could read, she would be most upset at the message as she worships ketchup as her very favorite vegetable ever.

I can just picture her, decades from now rifling through her very own t-shirt collection, which will hopefully read something like:

"President of the Honor Student Society"

"Official Olympic Women's Soccer Team 2024"

"My Mom is the best Mom ever!"

"Pete Seeger rulz!" (I want her to have a little rebelious phase. Just a little one. It's healthy.)

"Official Society of the Extremely Wealthy, yet Liberal and Giving, Investment Banker types who believe in Supporting their Parents in their Old Age."

Then I can see her in her therapist's office, pulling out a tiny "Condiment Phrenology" t-shirt and saying, "This shirt has always confused me, made me question my identity. I've always loved ketchup, so why should I have a shirt that defames ketchup. It's not right. WHO AM I?"

Then she'll start humming "Puff the Magic Dragon" to herself to calm herself down and fanning herself with a sheaf of 1,000 dollar bills. It's an image to warm a mother's heart.

What t-shirts are hiding in your closet?

Condiment Grrl