Tales of Hot Chocolate and A Homemade Marshmallow

In general, I am an open-minded eater. But there are a few things that I'm a snob about: chicken-fried steak, tomatoes, and, most vehemently, good ole-fashioned hot chocolate.

Back when AC and I lived in New York, we would try hot chocolate everywhere: coffee shops, bakeries, street vendors, wherever, and nothing was quite right. Either it was cloyingly sweet, had way too much chocolate and not enough sweetness, or the consistency was wrong. And forget Swiss Miss or any other powder that comes with those freeze-dried marshmallows. I won't go there.

Anyway, we finally came across Sticky Fingers bakery, located in the East Village, a total hole in the wall that could accommodate no more than about five customers standing up. I know at one point we tried their baked goods, but to be honest, I don't remember a thing, because once we feasted on the homemade hot chocolate, everything that occurred that day prior to going to Sticky Fingers was soon forgotten, as my day started anew when this chocolaty liquid heaven entered my life. The beverage was piping hot and had just the right mixture of chocolate and sweetness. But what elevated the cocoa to the next level was the bits of chocolate floating around in the cup, which were rich and delicious. I was sure, once we moved back to the DC area, that nothing could come close.

But, luckily, I've been proved wrong.

Misha's, a local (but also world-renowned) coffee joint in Old Town, serves a top-notch hot chocolate. Again, key to an excellent cup of cocoa is that it not be too sweet nor to chocolaty. It has to have the perfect combination, and I know this is hard to achieve, because I've tried it in my own kitchen, and failed. But we rarely ever right about things that are just amazing, there's always something else that tips the scales from "amazing" to "totally unbelievable," and this time, it was the homemade marshmallow brick that we got for an extra 50 cents. It's worth noting that the marshmallows come from a Wisconsin-style custard place in the Del Ray neighborhood of Alexandria called The Dairy Godmother (it used to be called the Dreamery but was sued by Edy's, a sub-par brand of iced confection).

The homemade marshmallow is vastly underrated. It makes me wonder if those who make them know their power—to take something so simple and usually underwhelming and turn it into a special treat all its own. The Dreamery's marshmallows can and should be eaten as a snack, but floating and slowly melting on top of a small cup of totally unbelievable hot chocolate, it's perfection.

—AK

Sweet Potatoes

I rarely buy food items off of web sites. I do it only in extreme situations—when I know I can't get something at a local store or if it's so freakin' bizarre I have to try it.

One one fine day, clad in pajamas and warm socks, I did what I frequently do in the evening—watch the Food Network. And during one of these food specials where they go to some factory out in the middle of no where and feature some amazing person who makes the tastiest whatever, I was introduced to Spud Fudge, fudge made from cooked Idaho potatoes. Apparently, it replaces a 1/3 of the sugar. Whatever, I was just intrigued because each of the chocolates was fashioned into little baked potatoes with chocolate made to look like sour cream and a pat of butter, all clad in aluminum foil. How cute!

I had to have this, so I immediately ordered a sixer of 4-ouncers. I was beside myself with glee that these lil chocolatey potatoes would be arriving. And since my mail situation in New York was not one to be envied, I had them sent to my work address. One day, one of our receptionists walked into the office I was sharing with three other people and said, somewhat worriedly, "you just received a box of potato-based fudge."

"Ah-ha!" I said, running over to receive the bounty. And boy, these things might have only been 4 ounces each, but they were heavy and dense. I took a small knife and shaved off a small sliver to taste, and it was amazing—super creamy, rich, high-quality chocolate. Another sliver, and then another. I also felt obliged to share it with the receptionist lest she think I was some kind of insane person slicing potato fudge with a plastic knife at my desk (which I was).

AC was also intrigued by the notion of Spud Fudge when we saw the show on the Food Network, but he's not the type to just up and buy something off the Internet just to try it. He would have to carefully consider the situation, weight the pros and cons, and then, most likely, decide that it wasn't a good idea (AC, you know it's true). And when I brought the product to him, he was still a bit cautious about it. But he quickly became a believer once the spuds settled into his taste buds. If I remember correctly, he might have killed a 4-ouncer right then and there.

Two years later, I still think about Spud Fudge, and I've since visited the company's web site a few times since my first purchase. The site is much slicker, and the company is offering a wider variety of products. It might be time to procure another stash. And maybe you should, too. —AK

Corporate Test Kitchen Follies

Judging by the two hideous pizza alfredo abominations being touted in the latest Papa Johns promotional mailer, Pizza Hut’s saboteurs must have successfully infiltrated the Papa Johns corporate test kitchen. How else can one explain the existence of not one, but two alfredo sauce based pizzas among the current roster of Papa Johns’ specialty pies?

 

No, I’m not making this up. Papa Johns offers both a spinach alfredo and a chicken alfredo pizza. The Papa Johns website proclaims that the spinach alfredo pizza (with its “creamy spinach and garlic cheese sauce”) is a “real winner.” Somehow, despite it’s “creamy white alfredo sauce” base, the grilled chicken alfredo pizza receives no such designation.

 

Okay, so I investigated further and discovered that Papa Johns’ alfredo pizzas have actually been around for about three years. They issued a press release in 2003 that heralded the re-introduction of the spinach alfredo pizza and the debut of the chicken alfredo pizza. Evidentally, “creamy white alfredo sauce” based pizzas have a much wider and far more vocal constituency among the pizza scarfing public than I ever could have imagined.

 

Interestingly enough, I conducted an extremely cursory and unscientific survey of consumer mentions (i.e. poked around through Google for a few minutes) and found that women mentioned enjoying the spinach alfredo pizza far more than men. I guess the dudes are content with grubbing on the potentially vomitous meatfest that is the Steak Fanatic from Domino’s, leaving the chicks clamoring for daintier fare.

 

Take for instance this testimonial that Google coughed up from Fattiesaurus Rex on MySpace (edited down for clarity):

 

I'm being a complete fat ass and eating almost an entire box of spinach alfredo pizza from Papa Johns. I even had to go back out to the soda machine to get another coke. Ahhhh....the joys of being a skinny bitch . . . Well I'm going to hunt down some more "Special Garlic Sauce" and continue feeding myself. . . *BURP*

 

Now that creamy white alfredo sauce based pizzas have found sufficient support in the marketplace, what’s next? How about a layer of sweet, creamery butter right under the cheese? Hell yeah, bring it.

-AC

Super Salad

AC and I don't really like it when a restaurant declares on of its menu items as "the best," even if it's a direct quote from a food critic or it won a load of awards or whatever. "The Best Chili in the Pacific Northwest," "The Best Chicken Fried Steak in Port-au-Prince". You get the idea. We just think it's ridiculous. Let the diners decide!

But after five and a half years of dining together, we've found one and only place that gets a pass: King Street Blues in Alexandria, Virginia. KSB's self-proclaimed "Best Small Salad in Town" is no exaggeration. It is the perfect mixture of fresh vegetables (including corn!), crisp lettuce, and—a key element—homemade dressing (our favorite is the tomato ranch).

And actually, AC and I are, generally, big fans of the starter salad. We love that cold, crisp lettuce and vegetables, maybe some cheese, all smothered in (hopefully) homemade dressing. The salad also provides us with some healthy redemption before a heavy meal, and well, all those fiber and vitamins do a body good. So when we moved back to the DC metro area and immediately begun our culinary adventures here, we began surveying area salads, and we've come up with our faves of Northern Virginia. In no particular order:

1. King Street Blues
2. Carlyle Grand Cafe
3. Faccia Luna
4. Chadwicks
5. Cafe Monti
6. Vermilion

—AK

Ride the Taste Buds

Ever since I scored my first can of Vimto from the West African Grocery in Hell’s Kitchen, NYC, I find myself scouting out every ethnic food mart with the hope of uncovering ever more exotic carbonated beveraging. Oh and in case you ever do hit the West African Grocery, here’s a hard-earned tip: Vimto is not a suitable chaser for the green kola nuts displayed in sandwich bags near the cash register. That is, of course, unless you’re a cabbie from Burkina Faso.

Anyway, I roll past an Indian grocery called Delhi Bazaar (6531 Little River Turnpike) on my drive to work each day. I finally worked up the energy to deviate from my mad rush home each night to survey their beveraging opportunities. At first I was excited to find bottles of Thum’s Up, but the grime encrusting the bottles was offputting, and I had already sampled Thum’s Up previously. In case you're curious, Thums Up tastes a lot like coke except that it’s sweetened with sugar cane instead of high fructose corn syrup.

Then I spied these hideous bright green cans, emblazoned with the name “Pakola.” One of the charms of seeking out foreign sodas is the typically antiquated design of the packagin, and, of course, the fact that most foreign sodas are still packaged in glass bottles. Sadly, the Pakola can’s design was not entirely dissimilar to any number of American soft drinks currently on the market: an eyepopping logo on a background dappled with faux condensation drops to better inspire thoughts of thirst quenching.

Fortunately, I took the time to scrutinize the can further, and discovered the somewhat ambiguous descriptor “Ice Cream Soda.” Now having sampled all manner of South Asian ice creams and kulfis, I had no idea what ice cream soda could possibly entail. This seemed like a potentially big beveraging score, at least if one of your metrics for such a score is “high weirdness.”

The soda turns out to smell faintly of roses, even though the liquid itself is an otherwordly green. It turns out that Pakola is a lightly rose flavored cream soda. As for the ice cream inspiration behind the soda, falooda seems to be the most likely source, even though the falooda ice cream I’ve had has always had little bits of noodle in it.

The Pakola corporate website is surprisingly informative. It turns out that Pakola is not merely Pakistani (in retrospect, this seems stunningly obvious), but is, in fact, the “heart beat of the nation” as this following passage describes:

As per our slogan, “DIL BOLA …. Pakola”, we believe that Pakola is the heart beat of the nation and with its amazing taste holds the potential or ride the taste buds of the consumers at home and abroad. Although the green drink “Pakola Ice Cream Soda” is aynonyms with the name Pakola, but that’s not all, Pakola gives sensation by bottling other fruity flavors namely Pakola Orange, Pakola Lychee, Pakola Raspberry and Pakola Guava.

-AC

A Very Special Burrito

Sometimes,
even though you hate a place, there will be things that will lure you
back. Being a mentally stable, suburban resident of the DC area, I,
naturally, hate Adams Morgan. But occasionally, our pals, K and J, will
entice us to take part in the ridiculously cheap beer specials at
Asylum (not to mention the company of two excellent people and hours of
engaging conversation), and we invariably take them up on it.

But there's something else, the power of which I cannot deny, and
the tastes and smells of which I cannot resist, and that is: Tacos
Pepito's Bakery. First of all, the name is a misnomer. While, yes, it
is a bakery, it is really an authentic Mexican take-away, offering all manner
of tacos, burritos, agua frescas, and, of course, a wall of baked
goods.

At first, our friend S wasn't too keen on the fact that Tacos
Pepito's is purely take-away and doesn't have any tables and chairs,
but she soon saw mine and K's famished faces, and, in turn, realized that
if this place is as good as we say, then it must be done.

We all decided on burritos, and I went for chorizo, which was ground
and very spicy. It should be noted that the presentation of the burrito
is unique. The bread is more like a thin lavash bread rather than a
traditional flour tortilla that has been fried and arrives in the
styrofoam container rather crispy and halved, bursting with meat,
refried beans, Mexican rice, and pico. As I mowed my way down each half
of the burrito, I was surprised by pockets of guacamole and sour cream
nestled in the corners. There is nothing more satisfying than plowing
your way through an awesome burrito (did I mention we were sitting on a
stoop out side in 40 degree weather?), and then
finding the salvation that is the cold creaminess of guac and sour
cream, the greatest and tastiest of Mexican food sides.

As we ate in stone-cold silence, passers-by noticed our glut, and
frequently commented things like "bon appetit" or "hungry?" S observed,
wisely, that "people like to see girls really eat." And really eat we
did.
-AK

Christmas Loot

Here's the deal. AC and I don't host holiday parties or the family meal. And we don't send out cards or bake goodies for our friends. It's not because we don't care about these people, we just don't want to go to all the trouble. But—and I'm sure our cohorts will agree—we are extremely supportive of our friends' and families' parties, family meals, goodies, and holiday mailings. We finish our plates, and usually go for seconds, we always take a bag of leftovers home, and I, personally, get a thrill out of receiving holiday cards (even if they're auto-generated, like the one I got from the bridal salon where I bought my gown).

But this year, my devoted readers, was a veritable Christmas loot bonanza.

Much to our surprise, we received about 40 percent more cards than last year, and, as such, I was inspired to display them in our living room. AC protested at first, but soon saw, as I was gingerly propping up the final card, that there was no arguing with it. These cards were going up. And I will also admit that I frequently look at them, sometimes even re-reading the message inside, no matter how brief or canned it might be.

But while paper goods are certainly welcome and adored during this time of year, it's the homemade treats that get the blood pumping. This year, in no particular order, was what we received, some of which we are still chipping away at:

1. Martha Stewart-style white chocolate peppermint bark (thank you K and J)

2. Pecans dredged in a delightful spice mix (thank you K and R)

3. Mini muffin-shaped brownies (also Martha-inspired) that barely survived 30 minutes in the apartment (thank you K and J)

4. Mint chocolate brownies so rich it takes some doing to separate tongue from roof of mouth (thank you J)

5. Oklahoma-grown pecans, both raw and chocolate-covered (thank you J)

6. Homemade turtles, with caramel and chocolate so seamlessly integrated. The best EVER (thank you J).

7. Peanut brittle, one almost soft and chewy, the other traditional (thanks to mom and dad)

-AK