In less than 24 hours I have thoroughly enjoyed two yummy treats that I must share with you. The first came in the form of truffle frites from Hotel Monaco’s restaurant Poste Moderne Brasserie in downtown DC. I have had these before (yet from a different restaurant), and I’ve seen truffles prepared on Bravo’s Top Chef, but I needed to learn a little more about them.
Truffles are a fungus, much like a mushroom. And anyone who knows me well knows that I HATE mushrooms. They are fungus. They are chewy and flavorless and just feel wrong in my mouth. The texture of truffles, though, look more like chucks of hard soil found in an abandoned Ohio farm.
All I want to know is, who dug that up and said “I will charge $50 for a medium sized dirt mushroom. I will call it rare and go to my grave laughing at those culinary morons!” Because damn he knew what he was doing. Those truffle frites were fabulous. I could have eaten them all night, one at a time, savoring each bite in its garlic and fungus-y richness. Sadly, at $9 a pot (no seriously, they’re served in small terra cotta pots) that wasn’t going to happen.
The other fabulous culinary treat was from a nondescript deli in College Park, the city where I happen to be working every Saturday. Or, “working”. Marathon Deli’s value meal today was a gyro, fries and a drink for $7.99. Can’t beat that home-cooked goodness, so I went for it. And thank goodness I did, because it is the best gyro (pronounced yee-dough) I have ever had. The meat was tender, the tomatoes and onions perfect and crisp, the tzatziki was tangy and filling. The fries were topped with some kind of herb-seasoned salt which I sopped up with my last bit of pita (warm and chewy, by the way). In an effort to not spend $7.99 every Saturday, I’ve decided to make my own tzatziki, and this recipe from Kalyn’s Kitchen looks like it’ll be the winner. (Unless my accountant/baker friend Risa over at Baked Perfection wishes to whip something up, which would probably be spectacular.)
(I had to Google the phrase something wicked this way comes because I knew I’d heard it before and wanted to make sure I wasn’t ripping someone off. Turns out it’s a novel by Ray Bradbury.) And also, thanks to Tess’s comment, a line from a Shakespeare play. But since I slept through 12th grade Brit Lit, I wouldn’t have known that.