#49 Eat Lobster In Maine

I absolutely love lobster. It is such a treat to have. I enjoy it immensely and never take it for granted. Lobster makes everything better.

Lobster is the boom in a seafood biqsue.
Lobster is the mic drop in a baked macaroni and cheese.
Lobster is the bow chicka wow wow in a bowl of butter.
Lobster is the I'm sorry for party rocking in a toasted bun.
Lobster is Jesus in a Fra Diavalo.

Hello lover!

Lobster is simply amazing. It's one of the fruits of the sea. It is also an acquired taste. Most people either love it to pieces or loathe it completely. Obviously I happen to be on the "love it to pieces" side of the lobster spectrum. And this unrequited love for the quirky crustacean brought about a quest I just had to add to my Bucket List.  I needed to eat lobster in Maine.

Why Maine you ask?

Well for starters, Maine is known for their lobster. It is a huge commodity for the state of Maine and the commerce brings a lot of revenue to the state. I wanted to go directly to the source to try my favorite seafood item. The other selling point for me was the fact that numerous chefs, critics and restaurateurs I have admired over the years have often stated that Maine lobster is arguably the best lobster in the world.

Who was I to disagree with professionals? No one. I was no one to disagree. And while my original Bucket List goal was to attend the Maine Lobster Festival, after reading reviews of the festival and talking to people that have visited Maine, I adjusted my goal. I did not want to go to an over priced, over crowded festival to eat lobster. I wanted to savor fresh from the sea lobster at a shabby little restaurant on a wharf.

Thankfully, Maine is full of restaurants just like that. The hard part was not finding a restaurant. The hard part was deciding which ones to try. Luckily, I did not have to make any decision. One of my nearest and dearest friends, Becky, had moved to Maine and discovered the perfect restaurant to relish a genuine Maine Lobster Boil. But before I get to that, I am going to talk about the pre-game.

Lobster stands are a common site along the coast of Maine. 

Yes, we totally pre-gamed before partaking in the Lobster Boil.

The pre-game occurred at a little restaurant in Lewiston, Maine called Chick-a-dee's. On my visit to Maine, which is one of the most beautiful states in the USA, my lovely host Rebecca treated me to lunch. She had heard fabulous things about the Lobster Rolls at Chick-a-dees of Lewiston and wanted to see if I was down to try it. I absolutely was. Not only was the name of the restaurant really cute but she informed me that they served real lobster rolls.

And by real lobster roll I mean they served buttery lobster meat on a buttery, toasted bun. It was not lobster salad on a bun. Now don't get me wrong, I do enjoy lobster salad but I feel it is very deceptive when food trucks and food stands advertise that they are selling lobster rolls when in fact, they are selling lobster salad rolls.

I once paid $15 for a lobster roll on Martha's Vineyard and was handed a bun with lobster salad in it. To me, personally, that was not a lobster roll. They had tricked me. I was very hurt and cried a little but still ate it. Just kidding. I didn't cry. The lobster SALAD roll was delicious even though it was a fallacy, I thoroughly enjoyed it. I just wasn't expecting lobster salad. Of course, the world does not revolve around me alone so I do understand that just like with any food recipe, there are different interpretations as to what constitutes a lobster roll.

So pretty and simple. Speaks volumes though.

But let's get back to the great state of Maine and a restaurant called Chick-a-dee's. This restaurant wasn't much to see from the outside. It reminded me of a little chalet. However the inside of the restaurant was another story completely. Pale wooden floors lined the quaint rooms of this restaurant. The walls were painted a gorgeous weathered grey while white trim and molding added a beautiful touch of class to the overall design. And while there was some artwork on the walls, it was very simple and uncluttered. The atmosphere of the restaurant felt beachy and serene.

Becky and I were seated in the dining room by a friendly waitress. Immediately we noticed a beautiful pallet board wall hanging of a dandelion, blowing in the wind across from our table. I commented that we both needed that wall art in our life. It was very symbolic for both of us. I have been scouring the interwebz for art like that ever since I saw the painting. Eventually I will find one I love and I will get two! One for me and one for Becks.

Our server asked if we were ready to order. We absolutely were. Becky was treating me to a Lobster Roll and Fries. My stomach was growling so loud I was positive our server heard it. I wasn't even embarrassed. I was ready for some lobster to get in my belly. And I did not have to wait long. Our server was back in no time setting two plates of heavenly goodness cuddled in a buttery bun in front of us.

The smile on my face was so huge as she set down the plates but there was also a curious glint in my eyes as I looked at my lobster roll. Becky explained to me that the lobster roll was comprised of all claw meat. She went on to say that the meat in the claw of the lobster is actually the best part of the crustacean. The claw meat is sweeter and more tender than any other part of the lobster.

Hurt me!

As I took my first bite of the delectable roll, I almost fell out of my seat and onto the floor. The incredible flavor of lobster claw meat bursting in my mouth was more than I could bare. Becky was 100% right. It was so delicious. And the bread was luscious. I must say, the bread in New England is very distinctive, especially lobster and shrimp roll buns. It's chewy yet light. The way they grill or toast it with butter gives is a very enticing flavor. It reminded me of bread grilled on an open flame but without getting all burnt. It just tasted so damned good.

The fresh cut fries were also incredible and the cole slaw was nice and creamy. We savored every single bite of our lobster rolls. I was so sad when it was over. Becky and I also discussed our trip to Portland that evening for even more lobster. I was one ecstatic gal. I was a total lobster junkie getting one hell of a fix that Friday back in August of 2017. It was a super day.

Really cool store in Portland, Maine

So let's get to Portland, Maine. It's an amazing city. It reminded me of Pittsburgh in that it was a big city with a small town feel. The Old Port section, where we we were dining, was architecturally stunning. The aesthetic brick buildings each had their own endearing charm to them. Some had ornate window trimming. Some had colorful canopies flanking their entrances. Some had contrasting pops of color worked into their facade such as royal blue and hunter green.

The street lamps were reminiscent of cast iron railroad lamps and the perfectly lain brick sidewalks meandered around a wide variety of unique specialty shops, pubs and art galleries. Cobblestone streets with their antiquated charm blended perfectly with the European style that the Old Port provoked. I felt as if I were walking around the River Thames in old school London or a Scottish village along a seaport. It was so enthralling.

Some scenes from Downtown Portland, Maine

Priorities people! Priorities!! 

A really cool fish market in Portland!

We made our way down a little side street near a fish market. I looked up at the sign hanging from one of the buildings. It was an old sign, definitely vintage. We had arrived at The Porthole. Not gonna lie, it was not much to see from the outside. I would even go so far as to say it was shady looking. Once you stepped inside though, it was anything but shady. It was a New England Lobster House.

Eating lobster in Maine baby! Couldn't have been more perfect than the Porthole!

Becks and I made our way through the restaurant to the giant outdoor deck. There were a lot of people milling about out there. Some were enjoying the bar and the band while others were in the dining area. While we waited for a picnic table to open for dining, we hung out by the water, observing the harbor.

Becky was admiring all the fishing vessels with their lobster traps stacked and ready to go for another day of fishing. I noticed there were lobster buoys set up everywhere in the wharf. I did not realize you could trap lobsters that close to land. I always thought you had to go deep into the sea to find them like the red crab fishermen had to do in the Deadliest Catch. Turns out, you can catch lobster right up to the coast.

The view from the deck of the Porthole. So awesome. 

The boats lined up for fishing in the AM. Wicked Pissah! (I have no idea what that means.)

Before too long, it was time to eat! As we were being seated at our picnic table I noticed I could no longer hear the band. We did not learn until we visited Boothbay the next day that many cities, towns and villages along the Maine coast have noise ordinances in place after a certain hour. Bands and such can only play music until a certain time of the night, usually 9 or 10 pm. We learned that the reverberation from the noise has a negative impact on lobster fishing. Too much noise = poor catches. Interesting.

By now the sky was dark and a chill was settling into the evening air. It felt so wonderful though. The smell of salt water, melted butter and boiled seafood wafting through the air was everything I had imagined Maine would smell like. Becky had already told our server to bring us two twin lobster bakes. You know what that meant? That meant there were going to be four lobsters at our picnic table. The anticipation was thrilling me to pieces.

So Damn Good!

I ordered a Hard Cider while we waited for our food. The cider was so delicious and crisp. It tasted like tart yet sweet apples. This delicious paradox was called Downeast Unfiltered. Unfortunately, as I would learn with most of the delicious food and beverages I enjoyed on my trip to Maine, you couldn't find this in Pennsylvania. Maine is probably the first place I have ever visited where I enjoyed every single thing I ate and drank immensely. There were zero disappointments.

Becky and I talked about lobsters and boats and all sorts of things while we waited for our food. Our server brought steel pails and lobster bibs to our table. Excitedly, I immediately put on my lobster bib. I wanted to make sure I was 100% ready for the lobsters when they arrived. I wanted to look nice for them. They were going to a good home in my belly where they would be appreciated.

When our server arrived with our plates I was so happy. I started clapping while oohing and ahhing over their perfection. I felt like royalty. The lobsters were huge and perfect and red. Did I mention they were whole lobsters? Well, they were. And there is a method to eating a whole lobster to ensure you get the most out of your lobster. Becky walked me through each step. It was serious business. I listed a diagram below on how to get the most out of your lobster.

How to get all the meat you can out of a whole lobster.

Really Cool Lobster Infographic. 

I am so ready!!

One important thing the diagram did not mention that Becky did explain to me is that it is when separating the tail from the body, there will be some water in the crustacean. It is best to hold the tail and body over your pail and allow the water drain into the bucket rather than all over your plate. It's also a good reason to wear a bib as the lobster is juicy and messy.

And that is one of my most favorite parts of eating seafood boils. You can be a sloppy mess and it is totally acceptable. Anyone that has ever seen me eat knows that at some point I am eventually going to be wearing my food. It may be in my hair, all over my face, on my shirt, in my lap, or splattered on my shoes. Just know, it is going to happen. It's inevitable.

And eating food with your hands is so primal and fun. There is a sexiness about it. You can be a total mess, licking your fingers, shoving potatoes and seafood in your mouth while butter runs down your chin and juice streams down your arms and it is perfectly okay. You look around the restaurant at the fellow savages chowing down, and nod and smile at your neighboring diners. It's great stuff. Really, it is.

My Boyz! 

Thanks for the memories!

Becky and I were having a blast enjoying our lobsters. I cut my lip twice sucking the meat out of the little lobster legs. I embraced the pain. It was for a good cause. That cause was lobster consumption. Once again, I savored the sweet, tender claw meat from the giant lobster claws. It was so heavenly. And as much as I was enjoying my meal, I did find myself a little sad. This lobster was too good. It was too fresh.

The lobsters on my plate were not previously frozen. They were not sitting in a tank for days. The lobsters on my plate were sitting at the bottom of the ocean that very morning. You can't get much fresher than that. I knew having lobster that fresh would ultimately change the way I looked at lobster. Lobster this fresh was not abundant in Pennsylvania.

Don't get me wrong, there are plenty of restaurants that sell very delicious lobster dishes in Pennsylvania but those lobsters more than likely were not in the ocean just hours before. Now, as wonderful a lobster meal as I may get back home, it will ultimately pale in comparison to what I was enjoying at that very moment on the deck of a harbor at a fresh seafood restaurant on the Atlantic coast in Portland Maine.

This was a profound moment indeed.

As we finished our delicious meal, I took a moment to really take everything in. Just 3 months prior I was on another adventure. I was looking out into the Atlantic Ocean, sampling conch and key lime pie with my beloved kiddos in Key West, Florida, the East Coast's most southern state. And now, 3 months later I was on another adventure. Once again I was on the Atlantic, enjoying lobster and Maine wild blueberry ice cream with one of my nearest and dearest friends in Portland, Maine, the East Coast's most northern state.

I opened the 2017 warm weather season in Florida and was closing the 2017 warm weather season in Maine. I had never had two major trips like this in one year. This was such an epic moment for me. And it's these amazing moments, these unforgettable adventures spent experiencing the culture and lifestyle of another place, with people so close to my heart, that remind me just how wonderful of a life I do have. For every bad day and blah day I have made it through, there is always an amazing day, like today, waiting for me to experience as well.

I think this is the perfect way to close this blog entry. No other words need to be written.


Chrissy

Listed below are some links and photos of more amazing food I enjoyed in Maine as well as some groovy info on lobsters.

Chick-A-Dee's of Lewiston

The Porthole in Portland Maine

Gritty McDuff's Brewtique in Lewiston Maine

Stone Fox Creamery

Downtown Portland Maine

Harbor Fish Market

How To Eat Lobster Like A New Englander

Downeast Cider

Fisherman's Wharf Restaurant

Haddock Reuben from Gritty McDuff's was outstanding! 

Shawn's Blue Solo Cup and Melly's Mojo-jito

Incredibly delicious Shrimp Po Boy from The Fisherman's Wharf, Boothbay Harbor

Maine Wild Blueberry Ice Cream from Stone Fox Creamery.
The best ice cream I have ever had in my life!

Ok. Buh-bye for now!

#15 Have An Authentic Louisiana Crawfish Boil

Crawfish tails rock!

On my spontaneous adventure to NOLA back in 2010, I had a few goals I was hoping to accomplish. One of those goals was to enjoy an authentic Louisiana crawfish boil. Surprisingly, the opportunity did present itself. It wasn't outside on a newspaper covered picnic table near a bayou like I had seen on Food Network but it was close enough. It happened in the French Quarter.

My lovely travel partner Michelle and I found ourselves on St. Peters Street. We were starving. I saw the word crawfish outside of a bar and was instantly drawn to it. Michelle was looking for a really good burger to have for lunch. We decided to go into the bar and check out the menu. Yo Mama's turned out to be a great choice.

Yo Mama's was a little on the seedy side but that was exactly what we were looking for. We were hoping to find a classic New Orleans dive bar. This place was perfect. It was dimly lit, with a long wooden bar on one side of the room and large wooden booths on the other side of the room. We were greeted by the bartender. She told us to sit wherever we wanted so we chose a booth.

Oooh. That sign says Crawfish. 

The menu was glazed to the table. I began studying the enormous tequila menu. Yo Mama's was known for their tequila. I happened to love tequila very much but it had to be blanco tequila. (clear, like tap water). For some reason I cannot stomach gold tequila. Maybe it is because I once ate the worm from a bottle of golden Mezcal and Mezcal is very similar to tequila. The worm itself was not nearly as gross as the fermented booze that permeated it.

Actually I'm lying. It was all gross. It tasted rancid and disgusting. It was awful. And I got crazy hammered from the worm. I didn't vomit but I felt like vomiting the entire day. That was a worse punishment than just puking and getting it over with. Unfortunately, my mind now associates golden tequila with the Mezcal. Sometimes curiosity doesn't kill the cat, it just makes it very nauseous. Sometimes I do crazy things I really shouldn't. Sometimes there are no answers as to why I do these things. I never seem to learn my lesson either.

Note: It is a common misconception that Tequila has a worm in it.That is not so. If there is a worm in the bottle, it is Mezcal. Real tequila does not have a worm.

Back to the matter at hand though. Which tequila was I going to try?

Herencia Blanco. It was damn fine!

After consulting with our server I decided on the Herencia Blanco. It was $8.00 but F it. I was on vacation.  As our server walked back to the bar to get our drinks I noticed another server walk out of the kitchen with a huge bowl. It was steaming over with corn, potatoes, onions and crawfish. She walked over to a gentleman at the bar and placed it in front of him. He was like damn! So was I. I love the smell of Old Bay in the afternoon.

That was it. I did not need to see anymore. I wanted that. I wanted to try the crawfish boil. When our server returns, I asked her what the man at the bar ordered because I wanted that too. She informs me that the big, steamy bowl of fabulous was their Crawfish Boil special. It was $10.00. I told her to sign me up for that. I was so much down for the low country boil. Oh yea! Michelle was laughing at me. My eager excitement was quite amusing I must say.

Michelle ordered her burger then we began chatting about our time in NOLA. Our server returned and placed some newspaper down in front of me. The she handed me a wash cloth and a bucket. Oh boy. It was time. I watched with utter glee as she walked through the bar with my steamy crawfish boil. I was like a kid. I loved shellfish. Always have. It was a good time.

Similar to what my crawfish bowl looked like. 

I applauded as she set it down in front of me. She got such a kick out of my excitement. I took my shot of tequila and made a toast to Michelle for joining me on this spontaneous road trip. We were both so glad we did this. We had both been laid off from work and were suffering from the winter blues. We needed this so much. Salude!

As I brought the shot tequila to my lips and took a teeny sip, I was immediately amazed at how smooth it was. It was better than Patron Silver and right up there with Cabo Wabo. It was one of the best tequilas I had ever tried. I really wanted to sip at my shot and savor the flavor longer but I felt it deserved to be downed like the bad boy it was. And so I did exactly that, I downed the mofo. It was incredible.

I looked at my crawfish boil. It was enormous. The aroma of Cajun spices emanated from the rising steam. Whole onions, corn cob quarters, potatoes and little red crawdaddies doused with Cajun seasoning consumed the entire bowl. It was a thing of Creole beauty for sure. Michelle found the teeny red crawfish hilarious. I plucked one from the bowl. It was scalding hot. I immediately dropped it right back in the bowl, stunned by the heat.

Crawdaddy Dancing Queen. I'm a sick, sick person. LOL

Duh! The bowl was steaming massively stunade. What did I expect it was going to feel like? Carefully, I picked up another crawdaddy then made it dance across the table.  Michelle was rolling. I couldn't believe what a weirdo I was. Actualy....That's a total lie. I knew full well I was Queen of my own weirdo tribe. I looked over at Michelle's burger. It was huge and also smelled fantastic.

It was time to stop doing my crawfish rendition of Dancing Queen and dig into my food. I was experienced enough to eat crawfish, but the whole twisting the tail thing did not always work out to my advantage. Sometimes I have to dig for the tail if I screw up my twist. Also, not gonna lie, I am a bit of a poser when it comes to true crawfish indulgence. I do not suck the juices and guts from the body of the crawfish. It's just not my bag baby. I am only interested in the delectable tail meat.

Everything about this boil was so delicious. The corn was sweet and tender. The soft boiled potatoes combined so incredibly with the buttery, Creole seasoned juice. Even the onions were sweet and savory. The crawfish tails were sweet, juicy and perfectly done. The seasoning was exceptional. And the added bonus to all of this was how much fun I was having, eating everything with my hands.

A true crawfish boil is enjoyed sans silverware. I was so much "when in Rome" at that moment and it was so friggin' fantastic. The wash cloth came in very handy as there was a constant stream of juice running down my chin and my arms from gorging on my delicious meal. I smelled like a Cajun whore and I did not care one bit. Eventually though, I could not eat anymore of my food. There was just too much.

Sadly, I waved the white flag. If I didn't, I was going to implode. That wouldn't be very good. Our server was very empathetic to my plight but also very happy that we enjoyed our food so much. Michelle and I sat in the booth a little while longer, chatting and laughing while allowing our lunch to digest a little longer.

St. Peters Street in the French Quarter

Yo Mama's. I think it has a different name now. 

Before getting ready to leave, I asked our server where the rest rooms were. She said they were in the building behind the kitchen. Michelle let out a huge chuckle. Curious, I asked her why she was laughing? All she said was "You'll see" followed by more laughter. Suspiciously, I walked through a door and down a small pathway into the restroom. Slowly, I opened the ladies restroom door prepared to see a hole in the floor instead of a toilet, or worse. Maybe there was a python or a cobra in there. I shuddered at the though. I mean, we were in voodoo country. Ya never know.

Instead my eyes were immediately drawn to the wall. There was a rather large collage of pictures. I look closer, both my mouth and my eyes getting wider and wider. "Oh wow!" I exclaimed rather loudly. There were snakes in there after all but they were not at all the kind I was expecting. They were of the male appendage type. At least a hundred photos of naked men covered the wall. I entered the room completely and shut the door behind me.

I'm not gonna lie. I looked at every single picture. Why wouldn't I? I love pictures. Two hours later I made my way back to our table. (Just kidding...it was only like an hour.) Michelle started laughing at the big grin on my face. She asked if I enjoyed the view. Blushing, I informed her that I certainly did. ( Don't be jelly guys. I am sure the men's bathroom had lots of naked chicks for your viewing pleasure as well.)  After gaining my composure, we gather our things and head back out into the mid afternoon sun.

We really made a great choice coming to this little dive I thought happily. I accomplished another bucket list goal on a sunny, beautiful afternoon in the gorgeously ornamental city known as the Big Easy. God Bless America! And Crawfish!!


Chrissy

#5 Eat Beignets At Cafe Du Monde

A random craving for beignets a few nights before Mardi Gras back in 2010 led to one of the most unexpected and most awesome road trips I have ever experienced in my life. My friend Michelle and I were both unemployed and eager for an adventure. This adventure led us to The Big Easy and delicious, sugar coated clouds of heaven at the world famous Cafe Du Monde.

So, let's talk about heaven.

 Heaven on a plate. Sooooo good. I miss them so much! Love the Big Easy!

We began our trek to Cafe Du Monde after enjoying some of the gorgeous architecture and quirky atmosphere of the French Quarter. You could actually smell the sweet, fried dough squares wafting through the air before even setting eyes on the little outdoor cafe. The scrumptious aroma reminded me of funnel cakes frying at a county fair. It was the ultimate olfactory temptation. My stomach started rumbling the moment my nose caught wind of sugary fried heaven. The anticipation of sinking my teeth into a warm, fresh beignet was too much to bare.

With each step closer to our destination, the chattering of people grew louder and louder. Finally, we glimpsed the traditional green and white striped awning over the cafe. We were here!! We made it to Cafe Du Monde, the catalyst for this whole random experience. Thankfully, Michelle and I found an empty table along the Decatur Street side of the cafe. Dirty dishes were still laying there from the previous patrons but there were no other unattended tables and I was shaking from the hunger pains that had taken over my body.

The famous green and white awning. 

A house band jammed out to some rhythm and blues music while I searched for a menu. I noticed the menu hanging on the side of the cafe. It was simple and self explanatory. Beignets were 3 for $2.14. They also served coffee and a few other beverages. No muss, no fuss.

( I find that restaurants that focus on a few signature dishes rather than 100, tend to have better quality food and better tasting food.) Cafe Du Monde was all about beignets and coffee. I was all about Cafe Du Monde. I liked that my decision was simple. The hardest thing I had to decide was how many orders of beignets I wanted to purchase.

I decided to get two orders of beignets. One for me to eat at the cafe and one to take back to PA. I also ordered a coffee because it smelled wonderful mingled in with the scent of the fresh beignets. How could I not? An older woman approached our table with two glasses of ice water and proceeded to clean our table. After I placed my order she looked at both Michelle and myself and said, "You leave me tip! Some people do not leave tip. I tell you now, you leave me tip." With that she huffed away. Michelle and I just looked at each other, stunned by the enormous brass balls of our server. I began to wonder how she managed to walk upright with balls so huge? She must have a strong back or somthing.

My server sitting down, giving me the stink eye. LOL!

We started laughing hysterically. I wanted to tell my server that I had been a waitress for over twenty years. I always left a tip. Even if the service sucked, I left a tip because I knew what it was like to be a waitress in a busy restaurant.

Ultimately though, I take her words in stride. I was one to vent behind closed doors rather than be rude to my customers but I was still able to empathize with her. And I am sure serving in touristy places tends to bring a mix of clientele with it. And by clientele I mean tippers and stiffers. It is what it is.
Sometimes there is no happy ending.

Anyways, within two minutes, our server padded back over to our table with my beignets and coffee. I thanked her as she left the check. I glanced at my plate, shocked by the size of the beignets. They were huge. They smelled like heaven would smell. I took a deep, hearty whiff. And then another one. Then another one. They were covered in mass amounts of powdered sugar. It was like a scene from Scarface only the white, powdery snow was sweet, fluffy sugar that you did not have to snort to enjoy.

My stomach was screaming at me to take a freakin bite already. I grabbed my first beignet, not realizing how hot it would be and watched powdered sugar dump all over my black shirt and hoodie. Great! Now I really did look like Tony Montana. I placed the beignet back on my plate and began dusting the sugar off myself with some napkins. I made a mess. It was nothing new. I was not shocked by any of this.

The historic Cafe Du Monde

After I dusted off as much of the powdered sugar as I possibly could from my clothing, I attempted to pick up the beignet again. This time I leaned over the plate before taking my first bite. Sweet baby Jesus!! They tasted exactly like heaven would taste. The beignets were chewy but light.

The warm fresh dough melted in my mouth. The oil gave the surface dough a slightly crunchy texture around the edges but the inside was warm and soft. God I loved when that happened! The sugar turned translucent as it absorbed the oil, making it stick to the dough rather than my clothing.

My mouth was covered with powdered sugar but not one F was given that day. I did not care. I just sat there savoring the ethereal taste that came with each bite. They were fabulous. They were most certainly worth the 27 hour drive to try them. I sipped at my coffee in between bites of heaven. The coffee was a smooth medium roast blend that would put even the finest coffee houses to shame. It complimented the beignets perfectly.
 
I was so happy sitting in Cafe Du Monde in the fresh Naw'leans air, covered in powdered sugar, eating my lightly crisped fried pocket of sunshine while sipping my delectable coffee, extra cream, extra sugar. At that moment, I did not have a care in the world. It's was all about the little things in life and this was one of those little moments that had a delightful, positive impact on my life. I knew I would never forget that moment and how it made me feel. I was at peace. I was content. I was living life. I was in New Orleans baby!!

My view of gorgeous architecture from Cafe Du Monde.

Simple Menu, Delicious Food

I left a $3.00 tip for my server. My bill was only $7.00. I hoped no one else stiffed my server today. I could tell by the way she padded back and forth between tables that she was in some pain. She may have been a sassy little thing but she was working her tail off. Her service was prompt, albeit blunt.

I grabbed my extra bag of beignets and bade au revoir to Cafe du Monde. It was time to explore more of the French Quarter. I took in the sights and smells of this wonderful little cafe one more time. Maybe we will meet again I thought. I sure hoped so.

In closing, I know there are many delicious cafes and bakeries that offer beignets in NOLA, but you honestly cannot beat the deal nor the flavor of Cafe Du Monde. It's a must do if you find yourself in the Big Easy. It may be cliche and touristy but some touristy spots really are true gems. Cafe Du Monde was definitely a diamond on the jewel encrusted tiara of New Orleans.

Profiter du Present! 

Cafe Du Monde

Cafe Du Monde Copycat Beignet Recipe

Chrissy 

#367 Make Spaghetti Sauce From Scratch

Nothing!!!

As my grandfather Bill would always say,
"A Sunday without spaghetti is like a day without sunshine." 

How I miss hearing him speak those words. As first generation Italians, my grandfather and his siblings were raised on authentic Italian cooking. I am extremely grateful they passed down their amazing cooking skills too. It's what they did. They shared their love of food and talent for concocting dishes that beckoned of their Italian roots with anyone willing to learn.

My grandmother Rita was not a speck of Italian but you would never guess that from her cooking. She learned how to make perfect Italian cuisine from both my great grandfather and my grandfather. Honestly though, my grandmother was an amazing talent in the kitchen altogether. She could make any cuisine taste like heaven. That's how much love she put into her cooking. My great grandmother was also an amazing cook from what I understand. She too, was also not a speck Italian.

My Grandparents, Bill and Rita DeCosmo.

You see, my great grandfather Charlie enjoyed American dishes as well as Italian dishes so he would frequent a local diner in Hazleton. Charlie wanted to learn more about American cuisine, a cuisine in which a huge part of it's composition is based on the fusion of many, many cultures that had migrated to the New World.

It was during these many visits to this diner that my great grandfather struck up a friendship with one of the diner's cooks. Her name was Jenny Smothers and she would eventually become my great grandmother. Yes, Charlie and Jenny fell in love. They taught each other how to prepare and cook different cuisines. He taught her all about Italian food and she taught him all about American cuisine. They romanced and fell in love over their passion for food.

I have always believed that food is part nourishment and food is part love. Love found through food, in my opinion, is the best, most nourishing love of all. And I don't think my theory is wrong either. Charlie and Jenny proceeded to have 8 children together. And their love for their children and for the meals they prepared for their family was definitely passed down to that generation. I know this because I have another endearing story to tell where food and love is concerned. This love however, is centered around the love between siblings.

My Great Uncle Michael DeCosmo WWI

My grandfather was a 3 time purple heart recipient in WWII. The third heart he earned was also the most severe. It left him partially paralyzed and dying in an Italian hospital. He would not eat. He was not responding to treatment. His outlook for survival was grim.

His older brother Mike was stationed in another part of Italy. When news of my grandfather's injury reached his brother's company, Mike was granted a leave of absence to go visit his little brother Bill. Mike traveled to that Italian hospital and took vigil at my grandfather's bedside. Mike watched over him. Mike fed him. Mike talked to him. Most importantly, Mike did not give up on his little brother.

Eventually, my grandfather started eating and responding to treatment. It was through love and nourishment between these two brothers that my grandfather was able to heal and go on to live 87 years on this planet. My Great Uncle Mike saved my grandfather's life during WWII. He is my hero.

When I first heard this story at our family reunion, my eyes welled with tears until they were spilling down my cheeks. Learning this family history lesson with such a miraculous outcome is something I will always treasure. I do not believe I met my Great Uncle Mike before he passed. If I did, I was too young to remember, but if he was here right now, I would give him the biggest hug ever and thank him profusely for taking care of my grandfather. This is why it is so important to sharing stories and traditions through the generations. And sharing them over a home cooked meal is absolutely priceless.

Charlie and Jenny and their 8 children: Aunt Helen, Uncle Mike, Uncle John, Aunt Peggy, Uncle Tony aka Teeker, my grandfather Billy, Aunt Betty and Uncle Bobby. 

As you can see, food is such a special part of my family. So many stories center around food and love throughout our generations. Food brought love and life to the each generation of this family in the most beautiful ways. When I cook Italian food, I truly feel a strong connection to my ancestors. I can feel the love of my grandparents when I am cooking. I can feel the presence of family members whom I have never met but whose blood runs through my veins.

Fresh Basil growing in my garden! 

Sometimes I try to picture how my ancestors cooked their meals as I prepare my own. I wonder if their tools and methods would be considered archaic compared to today's modern kitchens? I pondered if they loved wooden spoons as much as I do since I only use wooden spoons when making my sauces. Did I inherit that quirk from them?

I also wondered how they preferred their garlic. Garlic is serious business where Italian cuisine is concerned. Garlic is life to me. Did they like it chopped? Sliced? Crushed? Pureed? Roasted? All of the above? I know like all of the above.

I was curious what their favorite herbs might be. Did they swoon over the beauty and flavor of fresh basil like I do? Did they love the smell of fresh oregano on their fingertips? Did they place little vases of crisp mint stems on their tables because the aroma was heaven and the greens revitalizing? Did they enjoy the delicate, woody flavor of thyme growing wild in their garden?

How about tomatoes? What was their favorite tomato? Did they adore Romas as much as I do? Did they make a huge mess when they cooked? I laugh when gazing upon the Italian mess I create during one of my cooking marathons. I am so much my father's daughter when I cook. We literally trash the kitchen. It's part of the fun. It's part of the experience. It's my childhood. It's my present. It's my future. It is so much more to me than just making a meal when I delve into my Italian magic. It's just so much more.

Using one of my very beat but very loved wooden spoons to make the sauce.

I am so pleased that my own children like learning how to cook as well. How blessed am I? My son misses my cooking. My daughter is always excited to see an Italian meal being prepared. Comfort food in my home is not meatloaf and mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese, pot roast or chicken noodle soup. It's Chicken Parm and Chicken Francaise. It's Penne Alfredo and Angel Hair w/ Marinara. It's Meatballs al Florno and Hot Sausage and Scamutz Sandwiches. It's Pizza Margherita and my very own garlic bread recipe. These are my go to recipes. These are the recipes that helped raise my children.

My cheater Chicken Parm. It's great for a quick meal when I am craving some comfort. 

So, after all I have just written above, you may wonder why I actually had to put making spaghetti sauce from scratch on my bucket list. Here is why.

My silly dad making the sauce! I get it from him. 

Growing up, Sundays were special days. Sundays were all about macaronis and gravy in mi famiglia. The entire clan usually gathered at my grandparents house for Sunday dinners. After my dearest grandmother passed, my grandfather would visit my dad for Sunday dinners.

Upon entering their house, the aroma of fried meatballs and garlic would send your stomach into instant hunger mode. Usually, it was accompanied by a pan of sauteed onions, mushrooms and peppers, fried sausage and garlic bread. Pots of simmering tomato sauce bubbled on the stove top and if you looked in the sink, there was always a huge strainer filled with some type of cooked pasta.

I believe if heaven had a kitchen, it would smell like Italian food.

Bucatini. I love using more unique pastas. 

But heaven would not taste like my red sauce. Nope. My red sauce was not very good. I have mastered many Italian sauces and I have done so relatively quickly. But, my red sauce was always a struggle. The fact that I am so particular about red sauce did not help matters. My grandmother's was amazing. My dad's, amazing. The Italian restaurants I worked at, their sauce was amazing. Mine was just eh.

Sure I could have actually have asked for their recipes but, I also wanted to have my own personal customized red sauce to claim as a Chrissy original. I wanted a sauce true to my preferences.

For instance, I tend to like my red sauce a little sweeter, with chunks of tomato. I also do not care for extremely thick tomato sauces. I don't want them watery by any means, but I prefer a little less tomato paste. I am also not a fan of adding salt and pepper to tomato sauce but am a huge fan of chunks of garlic and loads of fresh basil.

I figured, you can still have a very tasty red sauce as long as you focus on a few flavorful key ingredients such as garlic and basil rather than throw every seasoning known to man in the sauce. That it okay for chili. It is not okay for tomato sauce. A ton of garlic, a heavy handed dose of sugar and your basic Italian seasonings is all you really need in my opinion. It took me 19 years to figure this out but eventually I did.

Prepping my red sauce. 

Yes. I said 19 years. 19 years and a lot of painful failures, frustrations, sauce splattered walls and Italian swear words occurred in my kitchen. At year 10 or 11 red sauce finally became a Bucket List quest because it was like a freakin' unicorn to me. I just could not perfect it.

I decided to upgrade this Bucket List goal to Holy Grail status because the quest was exhausting me to the point where I wanted to hand in my Italian ethnicity card since I was a terrible disappointment to the culture. Okay. Maybe that is a slight exaggeration but hyperbole is also part of the Italian culture.

It wasn't until nine years later that I finally held the grail in my hand. Actually it was a wooden spoon dripping with red sauce which was running down my arm but no effs were given that day because the Italian gods were finally smiling down on me. It had arrived. The perfect red sauce recipe was born. My Holy Grail quest had reached it's fruition. What a long, strange trip this quest had been. I am not lying when I say I have made at least 50 different red sauce recipes from scratch on this journey.

This is how you taste the sauce. A nice piece of Italian bread for dipping. 

My Meatballs Marinara.

In the end, my red sauce was a fusion of many different recipes I have tried over the years, with a few personal touches of my own. Red sauce recipes from Mario Batali, Emeril Lagasse, Tyler Florence, Giada DeLaurentis, Rachel Ray, and a host of many other celebrated chefs and restaurants have all graced my table. Many of them were quite good but none of them were 100% what I wanted for my signature sauce. Through much experimentation though, I was able to formulate the perfect sauce just for me.

(I will say Emeril's Roasted Garlic Sauce is to die for and Mario Batali's Sunday ragout is out of this world. These two sauces are amazing and I do make them from time to time.)

However, just like my grandmother, I am not going to give away my recipe completely because as my grandmother would say, " If I gave you my recipe then you not would come see me and eat my food." Yea, that is so far from the truth where my grandmother was concerned. We all loved just being in her presence but, I got what she was putting down.  She loved to feed her family and friends. It was something she enjoyed doing very much. It was one of the many beautiful things about her that I will never forget.

I promise though, I will give you a glimpse into my sauce and what I prefer to use. Here is a peak.

Getting ready to make a batch of sauce for freezing. Great ingredients!

Fresh Garlic: I have no problem using the minced garlic in jars from time to time. Garlic paste is also fabulous. However, there is something about the flavor of freshly chopped garlic that makes a dish go from "Wow" to "Oh My God!". For my sauce I chop "at least" one full bulb of garlic. Depending on the potency of the garlic, there are occasions where I use less but it is not often. The more the better. And, it is good for your heart.

Grapeseed Oil: Olive oil is amazing. I still use it quite often but I am totally in love with Grapeseed oil. It's a little more money than olive oil but not by much. Grapeseed oil is light, flavorful and clean. It also has many health benefits. I highly recommend you try it. It is great for things like sauteing and homemade salad dressings. It can be used as a drizzle over foods like bread, tomatoes and fresh mozzarella. It pairs up beautifully with Balsamic. I actually prefer to saute my garlic and basil in grapeseed oil.

Fresh Basil: Fresh Basil, to me, is the most heavenly herb in this world. It's crazy because I am not really a huge fan of dried basil but fresh basil I can eat for days. I tend to use a lot of fresh basil in my sauce. I don't really measure so I couldn't tell you how much but it is certainly a lot. I like to cut it into strips with my herb shears and add it to the pan with the garlic halfway through the sauteing process to sweat out the flavor and oils in the basil leaves.

Roma Tomatoes: I like to puree my own tomatoes from time to time. I usually add some grapeseed oil, minced garlic and shredded basil to the blender while pureeing the tomatoes. I tend to use about 8-10 tomatoes when making pureed tomatoes for my sauce. I do not remove the skin from the Roma tomatoes. I never minded tomato skins in my sauce. Plus, I think it adds extra flavor and vitamins to the sauce. Think lycopene. Sometimes I am not able to use homemade pureed tomatoes so instead, I will dice 2-3 Romas and add them straight to the sauce.

Canned Tomatoes: I like to use a combo of tomato products for my sauce. 28 oz. cans each of tomato sauce, pureed or crushed tomatoes, and diced tomatoes are usually always in my sauce. 1 small can of tomato paste is usually all I use paste wise unless the sauce is really runny. Usually when using more fresh ingredients, the sauce can get a little runny depending on the water content of your fresh tomatoes or the quality of you canned tomatoes.

I am not super picky about my canned tomato products but right now, I am in love with Dei Fratelli's All Purpose Italian Sauce from Wal-mart. It's so delicious. Who would have guessed? Cento is also great brand. Furmanos is a little cheaper than Cento and just as good. A lot of restaurants use Furmanos. I also like Red Pack. Sometimes I treat myself to a can of San Marzano tomatoes for my sauce. I love squishing them in my hands to break up into my sauce.

Homemade Tomato Puree and more fav ingredients. 

Sugar: Yes, I add granulated sugar to my sauce. Superfine is best but regular granulated sugar is perfectly fine. I usually start off with a 1/3 cup of sugar, but depending on my mood, the size of the batch of sauce I am making and the acidity of the sauce, I can add up to a cup of sugar. ( It is very rare I add that much.)  I like my sauce a little sweeter. Don't get me wrong, my sauce is not sugary sweet nor does it taste like the sweet sauce on some pizzas. I'm just not a fan of super acidity sauce. I like the balance granulated sugar gives to my sauce.

Italian Seasoning: Honestly, I do not go crazy with a bunch of seasoning. 1 Tablespoon of Cento's Italian Seasoning or Tastefully Simple's Mama Mia Seasoning is all I really use. I don't want to complicate my sauce too much. I want to taste the flavors of the tomatoes, garlic and basil. It's my preference. I have tasted some delicious, heavily seasoned sauces but for me personally, I want my sauce to be more simple in flavor.

And that is all she wrote folks. I am not much for measuring anything so my sauce does vary in flavor from time to time. All I know is, my sauce was well worth the trial and error over the span of 19 years. There is a true happiness and genuine joy in my soul when I make a batch of Chrissy's red sauce. It may not be the best sauce everyone has ever tasted but that is okay. The goal was to create something to my preference. And I hope cooks all over the world perfect a sauce to their preference. I hope their sauce brings as much pleasure to them as mine does to me. That's good stuff!

Here are some Scenes From An Italian Restaurant.
(Actually it is my house but I love that song and it sounds way cooler! Good one Mr. Billy Joel!)

One pot Caprese Pasta

Chicken Piccata And Spinach Au Gratin

Sausage, Cannellini and Kale

Stuffed Meatballs Al Forno

Viscoot Batter

Sausage and Peppers

Penne Alfredo

Lazy Chicken Scampi and Italian Spinach

Roasted Asparagus with Balsamic Glaze

My Homemade Zesty Garlic Bread

Ciao!!! Buon Appetito! 

Chrissy