Camberville Cuisine

I was born and raised in California, but it took moving to New England to confirm the ice cream lover in my soul. Sure, we had plenty of warm days in Berkeley that warranted a walk up University Ave to Fosters Freeze, or a stop by Baskin Robbins on our way home from school. And both Fenton’s and Preston’s were fairly regular treats. But when the temperature dipped below 40 and the rain poured out of the sky in buckets? Time for some hot cocoa instead.

Here in Massachusetts, though, we eat ice cream year-round, and generally higher-quality ice cream at that, since so many of our local creameries make it in-house. It can be the heart of a Nor’easter, snow blowing around our ears thick and fast, the mercury well below zero and wind gusts sheeting past 50 mph, and we’re still tromping out the door and down the street to our local ice cream shop. Be it Christina’s or Tosci’s, JP Licks or Herrell’s (home of the original smoosh-ins, thank you, Cold Stone Creamery just corporatized it and added a line to future comedians’ resumes with off-key song improv :P ), we love our local ice creameries.

So given my predilection for supporting the neighboring artisan over the corporate behemoth, the fruit of the land over the chemical lab, the glee I felt upon discovering that you, too, can get Dippin’ Dots delivered right to your doorstep might disturb and confuse you. “They’re … round,” you say, while wondering, how on earth can they hold that distinct spherical shape naturally. “They … rattle.” With a silent disapproving side of, “You’re willingly purchasing a frozen dessert product from a large corporation? That’s manufactured rather than homemade?” “They’re … colorful,” meaning, “These are unnatural chemicals at work and aren’t you always talking about how you should grow your own herbs and make your own bread and yogurt and I’m just going to back away slowly now because you’re scaring me.” And I will cackle joyfully and dig my spoon in, sounding like I’m scooping up small marbles, letting the crunchy globules instamelt on my tongue into a chilly treat.

I first had Dippin’ Dots at that most venerable of county-fair institutions, the Big E. When I moved to the Fenway in the summer of 2001, discovering that the local movie theatre had a vending machine up front that dispensed my precious delicious baubles? Made my long hot summer much happier and cooler. Even now, trips to the Museum of Science go hand-in-hand with picking up a bowl of Dots from the food court when we’re ready to go home.

Now, granted, the smallest package of Dots available is 30 servings. And they come with a fair passle of warnings, too - “Eat Dippin’ Dots with plastic spoons (provided) only.” “Please arrange to either be, or have a responsible party, at the shipping address on the day of the shipment.” “Your order will be packed in dry ice. THE PROPER SERVING TEMPERATURE CANNOT BE MAINTAINED IF REMOVED FROM THE CARTON AND PLACED IN YOUR HOME FREEZER.” (Fine, but you can still buy ice cream with Dots in it at your Midwestern Kroger’s!) So, what happens if you eat Dots with a metal spoon? And what can this mean for your stomach?

Still, the thought of a Dots party in my backyard makes me giddy - who else is in? :)

Dippin’ Dots. Available locally at the Museum of Science, the New England Aquarium, and the Franklin Park Zoo.

The service was on the slow-and-inconsistent side at EVOO Saturday night. Our bread basket was refilled - twice - while we waited for our appetizers to appear. The cider Hyoun and Bitty ordered never showed at all; for appetizer, entree and dessert, having been seated at 5:30, we didn’t end up leaving until well after 8 pm.

But the scallops I ordered were perfect. Three large scallops, just a hint of searing, paired with a pureed porcini mushroom flan topped with a handful of mache, and the whole dish drizzled with white truffle oil. (Leftover truffle oil was quickly soaked up by the remains of bread basket number three.) The clarity and smoothness of the fresh scallops, the earthiness of the flan and truffle oil, and the slight crunch and tang of the mâche combined to make every bite unctuous, but not overwhelmingly so; simply layered and spiced with the kind of taste that sits blissfully on your tongue.

EVOO has the local, seasonal “New American” food vibe down well, my scallops being a prime example. On a previous visit, I melted over their “Duck, Duck, Goose:” a trio of duck confit, seared duck foie gras, and goose breast, served with lentils, green beans, and escarole, and topped with a sherry-ginger sauce. Their bread is certainly tempting enough to warrant the multiple baskets mentioned above, between the fruity dipping olive oil, the crusty peasant bread to sop it up, and the spicy-crunchy breadsticks for variety. My dessert of clementine-basil sorbet - another fascinating blend of sweet-yet-piquant winter clemmies with the heat of chipotle added to normally staid sugar cookies.

I know it’s trendy around this time of year to chalk up service errors to it being Restaurant Week, but EVOO has been open long enough (almost ten years now!) and is catering to a high enough standard that I expect a bit more attention paid. They did well in that regard the previous time I went on a weeknight, so until I get back there a third time (a ten-minute walk away, and it is starting to warm up enough that perhaps I won’t freeze on said walk!), I’ll go along with it and blame Restaurant Week. Maybe.

EVOO, 118 Beacon St, Somerville. 617.661.3866. Dinner M-Th 5:30-10, FS 5:30-11.

Sure, the phrase belongs to General Mills, and it makes me think of Mary Lou Retton on the Wheaties box (child of the ’80s, that’s me). But it also makes me think of champorado. After all, both words start with “champ!”

Champorado refers to a Filipino breakfast dish of chocolate rice porridge. I was talking with Whitney a few weeks ago while I had a pot of this on the stove, and mentioned this to her.

[18:25:59] Lynne: I’ve got champorado on the stove - chocolate rice soup
[18:26:30] Whitney: Holy cow! That sounds delicious!
[18:26:51] Lynne: it’s yummy!
[18:27:23] Whitney: Holy /cow/, man. I don’t know if we could get this around here.
[18:27:48] Lynne: Yeah, finding Filipino food is hard.
[18:28:38] Whitney: You guys might need to bring us some when you come our way.

So several Sundays later, I found myself down in New Jersey, making a batch of champorado for her to experience the comfort-food chocolate yumminess. Super 88 provided the malagkit rice, which can probably be substituted with any other sort of sweet rice; for the chocolate, I use what I grew up with: the tablets for Mexican hot chocolate. There are variations that use milk for the base and condensed milk as a topping; I prefer to use coconut milk and coconut cream.

Champorado

1 can coconut milk plus enough water to make 3 cups liquid total, or 3 cups regular milk and water in proportions that make you happy
half a disk (~45 grams) of Ibarra hot chocolate, split into individual tablets, or 1/2 cup unsweetened cocoa powder + 1/2 cup sugar
dash vanilla extract
dash salt
1 cup malagkit rice, or other sweet short-grain rice
coconut cream (or condensed milk) to top
Also: 1 quart pot, whisk, spatula

Instructions: Pour coconut milk and water into pot, and add hot chocolate. Over low heat, stir with the whisk, and as the chocolate tablets soften, chip away at them until the chocolate has dissolved into the liquid. Add the vanilla, then the rice, and cook ~15 minutes, stirring frequently so the rice doesn’t stick to the bottom of the pan. It will slowly thicken as you stir it; when the consistency is like porridge, it’s done. Divide into serving bowls (serves 4 as an appetizer, 2 as a full meal). Stir the coconut cream well, and top the champorado with it.

So this morning’s Boston Globe had an article about burgers, and an incomplete list of approved local burger joints. They failed to mention O’Sullivan’s.

I’m not surprised; it’s a half-mile out of Porter Square, across from the Ghetto Star, in a mostly-residential neighborhood. So even though it’s won Best of Boston awards for its burgers multiple times, and crowds spill out its doors on weekend nights, it still flies under the media radar somewhat. For the first few years I lived here, I dismissed it as the corner bar; only later would others let me in on the secret of O’Sullivan’s burgers, then be shocked that I lived around the corner from it and had never been. Granted, when I walk home in the evenings, it’s usually just too late to catch the kitchen open, and I need food to go with my booze, so the timing just hadn’t worked out.

Admittedly, it felt a little intimidating the first time I set foot inside. My mistake was going at lunch on a weekday afternoon; I was the only not-fully-white non-mustachioed non-male person in the pub at the time, nor was I wearing the uniform of a flannel shirt and jeans. The taciturn lunch crowd differs drastically from the chattering, neighborly folks in at dinner, who are there for burgers, beers, and sports.

So, the burgers? Huge. Lightly-toasted buns surrounding thick, juicy, flavorful half-pound patties result in monsters that you can’t fit your mouth around, not even on a frat-boy dare. According to their menu, they go through “400 pounds of ground sirloin a week,” and their burgers reflect this. Yet somehow, they still find room in each bun to slide in the requested toppings and condiments - bacon and mozzarella on a Papa Burger, onions and Cheddar on the Paddy O’ Melt (we are in an Irish pub here), and Swiss cheese and avocado on the Cape Codder, among a couple of dozen other options. Leftovers are a guarantee for me.

I haven’t ordered anything but burgers from them, but my mom gives the rib-eye steak a big thumbs-up. (She, too, had leftovers, until my dad came along and scarfed them up, not knowing she’d intended them for her lunch the next day. Oops.)

O’Sullivan’s Pub, 282 Beacon St, Somerville. 617.492.7773. Open 11 am-1 am daily, though the kitchen closes at 10:30 on weeknights.

“Koreans don’t get sick,” Karen said, in a matter-of-fact manner.

I sneezed. It was a chilly winter day in Monterey, grey and foggy with light freezing rain falling. We’d just spent the last two hours outside at a field hockey game; my nose was running and my fingers were numb. “Yeah, right.”

“No, really, I’ve never missed a day of school because of sickness. Even when I had a cold, my parents would take me to school anyway, because it’s just a cold and all you can do is treat the symptoms and not sneeze on people.”

Unlike me; when I was young, I generally spent at least two weeks per winter confined to bed with some variant of bronchitis or walking pneumonia, or if it was a light winter, I might have gotten away with “only” strep throat. “Heh, wow, not me, as you’ve noticed.” I sneezed again, and reached for tissue.

“Get the spicy ramyun at Sunrise [our local Asian grocery]; it really helps. And some kimchee. The kimchee is very important!”

Though I still get sick frequently, eating spicy food is now an integral part of my cold-fighting routine, thanks to this advice. Yet, somehow, even after dating Hyoun for over a year and a half, I still didn’t have kimchee in my refrigerator.

*

“I’m not sick.”

“You’ve been saying that all week.”

“Koreans don’t get sick,” Hyoun stated, and then started coughing again.

“Uh-huh, I’ve heard that one before. My high school friend Karen said the same thing.”

“And did she ever get sick?”

“… Now that I think about it, no, I think she was sick maybe one day out of four years of high school.”

“See? I told you.”

“I’m checking with Grace; she’s Korean,” I announced, assuming I would get a neutral-if-amused-third-party answer from her.

[18:55:44] Lynne: hi hon, if you’re around, i have a question to settle an “argument” between me and hyoun ;)
[18:55:54] Lynne: do korean people ever get sick?
[18:56:03] Grace: no, they eat kimchee :)

Thanks, Grace. :P

I can never remember the name of the J&K Han a Rum Oriental Market; it’s a quiet family-run Korean grocery store on Mass Ave, near Frank’s Steak House in North Cambridge. But they carry several kinds of kimchee, and have a decent assortment of other premade food, like scallion pancakes, kong ja dang (glutinous black beans), anchovies, sardines, and seaweed salad. The store is on the small side; only two aisles, but lots of tea and noodles and rice and cookies. And, of course, kim, which I prefer to the Japanese nori; the former is saltier. :)

I originally found J+K several years ago on my way back from the Trader Joe’s in Arlington Heights; staring out the bus window, I caught sight of the familiar hangul flashing by, and happily went in to pick up kochuchang. The owner was rather amused by my stumbling over “Kamsa hamnida, anyeongi kaseo” [Thank you, goodbye!]. Tonight, of course, for the “not-sick” Hyoun, we got radish kimchee, the largest Asian pear I’ve ever seen (seriously, it’s about the size of a grapefruit), Sacsac (a light but pulpy orange juice drink), and bahng (puffy rice-cereal “cookies” about the size of a dinner plate), as well as shrimp chips for me!

Unfortunately, I lost touch with Karen after high school, but today’s her birthday. So, happy birthday, Karen!

J&K Han a Rum Oriental Market, 2376 Massachusetts Ave, North Cambridge. 617.547.8723. Hours seem to be 10-8, M-Sat, closed Sun.