Showing posts from May, 2007

Where I eat when I don't eat at home

Ok, some of you may know from my other blog that I am the Food Psychic - if I talk about it, cook it, eat it, or tell other people about it, chances are it will be in some food section on Wednesday.

And now the Boston Globe had gone and done it again with their review of Sunrise-Randong, a great Vietnamese restaurant in Dorchester. A place me and my friends have been eating at for ages.

I am not a great big fan of Sheryl Julian, and saying that the restaurant would be better off with a liquor license is silly and makes her sound like floozy.

The food is great - regular homemade Vietnamese food better than what you'd get at home if you lived in Vietnam. And if you ask, they'll make you the spring rolls with tofu instead of shrimp and pork. Also, see if you can find the "sweat and sour" sauce on the menu.

It doesn't need a glass of pinot.


The Yogurt Babushka

You may have read over on Shamrag that I've been experimenting with making yogurt.

The key to homemade yogurt is to make sure you can keep it over a constant source of warmth - which means that I have to wrap it up in an old scarf and then in an old dishtowel and then bind the thing together with a rubber band, before setting it over the pilot light - giving it a rather babushka-y look to it, if you were to bind up a babushka in a rubber band.

I am positive they don't do this commercially which is probably why my yogurt tastes so good.

Necessity is definitely the mother of invention

I was brought up under the rule of two laws:




The exception to the first rule was that we were allowed to watch public television (Sesame Street, Zoom, and Electric Company) and then to reinforce this rule we were told the tv was broken and could only tune in public television anyway. I guess questioning authority was a learned behaviour for me.

The exception to the second rule was my father. Dad introduced us to the Burger King on Boylston Street - all orange tile and brown formica - and that was a secret my sister, myself, and Dad kept from Mom. Everytime she went out of town or out on the town it was hamburgers, fries, and shakes.

My Dad was the one to bring me to the Empire Deli at the corner of East Berkley and Washington Streets, just below the old Dover Street station, for a baloney sandwich that seemed to me to be 3 inches of baloney on a soft bun, slathered with yellow mustard and served with a pickle spear and …