Junior League in Indianapolis

A few weekends ago I headed to Indianapolis with some of my fellow Junior League of Lansing members for a conference. Of course, I loved learning about what other Leagues are doing and how to make our League better, but you know I had to hit the streets and find some good eats.

On our first night we headed to Palomino for dinner. The restaurant was busy but we were seated promptly. We ordered some appetizers to share- the truffle deviled eggs, Sicilian meatballs, and Brussels sprouts and pancetta.The Brussels sprouts were good, but I would eat just about any Brussels sprouts and be happy. I had beef tenderloin for my entree.

The sauce was made with a heavy hand. It was thick, like gravy, and overwhelmed the taste of the meat. I ate most of it, but eventually set my fork down. The meal wasn't worth making myself uncomfortably full.

For dessert, several of us shared the Valrhona chocolate cake and the doughnuts.

I do love a few bits of a rich, flourless chocolate cake, and this one fit the bill. All told, there are other restaurants in Indy where I'd rather spend my money. The next day put a smile on my face. We breakfasted at Patachou, just down the street from our hotel. I was in love at first sight of the self-serve coffee counter.

When one of my girlfriends said she was going to be "a little ridiculous," I hoped that she meant my kind of ridiculous. I asked her if, by chance, that meant that she wanted both a savory and a sweet breakfast and she said yes. I fell in love with her as we ordered croissant French toast for sharing.

I also had a broken yolk sandwich with bacon and avocado.

And I ate the entire thing. I am deeply in lust with Patachou, and since I won a one-night stay at the hotel, I hope to head back to Indy soon and continue eating my way through their beautiful downtown.

For dinner that night (thanks to my Open Table app) we were lucky enough to get a reservation at St. Elmo's. This was a busy weekend in Indy, Peyton Manning was back in town for a football game and people were going.crazy. Our tuxedo-clad server glanced us over- four well-heeled women wearing our snappiest business casual, and slowly asked us if we were in town for the game. I said no, just for the steak, so it better be good.

Someday I want my likeness to be on butter.

The legendary shrimp cocktail was worth the hype. But you must be careful with the horseradish, because it is incredibly potent and will hurt you if you don't synchronize your bites and your breaths carefully.

After the shrimp cocktail I cooled off with a little glass of tomato juice.

I know the tomato juice seems a little odd. I've done research and can't seem to pinpoint where this tradition started, or why it has fallen out of favor. This tomato juice wasn't thick, like V8, but it was light and tasted fresh. It was Indiana Red Gold brand and would be a lovely way to start your day, if you're so inclined.

I stuck to my usual order at a steakhouse and asked for a petit filet, medium rare. The meat was perfectly cooked. One of my pleasures in life is to slice into a filet and be met with no resistance. My knife slid through the filet. After my first bite I tried to consciously slow myself down, to change the pace of my eating, because I could have plowed through and never taken a breath. I set my fork down. I took a sip of water. I ate a green bean (which still had a snap to them, and from which I picked out the red peppers. Blech.)

And then I dove back in and cleaned my plate.

St. Elmo's is charming as hell. Ruth's Chris is just down the block, and I have designs on engaging in my own personal steak throwdown on my return visit to Indy.

Is this heaven? No, it's Iowa.

A few weeks ago I decided to push my Midwest tour into full swing and head to Iowa the morning after coming back from Chicago. I have a bestie in La Porte City, IA, and she has two little munchkins I've never seen before. So last Monday I threw a bunch of stuff into my car, grabbed my bursting-at-the-seams book of CDs so I could take a trip down memory lane, and drove myself to The Hawkeye State.

You don't want to know what I ate in the car on the way there. Oh, you insist? It's gross, but I will tell you. I stopped in Kalamazoo to see some of my favorite Johnsons and ate a Wendy's grilled chicken sandwich. What is that disgusting sauce on there? Steer clear of this sandwich unless you hate yourself.

En route I had a lime Refresher at Starbucks (why? I don't know), a Cantina Bowl from Taco Bell, AND a vanilla ice cream cone from McDonald's. Not only did I throw caution to the wind, but I actually threw myself a little bit closer to ending up on The Biggest Loser.

I'm also not particularly proud of the musical selections I made when I was still purchasing CDs. I have some truly atrocious music. Ashlee Simpson. Jock Jams. Nelly's entire discology, including both "Sweat" AND "Suit."

Actually, I'm going to stand by the Nelly tunes. I still know every word and I still love him.

The day after my arrival, Tayls and I packed up the two kiddos and headed to Cedar Falls for lunch. After eating super healthy stuff like a breaded buffalo chicken sandwich and beer-battered french fries, we topped it off with a trip to Scratch Cupcakery.

I wanted the Peanut Butter Cup, but Tayls is allergic to peanuts. Alas, we went with a Vanilla Chocolate and an Oh Happy Day. She also bought a half-dozen more, so I could continue along my path to total obesity.

These cupcakes were better than the ones I had at Sprinkles in Chicago. And pals, this is in IOWA. Who woulda thunk?

Scratch also has a gelato counter. I tasted the basil gelato, because I couldn't resist, but I wish I wouldn't have. It was covered in ice crystals and the flavor was awful. The girl behind the counter told me that they don't make it themselves, and I think they probably shouldn't be selling it either.

Maybe I'm not holding them to a fair standard, because I've been completely spoiled by Iorio's in the Lansing City Market.

I did go for a run the next morning. We went to Zumba the same day. Is anyone into Zumba? I didn't love it.

Before I Nelly-d myself back to Michigan on Thursday, I stopped at the La Porte City Bakery just down the street from Taylor's beautiful old farmhouse. While running by the place the previous morning I had been lured in my the aromas, and I stood in the doorway in my sweat-drenched running clothes until someone paid attention to me. That someone was a little old man- the owner- and I hit him with a thousand questions.

Do you make everything here? Yes.
Is it all made fresh daily? Yes.
Can I move into your kitchen? I have my own neon LL Bean monogrammed sleeping bag (not kidding)? No, you weirdo.

I bought a dozen doughnuts. I knew that I would be getting back to Lansing around 4pm that day and wanted to bring them back to my friendsicles. Truth be told, they only had 9 to choose from. I scarfed 3 of them somewhere around South Bend.

You made my 8-hour drive so much more enjoyable, you gorgeous little babies.

We also ate some delicious guac made by Mr. Taylor, some errant Goldfish crackers thrown on the floor by two-year-old John, and Trixie's famous tuna salad. I love Iowa. Well, maybe it's just my friend that I love. Either way, the La Porte City Bakery will be getting more of my business on the regular.

Chicago Brunch. Best meal of 2012.

That's not an overstatement.

For years, I have been reading about The Publican. I have literally had that website bookmarked for years. When we decided to Sunday Brunch before heading back to Michigan, I knew where I wanted to go. We got a reservation and I was quiet with excitement as our cab made it way across town, laden with our huge Vera Bradley duffel bags (I like the bright colors, ok?) and huge asses after gorging ourselves on hot dogs and cupcakes (see below.)

We got to The Publican quite a bit early for our 11:00 reservation and waited at a standing bar where we could stare at the plates being served to other diners. We ordered coffees, mimosas, and after I started shouting out things like "the pork rinds are supposed to be incredible!", we ordered the pork rinds. Misstep. I don't know if I'm missing something, but these things were like giant, super-crunchy Cheetos. We also ordered the pub pretzel with pimento cheese, because Miss Kitty went to school in the South and couldn't resist.

I had never had pimento cheese. It was good. I would eat it again.

The rest of our party rolled in and we were seated at long tables shoulder-to-shoulder with strangers. I love it, so I can stare at their food, their baby, their eyeglasses, whatever catches my eye. And I can listen to their jacked-up conversations, like the dapper man next to me telling his son that Obama is going to blow the general election by making voters think that if they don't vote for him, they're racist.

Ok. OR MAYBE THEY ARE REALLY RACIST.

I couldn't concentrate on sending hate vibes his way, though, because I was too excited with the prospect of my red wine poached eggs. I love eggs. No, I LOVE them. You don't understand. And I never order them poached, because when I'm confronted with an overly-poached yolk, I lose my patience. I knew that they would be perfect at The Publican, and I was dying.

Look at those little beauties. Atop grilled bread, with hollandaise (so lemony) and alongside a little salad and prosciutto. I don't think I have ever before willed my stomach to stretch in order to accommodate the last bites of my meal. This was, without a doubt, the best meal I have had this year. If you find yourself at The Publican, order this. If you know how to make this, come to my house. I will make you some cupcakes, serve as surrogate, whatever you want.

I also ordered the ricotta and zucchini bread, which that week came with mint, blackberries, and honey, for sharesies with the table. The texture was awesome- it was light and sweet and you could really taste the honey.

I slathered the ricotta like whipped cream.

I drove around Chicago a few days after this trip and looked up The Publican's hours so I could try to sneak in a quick lunch. Sadly, my schedule wouldn't allow for it. Mark my words, I will return before the end of the year. And I will bring my Thanksgiving eating pants.

Happy Christmas (Bar is Over)

A week and a half ago I took the Michigan bar exam. All of my time since mid-May had been completely devoted to learning as much law as I could, which meant no trips, no going up north, no yoga (until I started going nuts and Mom directed me to return to a few classes a week), and no hanging out with friends. My meals were unvaried- oat bran, salad, tofu. Vats of coffee. I even started drinking an occasional Diet Coke, which I have since remembered is disgusting. That temporary habit has been abandoned.

My bestie, whom we lovingly call Kitty, is getting married in September. She had been a dreamboat in understanding that my wedding-planning involvement would be minimal until post-bar exam, but after the exam, I would throw myself into my Maid of Honor duties. So, two days after I emptied my brain and poured it into bluebooks, Team Kitty headed to Chicago to celebrate her.

I hadn't been to Chicago since I was in high school. I know. It's three hours away, get with it. Well, the Windy City has come roaring back onto my radar and I will be sure to head there more often in the future. We got in on Friday night, cleaned up and changed into dresses and heels at the hotel, and headed to Las Palmas on the advice of a true Chicagoan. See, Kitty's got a real thing for Mexican food. I myself could generally take it or leave it, so when we eat Mexican in the Lansing area (which is always at Kitty's insistence) I always just order whatever she ordered.

This time I decided to read the menu and order something different. Ok, the real motivation was to order whatever Kitty told me to order, so she could taste it. She's the bride, she gets anything she wants.

We were starving when we arrived at the restaurant and immediately ordered guacamole. I've never been more impressed by a mashed-up avocado. It was the creamiest, most fresh-tasting guac I've ever had. I'm not saying that I'm a guacamole expert or anything, but it. was. slammin.

We ordered it with medium heat and it worked for me. Some of my wimpier friends thought it was too spicy. I told them to grow up.

My entree was the BARBACOA DE CORDERO- Braised lamb in guajillo peppers, maguey and avocado leaves served atop Mole de Mayo with asparagus & a crispy arepa (Voted best mole in Chicago 2011.)

The fork sneaking in is Kitty's. She couldn't wait.

 The lamb was tender. The dish was flavorful. I'm always intrigued by the idea of chocolate in my mole, and I couldn't resist a statement like "best mole in Chicago 2011." I think the asparagus was kind of a weird addition, but I cleaned my plate.

The next day we headed to Wrigley Field for a Cubs game. Kitty talked about eating a hot dog 67 times before we got to the game, and her excitement was only ramped up when I read her a report from infallible Four Square that Wrigley and Yankee Stadium have the best stadium hot dogs in the country. After watching the actual baseball for .7 seconds, we turned our attention to the concessions.

You haunt my dreams. 

It was incredible. I scarfed it. Then we sat in the bleachers until we all started sweating, at which point we went downstairs and stood around trying to decide what to do with ourselves. During this interlude, I ate ANOTHER HOT DOG. That was one of the best decisions I've made. The last bite was the best bite of anything I had taken in days.

On another note, the employees at Wrigley were wonderful. They were so welcoming and delightful. I'm not kidding. I hope that the employees at Tigers Stadium, errr. . . Comerica, are as nice.

Later in the day we ate some inconsequential pizza. Much later, after spending several hours watching Olympic swimming, we went downstairs to the restaurant in our hotel, the Westin on Michigan Avenue. I didn't have high hopes. It's a hotel restaurant, after all. Kitty and I love oysters on the half shell, and I knew they were available. I thought maybe a half-dozen and a salad would satiate our 10:00pm hunger. Then this happened-

me: "Do you want a salad? Maybe the panzanella?"
Kitty: "Sure." (long pause) "Do you want to split a steak instead?"
me: "Thank God you said that."

We had a bleu cheese and herb encrusted filet that was delicious. I knew when I cut through it that the meat was perfectly prepared. The accompanying spinach mashed potatoes were good, but they were an afterthought. After focusing on the half-dozen oysters (yes, we ate those too) and hoovering the filet, the potatoes remained on the plate.

Earlier in the day, after the game, we headed to a few stores to look for wedding shoes. We were hungry. We were tired. We needed a snack. The heavens opened and we found ourselves standing smack in front of Sprinkles, which I had never heard of but is apparently "the progenitor of the haute cupcake craze." Thanks for showing me that you know the word "progenitor," Los Angeles Times.

I am always disappointed with commercial cupcakes. I fancy myself quite a baker and what I make at home is, without fail, better than what I find for sale. This place was no different, but it was a darling bakery and the banana cake with dark chocolate frosting could give me a run for my money.

We chased that cake, and the strawberry (dry and meh) with coffee and their last glass of skim milk.

Blood sugar savior.

 This little snackie fueled us up for our trip to Bhldn, Anthropologie's bridal shop, so my crazy friend could contemplate a $300 pair of shoes. We still live in Lansing, Michigan, right? Who balls that hard?

We ate on Sunday, too. But I want you to come back and read about that later. And you should, because it was one of the best meals I have ever had.