Peanut Butter and Yogurt

I've been reading quite a bit lately about people eating peanut butter and pickle sandwiches. I originally thought that this was just an oddity in my beloved Sunday New York Times, then I saw a video snippet on CBS Sunday Morning where a man took a big bite of a PB&P sandwich. Honestly, it looked disgusting. Has anyone ever eaten this sandwich before? Is it as horrifying as it sounds?

On the same episode of Sunday Morning I was intrigued to see a segment where Serena Altschul (remember her from MTV News?!) went to a Chobani cafe in NYC. Check this out. The pistachio yogurt with chocolate and mint looks ahmahzing.

During normal (read: non-Thanksgiving) weeks, I eat about five servings of Greek yogurt. It has a wallop of protein and very little sugar, which is exactly what I look for in my afternoon snack.

Of course, in my morning snack, I look for caffeine, chocolate, and a minimum of 1,000 calories, but a girl's gotta have some fun, right?

Anyway, you can get Greek yogurt at just about any grocery in town nowadays. I generally stick to Chobani or Fage, whichever is on sale. I always buy fat-free plain yogurt and add my own topping, if I have gotten myself together and planned ahead. I very rarely buy flavored yogurt. It's full of sugar and nonsense.

Serena Altschul also talks about Siggi's Icelandic yogurt (skyr, if you want to be technical.) This stuff is great, it has even more protein and has delicious and natural flavorings. I make an exception to my no flavors rule and splurge when I find Siggi's. I know that you can buy it at the Better Health Store on Clippert near Frandor, which is where I also like to buy my tempeh and Bob's Red Mill products when I am trying to be good and healthy and virtuous.

Then I eat these-

Pumpkin cheesecakes on Thanksgiving. I ate three. Then I hated myself.

Mediteran

When I was in college and declared that my major was Political Science ("MY MAJOR IS POLITICAL SCIENCE! I DECLARE IT!") I decided that I should probably get some real-world experience in the form of an internship. I don't remember how this all shook out, but I got a position in the office of one of the greatest guys I have ever met- State Senator Mickey Switalski, repping Roseville and Eastpointe (formerly known as East Detroit.)

I loved being in that legislative office. Mickey gave me actual tasks to accomplish, instead of the normal intern duties of making copies, getting coffee, and taking documents from the Farnum (Senate) building to the House Office Building. I also became close friends with Mickey's Constituent Relations Director and sister-in-law, the 60-something Scottish firecracker Helena. Helena and I would frequently decide that Mickey could go without us for a few hours and would head south down Washington Square to have lunch at a restaurant that quickly became our favorite place- Restaurant Mediteran.

I believe my work in Mickey's office started in 2003, which means that I've been eating at Mediteran for 9 years. I had my 24th birthday party there. I finally convinced my parents to listen to my advice for once, and they too became Mediteran devotees. I've extolled to many people the necessity of making a lunch reservation, especially when the legislature is in town, because the little cafe becomes completely packed.

The gorgeous, colorful presentation of the salmon isn't lost on this sister.

In short, I consider myself to be well-versed in how things operate at Mediteran. Let me give you a few tips:

1. Igor, who is 30ish, is the owner. His father, Mirko, is the waiter. Mirko drew all of the artwork that hangs on the walls. You might think that Mirko hates you, but he's just prickly in that Eastern European way.

2. At lunch, I always order one of the specials. I don't even open the menu. The specials are listed on a dry-erase board outside.

3. At dinner, I love the salmon and the spaghetti bolognese. They have the best spaghetti, and some of the best salmon, in town. 

This isn't the spaghetti bolognese, it's the spaghetti Balkan. Also delicious.

4. Do yourself a favor and go in around Christmastime. The decorations are incredible.

5. At dinner, you will be presented with dessert after your meal. These desserts are all house-made (by Igor's mother) and gorgeous. They taste as good as they look.

6. You won't be presented with a check at your table. When you are ready to pay, head to the counter where Mirko will ring you up. Yes, you can use a debit or credit card. And yes, you should tip profusely.

7. Much like Soup Spoon, you might leave Mediteran smelling like food. If that kind of thing matters to you, you might want to leave your coat in the car (although I personally wouldn't think it was a bad thing to snuggle up to someone who smelled like some of the most delicious food in the city.)

Every dessert is worth the calories. I don't say that lightly.

8. I have reason to believe that Mediteran won't be open forever. Put it into your restaurant rotation sooner than later

9. They don't have a liquor license and no, they don't want one. Don't expect to have a drink with dinner.

10. If you're there for lunch, don't forget to put money in your meter. Those meter maids don't play.

Mediteran is downtown on Washington Square, across the street from the Cooley Law Library. There is also an adjacent cafe, but all my expertise pertains only to the sit-down restaurant.

Red Haven for City Pulse

I've taken my questionable talents to City Pulse for a monthly restaurant review that kicked off yesterday. Check out my first article and impressions of Red Haven here.

Fork in the Road

Last Saturday night I had dinner with my favorite veterans at Fork in the Road. FITR is the stand-alone incarnation of one of my favorite eateries, Trailer Park'd. I have always loved Trailer Park'd burgers, their wood-paneled truck, and the aromas that waft out of that little trailer, but unfortunately FITR has not yet won my heart.

I ordered the Brussels Sprouts, shown above. As they are ridiculously called on the menu, the Fried Brussels with Carmelized Onion Cheddar-Apple-Maple Mustard-Cider Vinny. I love Brussels Sprouts and I like that they were whole, not shredded or halved, but there wasn't any caramelization to speak of and the mustard sauce was overpowering. 

I also had the tacos, better known as the Ballin' Ass Tacos. I can't quite bring myself to say that. I can, however, comfortably assert that these tacos are the best thing on the menu. 

I have a couple of reasons for that claim: 1. unlike many of the other options at FITR, an order of the tacos gives you a pretty substantial amount of food; 2. I think that $7.50 is a reasonable price; and 3. these tacos are GOOD. Don't order them if you can't take the heat, because the chorizo is seriously spicy and I was straight chugging water by the end of the second taco. 

I also ordered the bread pudding. After it came to the table I realized that I've already had the bread pudding at FITR and wasn't in love with it, but I soldiered through and ate half of this. 

I like the chunks of chocolate and the pistachios, but it's quite dry and the bread pudding at Soup Spoon beats the crap out of FITR. 

Here's the rub- my total after ordering these three items was $20 and change. That. Is. Outrageous. I know, I know- local, sustainable, difficult to make a profit- I know. But let's get real for a second. This is Lansing, Michigan. This diner is a stone's throw from Sexton High School (heyyyy, shoulda been a Big Red!) and a recently-shuttered GM plant. The price point at FITR is way, way off. 

My vet ordered the ravioli. He asked the cashier (yes, you order your food at the counter, pay for it, then they bring it to you, and this is awful and I hate it) if he should get a side dish, and she told him that the entree was a "huge plate of ravioli." 

There were three raviolis on the plate. It was $18. 

Guys, I just can't get behind that. And believe me, I have no problem paying for delicious food when I think it's a good value and you're getting what you pay for. I just can't say that I feel that way about FITR, and I'm sad to report that. I hope something changes. 

In the meantime, Happy Veteran's Day, in particular to my favorite Republican, my favorite veteran, my political foe and my good, good friend. You're the best.

Champps

Last week I got disappointing news from the Board of Law Examiners. I, along with 437 other exam-takers, failed the bar exam. But it's ok. Michigan is thankfully a state that allows appeals of bar exam scores, so I will wage an argument and hope that the Board of Law Examiners awards me two more points.

Yes, two points. That's all I need.

Anyweekspentbeingmadattheworld, my friendsicles have been great. And I needed that. Yesterday I met up with one of my very smartest friends for lunch. He told me a story about a test that he had to take a bunch of times. It made me feel better. It also made me happy that I want to be a lawyer and not a doctor, because MAN doctors have to take some insane exams.

We went to Champps in the Eastwood Towne Center. Why the extra "p" in the name? Why, why?

I'm trying to decide upon one menu item that will become my "thing." You know what I mean? Like, my brother always get a club sandwich. I used to get Philly cheesesteaks, but I'm over that. At Champps I got the Kobe burger, but I'm thinking that something a little more nuanced should be my thing instead. Buffalo chicken sandwich? Patty melt? I need input.

So, the Kobe burger was fine. I particularly liked two things about it- the mayonnaise was already spread on the bun, and the cheese was perfectly broiled. Bubbly.

However, I HATE shredded lettuce. It falls out of the bun and is stupid. I would never request a leaf of lettuce while ordering a burger because I recognize that that would make me sound like a complete jerk, so I will just suffer in silence and be a tiny bit crestfallen every time I see a plate come out with shredded lettuce atop the bun.

But the burger was fine. Nothing remarkable, but solid. We also had crab bread for an appetizer, which was heinous. If there was really supposed to be crab on the bread, as the name implies, I'm sad to report that I didn't see or taste any. The bread itself reminded me of that French bread that I used to eat before swim practice in the form of Stauffer's French bread pizza. Why is that stuff called French bread? It is completely unlike a crusty, thin, gloriously-roof-of-mouth-ripping French baguette.

But, you know, America #1 and all.

Meat.

            I love meat. 

            That doesn’t feel right. Let me try this again. I love Meat. 

            On a recent Friday evening before a show at the Riverwalk with two of my favorite men, our plan was to meet at Old Town’s hottest restaurant, also the one most recently visited by 90s dreamboat Gavin Rossdale. I had a few moments to cool my heels while waiting for my men and I poked my head inside to case the joint. A cow skin covers much of one wall, and the posteriors of diners covered all seats. Fortunately, just as my companions showed up a table emptied and we were able to sit right down.

            The menu is straightforward- lots of meat and a few sides. The three headliners are brisket, pulled pork, and something called Texas Hot Link that the waitress informed me is a kind of sausage. Upon her recommendation, I chose the brisket combo plate. The combo plate, which you can order with any of the three meats, also comes with two sides. You step right up and make your choice between macaroni and cheese, blue cheese and bacon potato salad,  bourbon baked beans, ranch slaw, hand-cut fries, or the “seasonal vegetable” offering. The seasonal vegetable offering that night? Glazed apples. 

            I was confused too.

            Our waitress hit me with some serious side-eye when I asked her to “talk to me about the ranch slaw.” Her response of “Well, it’s cole slaw,” didn’t exactly sell me, so I chose the bourbon baked beans and the fries. Don’t get me wrong, I am a human being and I obviously wanted the blue cheese and bacon potato salad, but it had run out. I hear that is Meat’s biggest problem, so don’t be mad when they’re out of something that you wanted. We want to encourage fledgling restaurants in town, and if they’re running out of food, they’re doing something right.

            Our orders came out relatively quickly and the waitress gave us a rundown of the five sauces held in a little bin on our table. One was a traditional Kansas City BBQ, and as the presentation continued my brain turned off until she said the words “hot garlic.” I know it ain’t ladylike, but this lady loves garlic and loves spicy. This sauce, while flavorful and welcome in limited increments, was seriously flirting with the line between “pleasantly spicy” and “too spicy for you to even enjoy what you’re eating because you are concerned that sweat has permeated your shirt and nobody is ever going to want to kiss you again because you’re an animal.” Be warned. 

            The brisket portion was massive. I counted six thick slices of beef, which was tender to the touch of a plastic fork. That’s necessary at Meat because the only cutlery provided is plastic forks, housed in the sauce bin. Alongside the slices were what I would call “burnt ends,” the pieces that fall off the brisket and are charred and full of fat and flavor. The burnt ends were explosions of intense flavor. The brisket itself was delicious, tender, a little spicy, and those six slices didn’t stand a chance against me.

            My sides were a mixed bag. The bourbon baked beans were absolutely delicious- some of the best baked beans I’ve ever had. I was concerned that they might be a little too sweet and my concern was unfounded and stupid. The beans were smoky-tasting, with chunks of bacon in a thick, rich sauce. The texture, which can be so hard to nail on baked beans, was perfect. Nothing was mealy or mushy, and when the hot garlic sauce got to be too much I dipped my brisket into the beans for a little taste of Heaven right there on Turner Street. 

            The fries were a disappointment. I have nothing against shoestring fries, but they definitely don’t blow my skirt up. These in particular were overcooked, dry, and completely flavorless. I left more than half of them on my plate (which was fine, because I estimated my caloric consumption at that one meal to be about 8 zillion calories. Worth it.)

            My dudes loved their pulled pork and macaroni and cheese. They agreed with me that the beans were bangin’ and informed me that that was an improvement over their last visit to Meat. I’m dying for the potato salad, so as soon as I run 10 miles I’m running myself right back over for a little more Meat.

Artie's Filling Station

Until I was 25 years old, I never thought I would drink coffee. I hated the smell and taste of it and, from my senior year of high school until 5 year ago I got my caffeine from Mountain Dew and Diet Pepsi.

It's embarrassing, but I drank the hell out of both of those. It's a wonder I didn't give myself the 'beetus.

I remember living in France and having my friends over for Thanksgiving (or, as it is better known by the French, "Thursday.") I knew that I needed to offer coffee and cheese, even though I hated both of them, so I bought some instant coffee granules. To the best of my recollection, all my guests passed on this offering in favor of more Beaujolis Nouveau. I was totally clueless.

When 25 rolled around, I was clocking a lot of hours working for a certain U.S. Senator from the Great Lakes State. You know him, he looks like Benjamin Franklin. I lived in Oakland County, where I didn't have any friends, so I worked nonstop. In the morning I would wake up and struggle to get out of bed, so I decided that it was time to grow up and start drinking coffee.

I started drinking lattes. Specifically, I started drinking "Grande Skinny Sugar-Free White Ligntnings with Mint." I. Am. Disgusting. These puppies were like $5 a pop and had 87 chemicals in them. The amount of coffee itself was negligible. I literally drank one of these every single day, and now I wish I had all of that money in a giant jar so I could go buy a million butternut squashes and turn myself orange from the inside out.

I don't remember what the impetus was for my abandoning these monstrosities, but I eventually did a 180 and dropped the lattes for plain black coffee. A few weeks after trying to convince everyone in the city that I was a badass, my mother's friend told me that coffee wasn't worth drinking without a little cream. She was right, and every day I have several cups with a little cream.

I have become a coffee fanatic. I'm frequently the psycho trying to track down a server before dessert comes so I can enjoy my cake with a cup of pleasantly cooled coffee. I mean honestly- is there anything better than a baked good and a cup of coffee (particularly as soon as you wake up in the morning?)

The banana bread that I have been assaulting for a week.

For weeks, I've been hearing about Artie's Filling Station. Truth be told, I'd been hearing that this dude was serious about his coffee and wouldn't take any crap. So I was intimidated and stayed away, continuing to give my Keurig, Bodum French press, and Bialetti stovetop espresso maker (THE BEST) a workout.

I realize that the stovetop is dirty. My apologies.

Last week the Grand River Connection (board member what) and Lansing Chamber held our annual 10 Over 10 awards. One of the winners was John Miller, Artie's owner. It was back on my radar and on Thursday, after cardio jump rope and before going to work, it was time. I told him that I'd never been there before and needed guidance, he suggested their Tahitian Vanilla Nutmeg latte.

You guys.

Nutmeg shavings on top.

Thank God I had gotten back into my car before I took a sip, because I literally made a keening sound. Gross word, I know, but that's what I did. It was too good. I took the lid back off and stared at it, sent a text to my bff telling her to go there, and licked nutmeg and foam off the bottom of the lid.

I can't even. . . it's not normal coffee.

By the way, I could see the vanilla beans (vanilla bean seeds?) on the sides of the cup. I'm getting grosser by the minute, but I ran my finger around the cup and licked them off. I would have eaten the paper cup if I hadn't already had my morning fiber in the form of oatmeal.

Look at those cups. Obviously cooler than I am. Oh, and they only slang whole milk, so deal with the fact that you're going to get fatter. However, it's a small cup, so just tell yourself that you're European and deal with it. Also, it was close to $6, but if that's going to stop you then just get the hell out of here.