I bought myself a butter dish recently — a little one that holds a half stick of butter, perfect for me and my miniature Brooklyn apartment. Kerrygold is what I usually buy, since it’s the best quality butter I can find at any old grocery store, but I lust after Rodolphe Le Meunier from Normandy, and of course I miss the fresh Irish stuff from the happy cows grazing all around the Irish countryside. I like my butter golden, salty, rich, and spread thickly on toast, as if it were cheese. (It’s basically cheese, isn’t it?)
Last week at Hart’s, we were talking as a team about our childhood comfort foods, and one thing that came to mind for me was cinnamon toast: crunchy bread, melty salted butter, and abundant cinnamon sugar sprinkled on top. I was not alone in the cinnamon toast memory; it turns out everyone’s parents made them cinnamon toast when they were kids. It makes sense! It’s easy, decadent, and uplifting, and only calls for three common ingredients. That night, I got home at 12:30 or so, ravenous after a busy service that didn’t allow for much snacking. I knew at once what must be done, and popped two slices of bread into the toaster. Cinnamon toast! Becoming an adult is really about learning how to parent yourself, isn’t it?
Work has been good lately, but has also been feeling extra hard. I regard the people around me who’ve been grinding in kitchens for decades with so much respect. The endurance! The energy! The expertise! Pretty much every work night, I get to a point where I’m hit with a pang of sadness, a desire to be in bed with a book and Remy (my family’s dog) miraculously transported to my apartment, curled up at my feet. It’s a pathetic feeling; I want to be hardcore, tireless, defined by my strength, yet there I am, dreaming of a shower and clean sheets and silence. During this time, I’ve found so much comfort in my friendship with Serin, my friend from Cervo’s. She is so good at her job, and loves it so much, and also shares these feelings, which makes me feel much less afraid. We both had Monday off, so we met up for an adventure to Kalustyan’s, a specialty market on Lexington Avenue with the most incredible selection of spices, beans, grains, and everything else you could imagine. Afterwards, we got dosas at Saravana Bhavan a block away and split a mango lassi. Love love love!
Despite the inner conflict concerning the kitchen lifestyle, I remain genuinely excited about the cooking side of things. I learn so much every day, and I love watching guests delight in the dishes we spend all day preparing. The other day, I entered the restaurant midday to strawberries roasting in the oven, filling the space with a sweet, billowy scent, reminiscent of caramel. You know when you can taste a smell? You could just TASTE these strawberries, as if you’d just picked one fresh off the vine, warmed by the sun. For service, we spooned them over a luscious sesame pudding and scattered toasted pistachios on top, and it was truly one of my favorite things I’ve ever eaten.
Arguably the most iconic Hart’s dish is the clam toast — two thick slices of sourdough fried in olive oil and covered in clams, opened in their shells in a mixture of toasted garlic, white wine and top secret pancetta soffritto. It’s so good: visually striking and supremely satisfying. Sometimes I get behind on my orders when I make clam toast because I love to linger above the pan and watch as the clams pop, one by one. It’s like opening a can of soda; even though you know what’s going to happen, it’s still a delight to hear the fizz and see the bubbles rise, just like it is to watch the clam shells unlatch, revealing the meat within. And I love to taste the broth. I go through at least six tasting spoons per order, sipping the briny mixture every minute or so, paying attention as the alcohol cooks off and the clam flavor intensifies. A pinch of salt and a drop (a true drop) of lemon juice wake everything up. It’s a lesson in seasoning: taste, adjust, taste, adjust, taste, adjust, plate. “I’m passionate about clams,” I told my chef one day, to which she responded, “Oh, me too, me too.”
A few days ago, I woke up early to bake focaccia to bring to work for family meal. I used this Serious Eats recipe, which I’ve made a few times and found to be reliable. Before I went to work that day, I stopped at Serin’s for coffee and a chat, and gave her a slice. Serin approved, and my coworkers were very sweet and appreciative, and the whole experience was 10/10. To that I say: yay bread.
In exciting news, my parents are coming on Friday to dine with me at Hart’s for my mama’s birthday! I can’t wait.
Love,
Phoebs
Yes please CLAM TOAST please!!!!!
Cinnamon toast - yes!!!