The Amateur Gourmet

The Best Turkey Sandwich I've Ever Had

Today I had the best turkey sandwich I've ever had.

I don't make this statement lightly.

No, I've spent my whole life eating turkey sandwiches. I ate them all the way through high school, through college and even law school. Turkey sandwiches are like my own private hamster food; they go down like pellets and replenish me for the big hamster wheel of life. Usually I eat them on whole wheat or rye bread with mustard and, if at all possible, lettuce, tomato, onion, pickle and (in recent years) oil, vinegar, salt and pepper.

But that's the hamster food turkey sandwich. The one I eat when there's nothing else to eat, or when I just want to eat and not think about it---like when I took the bar exam. Do you know what I ate during the break during the bar exam, both days? A turkey sandwich. It's true, people.

And so I've come to regard turkey as the most banal of lunch meats; sandwich filler, if you will. After all its pallid color is evocative of pallid flavor, and even if that's not true most cheapskate lunch places--like Subway, for example--place only three miniscule slices on the Gargantuan bun. You don't even taste the turkey.

So today when I returned to 'Wichcraft (where I went and blogged about several months ago), I was loathe to eat something ordinary like turkey. Bring on the anchovie sandwich with poached egg, I said to myself. But then I reconsidered. This was early in the day and I wouldn't be eating again 'til late. I needed something filling, something solid. I needed hamster food. Enter turkey sandwich.

What an accomplishment is this sandwich. Everything about it is wonderful. The bread, for starters. It's served on a ciabatta bun and everything about it was perfect. It had perfect bite to it. Teeth went right through, and each textural layer could be savored.

And then for the condiments. On top of the turkey was an onion remulade that was out-of-this-world. Salty, sweet, tangy, bitter--it was all those things and more. Then there was avocado and bacon. A killer combination. Beneath the turkey was a rich garlicky aioli that contrasted and complimented everything beautifully. My only complaint was that with the first few bites, the condiments completely hid the turkey.
But a few bites in, the turkey began to shine. This was thick-sliced perfeclty cooked turkey. Tender, flavorful and absolutely fresh out of the oven, it was a turkey revelation. Truly the best turkey I've had in a turkey sandwich ever, including those rare occassions we'd have Thanksgiving at home and there'd be turkey left over. No, this was the Platonic ideal of a turkey sandwich--none can top this. And so filling, too. A bit pricey, yes: $9. But that's not terribly far off from the $5 you'd spend at Subway, no? And if you need further justification, 'Wichcraft has a wide array of magazines for you to peruse while you eat. So you can read that New Yorker without having to buy it, saving you $4. Really, it doesn't make sense NOT to eat here. You'd be a turkey if you didn't.

Yay Internet!

Finally, after much anguish and a series of angry phone calls to RCN, I have internet in my apartment. Woohoo! Sadly, I can't make the new Airport Express I bought from Apple work, but that shouldn't concern you. As far as you're concerned, I have no excuse for bad blogging. This is the Amateur Gourmet, reporting for duty. Fire at will, captain.

Quick Pics from Today

Finally, some quick pics from today...

(1) I did a quick perusal through the Union Square Greenmarket. It's awesome! When I get my pots and pans and other cooking equipment (like the large vibrating egg slicer), I'll make my way back here and buy fresh produce to cook with for you all:

(2) Then I made it over to the Strand, a historic giant reduced-price book store with a killer cookbook section. Check it, yo:

I purchased Ruth Reichl's "Tender At The Bone" for $7 and started reading it today while I did laundry.

(3) New York's best kept secret? Probably not, because lots of people know that you can get sandwiches at Balthazar for like $7. I did that today with an egg salad sandwich which was, I must confess, pretty standard; but the bread was great.

The pastries, I should add, however, looked mind-bogglingly good. Next time I'll skip the sandwich.

If You're In The Neighborhood: Dinner at Cola's (148 8th Ave)

If my posts seem hasty tonight, that's because I really have to pee but I'm scared to get up and (a) lose my chair (it's crowded in here), or (b) lose my stuff if I leave it in the chair to reserve it only to have someone steal it. Welcome to New York.

[Ok, ok, the Welcome to New York gag is getting old. Welcome to New York.]

Last night, my friend JC was in town en route to Yale where he'll be studying religion and art in the fall. Lisa and I met up with him and we caroused a bit, breaking beer bottles and tormenting children until we stumbled across a place on (wouldyabelieveit?) 8th Ave. called Cola's.

Almost immediately, we were presented with bread and a white bean/olive oil/garlic concoction. It was delicious:

So delicious, in fact, that we all began feeling incredibly photogenic. "Photograph me!" cheered JC. I did.

"Photograph me!" Lisa and I cheered. JC did.

The service at Cola's was remarkable. Every time a water glass began to empty it was immediately refilled. The bread and bean stuff was constantly replenished: man COULD have dined on bread alone.

The host/waiter man was incredibly accomodating and endured (or perhaps even enjoyed) the following dialogue with Lisa, who pondered the artichoke ravioli on the specials menu:

Lisa: Now this artichoke ravioli...
Waiter: Yes...
Lisa: Is it just like a piece of artichoke in ravioli?
Waiter: Yes.
Lisa: So there's nothing else in there, like cheese or anything?
Waiter: Right, just the artichoke.
Lisa: Ok. Now sometimes when I order ravioli you get a big bowl of ravioli, is this a big bowl of ravioli? Or is just a few pieces of ravioli on a big plate?
Waiter: It's a big bowl of ravioli, I'd say.
Lisa: What kind of sauce does it come with?
Waiter: It's a pink sauce.
Lisa: Ok. And how much is it? It doesn't say on here.
Waiter: It's $14.95.
Lisa: Oh wow, that's way out of my range. I'll have the penne with tomato sauce.

I ordered pasta bolognese and all the food came out quite promptly. Here's mine:

You can see JC's in the background (who ordered the same thing as Lisa) and we all scarfed down quite gladly. Was it the best we've ever had? No; but it was perfect for the moment. And that's the thing: there are places you should go out of your way to eat in (Babbo, for example) and other places that are great if you happen to be in the neighborhood and you're hungry. This one's the latter. So if you're at a gay porn shop or watching a Tango show and you're hungry, why not get some pasta? Cola's is the place.

At Last, My Bagel's Come Home: Murray's Bagels (242 8th Ave.)

In the game of "my city's better than your city," there's one area where Atlanta will always, unquestionably, indubitably lose and that area is bagels. Atlanta has the worst bagels in the world and yes, I ate in Bagel Palace. Bagel Palace is to bagels what Cindarella's castle in Disney is to Buckingham Palace in England. That is to say, a fascimile, a carbon copy, a wisp of a ghost of a shadow of a bagel. New York, my friends, is the real deal. You haven't bageled if you haven't New Yorked.

And yes, I've read your Montreal comments: all well and good. Someday, I'll check those out. But like a sand-crusted desert crawler, forging his way towards a shimmering mirage of water, I found myself on the first day of my arrival scavenging for bagels. Luckily, I had my New York Magazine Cheap Eats issue handy in which the chef at Per Se (not Thomas Kellar) spends $150 (the price of his price fixe menu) out and about in New York. He gets his bagel from Murray's and so would I.

Murray's is not at all far from where I live. The other bastion of good New York bagels, based on my limited knowledge, Ess-A-Bagel is-a-far from my whereabouts and so to a'Murray's I would a'go.

Murray's is situated near a Cuban sandwich shop, a gay porn store, and across the street from a theater featuring a tango show. Which is to say that Murray's is situated in a nexus of culture, part of what makes New York great. I waited patiently in line and ordered what the Per Se guy ordered: an onion bagel with scallion cream cheese and Novia Scotia salmon.

I sat and read an article about Munchausen Syndrome By Proxy in The New Yorker and pretended to ignore a woman screaming loudly into her cell phone. As for the bagel, it was love at first bite. This was the bagel I'd been waiting for: my seven years of Dunkin' Donuts/Einstein Bagels Purgatory finally over. Poppy's hide your seeds: the bagel bandit has arrived.

Through The Eyes of Lolita: The Move to NY

Dear Amateur Gourmet Readers,

Lolita the cat here. Please, I beg of you, contact PETA and relay to them the following.

1. Last week, without any prior notice, my master--your Gourmet--suddenly removed all of my beloved furniture, including the bed I've slept on and under so many times, without any reason and/or explanation. I was left without a bed and without a blanket to scratch and chew.

2. Then, suddenly, I was grabbed at 6:30 in the morning on Friday the 6th and held down, against my will, at which time my master--your Gourmet--shoved a small white pill down my throat. I began having hallucinations of a musical in which grown men and women dressed like me danced down the aisles of a theater while bad synthesizer music blared overhead. At the end I was on a floating tire and then I came to. I found myself on a strange windowsill in a strange city:

3. Finally, while my tormentor went out to find elicit (ilicit? HISSSS, I hate spelling) drugs and prostitutes, I was able to hide myself under the air conditioner. When he returned he scampered all over the apartment looking for me, until he discovered my whereabouts:

The jig was up and I was vulnerable, yet again, to the cruel caprice of a carniverous culinary caca-head. Please, I beg of you, to quote Aretha Franklin (or is it Fontella Bass? HISSS, I hate 60s music trivia): RESCUE ME.

Sincerely,
Lolita

My Internet Situation

Should my move to New York ever provide fodder for a novel, one of the themes of that novel might be "Big Corporations Suck." Specifically, there was that moving company that screwed me over, now it's RCN. To be fair, RCN didn't really screw me over---they simply promised they'd be at my apartment today between 2 and 5 to set up my internet and then didn't show up. The guy I dealt with who has a funny name (let's call him K.P. Fizzlepuss) was pretty unapologetic. Welcome to New York, you might say. Now my internet set-up date is undetermined but at least I found a coffee shop with free wireless internet (thanks to those who pointed out I shouldn't be paying for it!). Funny, I'm drinking an iced latte after having just consumed a good burger at Good Burger (I'll write about that some day)--Amanda Hesser would be mad. But not as mad as I am at Corporate America!

POSTSCRIPT: RCN just called: they're coming tomorrow. Please disregard the sentiments above.

Live From New York

Aight, peeps, yo' homeboy freshstuff gourmet kicking it up to ya live here from da big appilio, NYC style fo' realz.

But seriously.

Hello! I am here typing to you from the Starbucks on 27th and 6th because my apartment is still internetless. This Starbucks wireless costs $6 an hour, not a terrible price, but not cheap either so let's make this fast. My move went smoothly, there was nary a peep from Lolita on the plane. My apartment is beautiful: I hadn't seen it because my parents picked it out, so I opened the door with some trepidation. Alas, it's a great space with a great view. There's even a cafe next door where I had a kickin' chocolate croissant the other day for breakfast. And the Subway is only three blocks away.

I am loving it here. The energy is infectious and I find myself wandering gleefully all over town: I walked yesterday from Chelsea to Union Square to NYU to SoHo to Greenwich Village and then hopped a train uptown and grabbed a student rush ticket ($26, 6th row orchestra) for "Caroline, Or Change" which was truly wonderful. Last night for dinner, Lisa and I ate in the Village and Michael Musto (one of my heroes) was three tables over. [Our waitress was comically inept: she took forever getting our food out, and when we finally asked for the check she gave us a blank stare and asked, "What did you guys have?"]

Today, Dana and I ate at Bubby's in TriBeCa (which, I learned, means Triangle Below Canal) and we each had a goat cheese omelette. I've been fighting something of a weird throat ailment with contraband antibiotics and today I'm starting to feel better. Internet should arrive in my apartment Wednesday between 2 and 5. Furniture should arrive Friday (God-willing). And the family arrives Thursday night for a weekend of gluttony, which you'll hear all about. So get ready kids... your favorite Gourmet is getting New-Yorkified. Fo' realz! [More Wednesday.]

P.S.: My Recipe Box

As I was just giving my apartment a once over, I noticed a giant green box of Godiva chocolates and when I opened it, it was filled with recipes. Then I remembered: this was my recipe box from three years ago. It's been a long time since I've used it.

The box is way too big to put in my suitcase or backpack, so I'm going to now type up the best recipes from within its confines not only for your purposes, but for mine. That way I can always go back to this post and dig through it, in years to come, for something to cook. A virtual recipe box, if you will. And won't you? Proceed with hunger.

Continue reading "P.S.: My Recipe Box"

The Farewell Atlanta Dinner

Tomorrow is my last day in Atlanta (sniff/sniff) and so tonight I hired a bunch of actors to play my friends and to join me at my well-thought-out final Atlanta dining spot. (Well I suppose tomorrow night's dinner will be my final Atlanta dining spot, but you get the idea). To be honest, I didn't have to rack my brain too hard: The Flying Biscuit was the obvious choice.

Sentimentally speaking, The Flying Biscuit has me by the, well, biscuits. I've been going there since my freshman year of college (all seven years ago) and each time I go I get excited. I've gone for special occassions (birthdays), non-special occassions (weeknight dinners), dates, parties, and national political conventions. The Flying Biscuit is emblematic of my seven-year Atlanta experience.

Tonight we were celebrating me and in attendance were some of Atlanta's finest and brightest. There were these people:

These people:

And these people:

I wish I knew their names, but they were awfully nice to let me sit with them. Heck, they even bought me dinner!

I will miss this salad and of course the biscuit:

I will not necessarily miss the catfish served on cheddar cheese grits with a raspberry onion topping:

Mostly, though, I'll miss Atlanta. I think Atlanta is a marvelous city, full of wonderful people, great scenery, charm and (yes, dammit) culture. I've cherished my time here and will look back on it fondly for years to come. It was in Atlanta that I became the person you know and love today and for that, I'll be forever grateful. You are the wind beneath my wings, Atlanta. You're the father I never had. Ain't no mountain high enough, to keep me from you.

In conclusion, this is my last Atlanta post. Savor it, cherish it, put it in your pocket. The next time you hear from me, I'll be a New York resident! That may be in a few days, so until then, keep your forks aloft and your palates soft! Your palates soft? Hasta a Neuva York!

Kitchen Closure

Moving is a beyond stressful experience. Sure, my stress was amplified by the villainy of East Coast Moving Systems (which, if you missed that post, cancelled on me the day before they were supposed to move me); but just the process of going through every drawer, every cabinet and every pantry can be excruciating. Even worse, when I reached the third shelf of my side of the pantry I noticed that everything was sticky; then I noticed a giant pool of honey on the ground. Yes, honey had exploded in my pantry. Moving sucks.

Anyway, when I finally finished the kitchen yesterday I was left with a mountain of perishables I couldn't take with me. What would I do with these perishables? Josh and Katy to the rescue...

Look at all the free stuff they got: fountains of flour, oodles of oils, three bottles of chili powder. Yes, one of the things I noticed cleaning out my pantry was how frequently I re-bought things I already had. That's what happens when you bury things so deeply, like repressed memories: they come back to haunt you.

When Josh and Katy left, all that remained was my table of kitchen equipment:

It's amazing how much kitchen equipment I've accumulated in the past few years. Did you know I had an indoor grill from William Sonoma? Neither did I! And of course the KitchenAid Mixer, the food processor, the ice cream maker. My movers were thrilled with the abundance of items to be packaged and boxed; it was quite the show. Let's hope everything gets there in one piece.

Food Network Maraton: 5-5:30, Paula's Home Cooking

How fitting that my final Food Network show is somewhat regional; Paula Deen is a Savannah chef and therefore a beautiful metaphor for the end of my Georgia experience. Too bad her food looks disgusting.

To be fair, I'm burnt out, maybe this food isn't disgusting. But Beef Wellington with oyster pate looks disgusting to me right now. So does Shrimp Pie.

Paula's accent is slightly endearing; she feels like the real deal. I liked the episode I saw once where she made beer can chicken, shoving a beer can in a chicken's cavity and cooking it on a grill. I also like how she rides a motorcycle and has biker friends. I just don't like her food.

That pretty much complete's the spectrum, doesn't it? Let's draw that spectrum:

INANE/EMPTY
Ultimate Kitchens
The Best Of
Food Finds

BAD CONTENT/BAD HOST
Good Food Fast with Family Circle
30 Minute Meals with Rachel Ray

GOOD CONTENT/BAD HOST
Hot Off the Grill with Bobby Flay
How To Boil Water (b/c of Reese Witherspoon)
Calling All Cooks (b/c the anchors are kind of sucky)
The Essence of Emeril

BAD CONTENT/GOOD HOST
Paula's Home Cooking

GOOD CONTENT/GOOD HOST
Sarah's Secrets
Food 911
Molto Mario (the best)

And that my friends is my analysis of 8 hours of Food TV watching. Thank you for your time and may my brain cells one day be restored.

Food Network Maraton: 4:30-5, Sarah's Secrets (3)

Back to Sara; now we're doing fish. She said, "You may be surprised to know that some of the freshest fish in NY is in a train station." Sure enough, in Grand Central there's a great looking fish shop (now I forget the name). Maybe I'll buy some housewarming fish there upon my arrival.

In other news, I'm wimping out: this marathon will end at 5:30. I feel like I may die if I watch another cooking show.

Food Network Maraton: 4-4:30, The Essence of Emeril

Ragging on Emeril is a favorite past-time of foodies. Anthony Bourdain calls him an Ewok. eGullet has entire divisions devoted to Emeril bashing. I'm a former Emeril basher myself. It's fun to hate him.

I mean all that "bam!"-ing and audience mugging, it's like watching some weird creature in some weird studio in a galaxy far far away. The whole phenomenon eludes me.

But, ya now, watching him now I don't feel the same hate I feel towards Rachel Ray. I don't want to drown him like I want to drown the Family Circle woman. I just don't want to be trapped in an elevator with him and I mostly don't want to eat his food. Some of it looks fine, but honestly lentil crackers (which he's making now) just isn't my thing.

What is charming about Emeril, I suppose, is his old world qualities. He just seems like he is who he is, completely unaffected by modern times. He's clearly not pretentious, and that's admirable. And, ya know, he is the lifeblood of the Food Network. So I'll leave Emeril alone and say, simply, that his show is not my cup of bam.

Food Network Maraton: 3:30-4, Molto Mario

Thank God. Just when I thought I'd hit bottom comes "Molto Mario." This is, in my opinion, the best show on the Food Network. It may not seem that way at first. The first few times I watched this show I wasn't particularly charmed by it; in fact, I found Mario to be a bit abrasive. To be honest, what really made me give it a second chance was the New Yorker profile of Mario that came out a few years ago. Before then, I didn't realize what an accomplished chef he is; now I realize that he's responsible for some of New York's greatest restaurants.

And of course among those restaurants is my favorite restaurant in the world, Babbo. So watching Mario cook on TV is like watching the secrets of your favorite movie revealed.

He starts every show with a history lesson. You learn about the region he's cooking from and the significance of the dishes he's going to cook. Today's region is Latzio (sp?) and he explains that distance from the equator informs the style of cooking since Northern regions have different climates and therefore different ingredients from more Southern regions. He goes way more in depth and it's difficult to keep up. This is Food TV's version of a master class in cooking.

I tried to capture verbatim his explanation of pancetta: "They take the pork belly, they take it off the bone, they season it with salt, rosemary...each butcher has their own style...they allow it to sit there for 6 to 12 days, and they'll roll it up or they'll leave it without rolling it up."

Of course even that, I couldn't quite get it all down. Mario offers up such an abundance of information that your mind can barely keep up with your eyes as you take in all the beautiful things he's cooking.

He's such a wonderful mentor. He's telling us now to find our own butcher and fishmonger; "they're holding the coolest stuff for their regular customers. I beseach you to find a real butcher, not to go to the mainstream grocery stores where the meat's wrapped in toilet paper beneath a piece of plastic." Ha! Actually, when I get to New York I plan to do just that. Anyone know any good butchers in Chelsea?

Now he's talking about buying fresh, local food. "Anyone who's had a strawberry that was picked that day and kept at the temperature it was picked at and not refrigerated---it's like having sex." I like sex! I plan to eat many strawberries when I get to New York.

Now enunciation--- brus-sketta, not bru-shetta. "Bru-shetta is somebody who didn't understand the letter C."

Of all the shows I've watched so far today his is the one that makes me most want to cook right now. Everything looks so delicious. And do-able! I mean when Tyler Florence cooked this big block of beef before it looked yummy but I'm still terrified of all it involved. Here, Mario's slicing and dicing, sauteeing and stirring and it all looks so easy. Too bad all my kitchen equipemnts on a table ready for the movers.

"When you're cooking food you want to look at three things: the flavor, the texture, and how it looks." Got it! God, there's so much good advice you might as well watch the show yourself.

Meanwhile, his guests are usually a kooky mix. Sometimes there's celebrities--Jake and Maggie Gyllenhall, Mario Cantone--other times, food workers. Today there's a batty woman with vintage glasses and red hair and a scarf around her neck. She keeps interrupting with loud questions and I think she's getting on Mario's nerves.

Anyway, if there's one show I'd advise you to watch on the Food Network, this is it. You'll learn molto.

Food Network Maraton: 3-3:30, Food 911 (2)

More Food 911, this time drinks. Tyler made a rocking bloody mary, now he's making a Mimosa creamsicle. The guest is a pretty blonde (what's with Tyler and pretty blondes?) and I think Tyler's being a bit flirty. They just toasted their creamsicles and he said, "See how the cream's coming out?" Ummm, Tyler.

Food Network Maraton: 2:30-3, 30 Minute Meals

"Hi there I'm Rachel Ray and I make 30 minute meals."

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

I have this nightmare vision of Rachel Ray like Chucky in "Child's Play" pacing around my room with her toothy smile and repeating that opening incantation: "I'm Rachel Ray, I make 30 minute meals" over and over again, wielding a chef's knife.

Rachel Ray has her defenders. I will squeeze out a few compliments from my repertoire of Raytred. Umm, well she's practical. If you're a working mother and you come home and you need ideas for a quick dinner, I'm sure a 30 minute meal is very appealing. I won't argue that her show doesn't offer anything to viewers who crave this sort of thing; I'll simply argue that she's the most irritating woman on TV and that every time I see her or hear her speak I want to vomit.

It's just that she's so self-consciously cutesy. She thinks that she's adorable and rests all her laurels on that notion. She's like "Whatever Happened to Baby Jane" except she's still Baby Jane. Someone needs to feed her a dead rat.

Like here I'll quote her verbatim: "We're going to take a quick break but come right back because you don't want to miss a MINUTE of this sandwich, it is SPECIAL."

I'd imagine that teachers of the mentally challenged address their audience with more dignity. I feel like I should put on Pampers and chew a pacifier. How fitting, she just said: "I love cooking dinner every night because I just LOVE playing with my food. Hahaha."

That hahaha is there to illustrate Ray's obnoxious way of making herself laugh. It's all part of the cutesy-wutesy package. It sounds like the sounding call of the apocalypse.

Food Network Maraton: 2-2:30, Food Finds

The difference between Food Finds and Best Of is? Ummm, different hosts?

Otherwise it's the exact same show. I think it's equally pointless. Although some guy just made sticky buns that looked good. How did he make them? Sorry, for that you'll have to watch another show.

I bet these shows are more expensive to produce than the other shows. I mean they have to pay for travel, hotels, meals out... Of course, they probably make money on these shows: I know they sell them to Delta. They're so banal and inoffensive that airlines can safely show them to people trapped on a plane. Can you imagine paying $5 to buy headphones to watch this?

Bring a book.

Food Network Maraton: 1:30-2, The Best Of

I hate this show so much. Best of? More like Worst Ever.

It's like watching a travelling infomercial. Mark Silverstein and Jill Cordes are to food what your local weatherman is to meteorology. Actual, they're worse. There's something corrupt about this show: money is changing hands somewhere. Basically Mark and Jill go across the country and eat at restaurants and that's it. I'm sure the Food Network calls ahead, I'm sure they're getting the food free and I think that's just the tip of the iceberg.

I mean, it's not like the places that they go to are notable or culturally significant. For example, they're in Atlanta right now (I live there) and where do they go? Dante's Down The Hatch, a Buckhead fondue spot that I hear is way overrated and way expensive. It's not like Atlanta is known for its fondue.

They're letting the owner talk to the camera now: "Fondue is great for conversation---I'll walk by a table and I'll hear things like 'hey that's my mushroom,' or 'can you pass a shrimp,' or 'have you tried this sauce?' It's a really great social night out."

Ugh. This is baaaaad Food Network crap. It's like McDonalds, without the french fries. I have the TV on mute and I'm going to go pack the kitchen.

Food Network Maraton: 1-1:30, Calling All Cooks

I think this show is cute. I've seen it before, and it's a fine thing to watch when you're drunk and you stumble home and you can't find your bedroom. I mean, of course it tips closer to the filler/fluff category of Food TV shows, but there's some merit here. Basically they to go people's homes and let them cook their favorite recipe. It's nice because it's real people cooking stuff that they really cook in their real lives so there's a level of cultural authenticity frequently missing from even the most exotic Food TV show.

For example, today's recipe is curried goat. This Jamaican woman just showed her technique for cracking open a coconut. You blow on it as you rotate it in the direction you want it to open and then slam it on the ground. Miraculously it opened just where she blew. Try that, Martin Yan!

MENTAL HEALTH ALERT:
I have now been watching the Food Network for four hours. My brain is beginning to pulsate. Can I go the final 8 without cracking? Stay tuned.