Next Stop, Cheeky Monkey

How well I remember what the reassuring subway voice says about the “gap” in the underground tube in London, the potentially dangerous area between the subway car and the platform. MIND THE GAP. The voice was warm and motherly, as if to safely welcome you to the royal city and hope that you have a most gracious stay.

I did mind both the gap and London itself when I was there, wandering around Regent’s Park and stopping to see Cezanne’s apples, Blake’s sinewy muscles, and Rothko’s moody landscapes again and again at the Tate, eating not much but soup and bread from the Europa around the corner from where I stayed and falafel sandwiches from that little place with the yellow walls near the Camden market.

Tonight I was reminded of all of these details about Londontown at the brand-new, eagerly anticipated Cheeky Monkey Deli in St. Paul (on Selby near Western). The tube sign logo is accompanied by a leisurely, self-assured monkey shooting you a playful wink, as if it knows just how hungry you are and just how good the food is inside. This little guy asks you to stop in, relax, and enjoy yourself before continuing to your next destination.

And guess what, guys? The monkey is right. From food to service to decor, Cheeky Monkey is a wonderful, much-needed addition to the neighborhood. I expect it will be extremely well-received.

The comfortable interior is sort of a mock stately atmosphere reminiscent of Palms in Milwaukee or even Sardi’s in New York City. It brings to mind the Sardi’s spoof in The Muppets Take Manhattan where Kermit dines against a backdrop of frog luminaries framed on the wall rather than famous actors. In this case, the chic black and red decor is offset with cheeky album covers, bold portraits, and beautiful rectangular subway tiles in the kitchen and the bathroom.

The servers are all perfectly attentive and the kitchen is open and well staffed.

The wine list (at least this early in the game) consists of two reds and two whites, but impressing us with grapes does not seem to be part of the business plan. Wine lovers are encouraged to stop by Solo Vino adjacent to the deli to pick up a bottle before going to the deli if they choose. Reports say there is a 5-dollar corkage fee.

The menu is a thorough mix of roughly 15 sandwiches, complete with turkey, ham, roast beef, shrimp, pot roast, meatloaf, and four vegetarian options, including a Nutella and banana sandwich on toast. There is a handful of salads, daily soup, and a nicely balanced list of fetching cold and hot sides.

I ate roasted tomato and red pepper soup. It is served on a wood board with a bit of toasted bread and a shot of olive oil. (And come to think of it, the cup I ordered actually looks like it was served generously in a bowl.) The soup was totally satisfying, with a deep tomato flavor and and sharp boost of roasted pepper in the every bite.

I also ate soft grits, which were creamy, fulfilling, and laced with pieces of bacon.

It was hard to choose just one sandwich, but I ordered one with pot roast, horseradish cream, arugula, and pickled red onion on ciabatta bread. The white bread was perfectly soft and toasted, the meat effortless to eat, the arugula spicy and slightly limp, and the pickled onions nicely acidic and spread throughout. My only request would be a bit more of the horseradish cream, but I’m a fan of big flavors and most people would probably think this sandwich is perfect as is.

As I ate, I couldn’t help but balk at the idea of choosing a chain restaurant over something as authentic and enjoyable as this. It is places like Cheeky Monkey that validate and enhance any urban living experience. Over the pipes was playing Iggy Pop’s Lust for Life, Radiohead, and later on (brace yourself) Axel F. And since I am such a geek, I also used my iPhone to check if the deli offers wireless Internet. Yes, they do. It’s the best kind of Wi-Fi, too – unadvertised and free, which makes Cheeky Monkey an even more enjoyable and civilized stop, no matter what route you are on.

Will You Be My Rafaelo?

It is Valentine’s Day, and me being me, I could not NOT cook, bake, or otherwise play with ingredients in some way to commemorate this holiday, which speaks to my deepest motivations when it comes to food.

As it goes, I also might confess that I have quite a crush on this fellow named R, who I talked with until 6 a.m. in that baroque East Village cafe a few weeks back as if we had known each other for years, eating and drinking over a hundred dollars of food and wine before the night was through.

As R and I were chatting this week, he casually pointed out these fluffy little things online called Rafaelo. Being the curious type, I confirmed if he likes coconut (he does), so I fancied myself a confectioner for a change and spent a night packing these fluffy balls of coconut snow.

They were delightful! I made a large batch. I brought the majority to work and had a parade of people stop by my desk with praise. My boss told me that he saw the recipe on the printer at least five times throughout the day.

A select batch of the finest Rafaelo were sent to R for delivery today accompanied a note that simply said, “I had to.”

I didn’t take any pictures of the process, but I do have one lone Rafaelo remaining here at work, taunting me to eat it and go about my afternoon. I hope dear Palachinka doesn’t mind that I am borrowing her picture, below, for comparison purposes.

Palachinka’s Rafaelo

My Rafaelo, taken on my iPhone, which completely lacks the ability to capture things up close.

You’ll have to go along with me when I say they were adorable.

It Was the Best Meal I Never Had

Oh, my. Where in the world have I been? I took a trip to Gotham, it’s true, but I didn’t mean for it make me as mute as a batgirl for nearly three weeks. Add on the mounds of work I faced when I got back and the nasty cold I acquired just as I was getting on top of things, and you can see why I had to hit the pause button and go underground for awhile. I’m better now and doing a little dance, not only because it’s Friday, but also because Edible Cities just creaked over the 5,000 viewer mark. Who are all of you interesting people? Are you all in love with food too, or are you just looking for Cafe Boy as much as the next girl and guy are?

It’s with a satisfied sigh that I report back about my trip to New York City. If you would let me, I might talk your ear off for a few hours, with well over 200 photos to illustrate where I went, who I saw, and what I consumed. Let’s start with the basics.

One of my authors was invited to be on the Today Show, of all things, and since her travel partner couldn’t make it, I tagged along as both paparazzi and porter. This is Ronelle Coburn, a master hand analyst who uses the unique markings on your hands to peer deeper into your soul than your mother, grandmother, or best friend can. It’s true. She peered into mine and now she knows more about me than I do.

Truth be told, I didn’t expect to be all that involved with the Today Show experience. I was looking forward to updating my facebook status while eating a free bagel in the green room, and that’s about it.

I was surprised when the page invited me to join them in prep, but off I went to see what there was to see. The hair and makeup stylists converged on Ronelle and spruced her up for TV in what seemed like a few minutes.

I waited in the wings, taking pictures whenever it seemed appropriate.

Next, I was invited by Danielle, the producer, to hang out on the set while the segment went live. The whole thing was surprisingly fun and casual. Ronelle was mic’ed and built up a bit of a rapport with Lester Holt before they went on air…

…while I nosed around the kitchen-set…

…discovering what cook books the Today Show people deem worthy enough to keep in the kitchen.

Someone yelled, waved, or grunted, I’m not sure which, and suddenly the cameramen snapped into formation, the segment was taped, and we were quickly congratulating Ronelle on handling her first national TV spot with such grace and skill. Way to go, my friend, and thank you for allowing me to be a part of such an important experience.

During the rest of the trip, I also reconnected with three of my closest friends, saw Jamie’s new apartment in Park Slope, danced to some top-shelf music way too late with Shawn on a Sunday night, and smoked a hookah loaded with Double Apple hash.

I stumbled into a literary reverie in the West Village and got lost in world class art at MoMA and the Met. I walked for hours at a time without a subway map, doing my flaneurian thing, capturing moments as I love to do.

I ate oysters for the first time at Angel’s Share with Earl-Grey-infused grape vodka to wash it down.

I walked 20 minutes out of my way for a killer cup of coffee at 9th Street Espresso.

I ate a cheese puff (or two) from Murray’s.

I ate a cheeseburger at Market Table.

I ate a long-awaited tagine at Le Souk with Shawn. This place was so fantastic I can’t even get into it here.

I ate a 17-dollar architectural appetizer at Brassiere 8 1/2.

I ate a mushroom fritter at the Met.

I ate a mezze plate at Kashkaval with Kallie.

There’s more, of course, but you probably understand what I’m saying. I was anxious to see the somber face of Manhattan again, which always makes me feel an exhilarating sense of homelessness. The stories that led me there ten years ago welcome me back to that place where my mind feels free.

Despite all of this eating, there was one important meal that I never had. Before going to New York, I connected with a guy, a cute one, a sharp one, one who wrote me effortlessly lovely emails and decided that my nickname would be Mrs. Dalloway.

He got to know me and said, very sweetly, “I quickly discovered that food was one of the major gateways into your heart.”

So what did he do? He invited me over for dinner. An afternoon dinner. We would meet for the first time at his place, over a meal that he would make just for us. He called it the Carrie Extravaganza. I know it might sound crazy, but when it feels right, life is all about taking chances, and this was one I was willing to take.

To whet my appetite, he emailed me his grocery list the night before we were to meet…

1 large piece of Parmesano
1 ball Fresh Buffalo Mozzarella
2 cups of Ricotta Cheese
3 Rosemary Sprigs
2 bundles of Fresh, Flat-Leaf Parsley
1 cups fresh Cumin
2 tsp Saffron
4 tsp Cinnamon
1/2 cup Red Pepper Flakes
1/4 Black Pepper
4 tsp Kosher Sea Salt
2 bulbs, Garlic
1 lime
1 lemon
2 cups Fresh Blueberries
1 cup dried Cranberries
1 small container of Fresh, Kalamata Olives
1 small container of Fresh, Frantoio and/or Leccino Olives
2 cucumbers (1 English)
2 large, Red Onions
1 large, White Onions
2 large Red Bell Peppers
10 baby Jerusalem Artichokes
1 Jalapeno Pepper
5 Large, Whole Ripened Tomatoes
2 Small, Plum Tomatoes
1 container, Organic Baby Spinach
1 pound of flower
2 dozen eggs
1 container of corn starch
1 box Sugar
1 cup of Heavy Cream
1/2 cup Pine Nuts
4 whole, soft shell crabs
1 12 to 18-long sourdough baguette
1 cup Marsala Wine
2 cups Organic, No-Chicken Broth

Oh… Dear… Oh… My…

Can you tell how speechless this evocative list must have left me? I couldn’t believe that someone was doing this for me, all based on the charming letters and calls we had shared so far.

Unfortunately, fate intervened and my afternoon date had a family health emergency. The extravaganza would have to be postponed.

Instead, we met at the last minute at an atmospheric cafe in the Village, as soon as he could get there, which was 12:30 in the morning. We sat in a booth by the front window next to this charming lady, and we stayed until 6 a.m. Eventually, we ended up on the same side of the booth, and I got on my return flight later in the morning thinking that the best meal in New York was the one I never got to eat.