Cocoa Metro: Chocolate milk for the soul

Michael Dunford calls himself "Chief Chocolate Drinker" at Cocoa Metro. I like to think of him as the milkman, because he kindly left a 32 oz. glass bottle of chocolate milk on my step while I was at work. But he's also got a background in design, which shows itself not only in Cocoa Metro's clever packaging but also in its appealingly minimalist website.

The best part about Cocoa Metro, though, is not how it looks but how it tastes. I've never been a milk drinker, including chocolate milk, so I wasn't expecting to be overwhelmed. But, wow.

The experience took me back to drinking Yoohoo as a kid--except as an adult, I don't want the watery consistency and the chemical-y aftertaste of a chocolate drink that's not allowed to call itself "milk." I want what Cocoa Metro has (and I didn't even know I wanted it until I took the first sip)--the full rich flavor of Callebaut Belgian dark chocolate, made liquid. It's not so rich and sweet, though--like some European hot chocolates--that you can't drink a whole glass.

You can drink a whole glass. Maybe even a whole bottle. And (especially at only 240 calories a cup) you absolutely should.

Dunford (soon to be a graduate of Babson's entrepreneurialism-focused MBA program) and his wife, Lizzy, started Cocoa Metro by mixing up batches of chocolate milk in their own kitchen. You can find a bottle (just $5 for 32 oz.) at Russo's, Formaggio Kitchen, Bread & Chocolate, and several locations of Whole Foods.

What's not to love about House of Chang?

It was a cold Friday night in Boston, I'd been working for nearly twelve hours straight, and the friend I'd been supposed to meet had canceled. As I boarded the red line for Harvard Square, I was exhausted, and grouchy, and fairly certain that at home, the cupboard would be bare. I couldn't muster the energy to think about cooking, let alone stop for groceries in the sub-freezing temperatures.

Sinking deeper into existential despair, I flipped indifferently through a copy of the Boston Phoenix that I'd grabbed on the way to the T. But as I skimmed Robert Nadeau's review of the new House of Chang on Concord St. in Cambridge, it suddenly became clear what I would do: go directly home and order everything he recommended. I didn't have the brain cells left to make choices of my own.

And I needn't have. His recommendations were spot-on: an order of scallion pancakes (yes, a little doughy and lacking in scallions, but so what); the Suan La Chow Show dumplings filled with pork and served with bean sprouts in a vinegary gravy; and the Yu Hsiang spicy eggplant (I ordered this "mild," but it still came with a pleasing amount of hot red pepper). Not only that, but I'd barely settled in when the doorbell rang with my (merely $20) delivery. And on an otherwise cold and disappointing night, this hot Chinese take-out meal became an utter blessing.

HoneyBell oranges really are that juicy

I didn't have a chance to think it was a joke when I opened my box of twelve HoneyBell oranges and found two plastic bibs inside. I'd been warned right on the packaging that the bibs were no laughing matter. And cutting into an orange right then and there (I'd barely removed my coat after a long day at work), I found it to be cold, and sweet, and positively exploding with juice. So the bibs came in handy. I'll admit to being thrilled by the two orange-shaped temporary tattoos that came in the box too. But I didn't really need to be reminded to "Share with Favorite People Only!" as the box instructs.* 

In the long stretch between Christmas and Memorial Day, it can feel like there aren't too many things to look forward to. But for me HoneyBells have become something to anticipate--they're available just a few weeks a year in the month of January. A hybrid of tangerine and grapefruit, these oranges are shaped like bells and colored a deep orange. They're the perfect thing to eat with breakfast, or after dinner, or before your hot yoga class, or after a night of heavy drinking.

And the story behind Cushman's Honeybells is a cute one too--in 1945 in West Palm Beach, Florida, Ed Cushman and his family were running a citrus stand. One day they received, in a shipment of grapefruits, some strange-looking oranges that immediately distinguished themselves for their "honey-sweet" taste. And thus, the Honeybells came to be. Cushman's is owned by Harry & David now, but the oranges are just as sweet and juicy as ever.

*Full disclosure: I shared with no one.

East by Northeast Brings New Flavors to Inman Square

Perhaps the most beautiful dish we tried on opening night at Philip Tang's new East by Northeast restaurant was this cabbage salad made with honey, rice vinegar and peppercorn oil, topped with bright pink watermelon radish.

But nearly everything we sampled was bursting with fresh, almost summery flavors on a snowy winter night in Boston. This vivid, colorful menu reflects the time Tang (formerly of Hungry Mother) spent in sub-tropical Taiwan, learning to cook the dishes he grew up with.

Even the cocktails we started with tasted zesty--particularly the rum mixed with ginger soda and slices of lime. Icelandic Reyka vodka with pomegranate juice and Himalayan goji berries was another happy choice.

Many of Tang's veggie dishes feature local vegetables, and though I didn't find out for sure, presumably these included our favorites: the sauteed kale topped with crunchy garlic; the light and refreshing kohlrabi and carrot salad with sesame-ginger dressing; and the celery root salad with poached chicken and apple in a creamy sesame-mustard sauce.

The other stars of Tang's menu are his handmade noodles, which have drawn comparisons to David Chang's Momofuku. Beef noodle soup is one of the most popular dishes in Taiwanese cuisine, and Tang's version was made with thick noodles, beef shank, celery root, and parsnip in a hearty, spicy beef broth.

Another thick-cut noodle soup (this one a special) came with smoky pork meatballs and vegetables including sunchoke and mustard greens. It wasn't my favorite, but like the other dishes, it was full of interesting flavors.

We liked the hand-rolled short rice noodles best. Prepared with chicken, daikon, shiitake mushrooms and XO fish sauce, these tender little pillows reminded me of incredibly light gnocchi flavored with an array of Asian seasonings.

At the beginning of the meal, our waitress advised us to order three to four dishes per person, but we were satisfied with roughly 2.5 each. Still, at $150 for four people, it was not an inexpensive dinner. But I haven't found anyplace else in Boston serving Taiwanese-inflected food this fresh and innovative.

Top 10 BellyGlad Moments of 2009

1. Food Fit for an Inauguration. The bill of fare from Abraham Lincoln's presidential inauguration in 1865, as well as this year's menu for President Obama.

2. A Band of Female Food Bloggers Descends Upon Fleming's Steakhouse. As PR reps recognized the utility of food bloggers for spreading the word about their restaurants, free dinner invitations flowed, and even the FTC got in on the fun with a (well advised) full disclosure requirement.

3. Julia Child Was My Neighbor. Five years since her death, 2009 was a banner year for Julia Child. I reviewed the movie Julie & Julia and was lucky enough to hear her former editor, Judith Jones, speak in Harvard Square.

4. Recession-ipes?Brian McFadden of the Phoenix is the genius behind recipes for Napkin Soup and Hampster Foie Gras. For my part, I recommended inexpensive but satisfying experiences like Soup Dumplings for the Soul.

5. Regrettably, the world of food publishing fell victim to the economic meltdown, and 2009 was the year that Gourmet died. We paid tribute to the magazine with a Thanksgiving dinner prepared from the last ten years of November issues.

6. But as the global economy changed, new movements like Urban Agriculture emerged. I met city farmer Novella Carpenter of Oakland, Ca, and learned that people are raising chickens right in my Cambridge backyard. It could also be said that reality TV and the Food Network influenced our eating and entertaining habits this year: An Iron Chef Competition Among Friends in Porter Square.

7. And in spite of the Recession, several worthwhile new restaurants opened in 2009--including Coppa in the South End. So did the imaginative new wine shop known as Central Bottle.

8. Because a year without travel would be a year without sunshine, two of my favorite far-flung gastronomic adventures of 2009 included Portugal and the Pacific Northwest.

9. Part of the fun of writing about food is the occasional opportunity to be snarky. Hence, a list of popular 2009 Food Terms That Annoy Me. Just Because. Plus, my worst dining experience of the year: Barbequed Jackfruit.

10. But in the end, perhaps 2009 was really about...roasted poultry. It was the year I roasted my first chicken in the first apartment where I've lived on my own, and also the year I experienced my first roast goose at Christmas.

A Christmas Cookie Extravaganza

At Christmastime each year since I can remember, my mom makes at least a dozen varieties of cookies--some of them for eating and some of them for giving away. The tins she prepares as gifts are beautiful, with paper baking cups for each kind of cookie, and a printed label that says "Nancy's best homemade cookies."

Her recipes are mostly American and European, culled from sources like Bon Apetit, Good Housekeeping, Family Circle, old coworkers with whom she used to conduct a cookie exchange, and friends and family. Some of these are quite old, as she started buying the December issues of women's magazines with recipes when she was in college in the '60s.

This year's cookies include Swedish Drommar (made with baker's ammonium carbonate for a light and airy texture), Spitzbuben (which means "little rascals" in German), Teebrot (chocolate and cinnamon, another German recipe), Butterballs, Tante Elsa's Almond Crescents (a family recipe), Lemon Stars, Cherry-Macadamia Triangles, Gingerbread from Colonial Williamsburg, French Palmiers, and more.

Traditional butter roll-out cookies are best as bite-sized trees and angels, decorated with sugars and sprinkles. She and my aunt used to paint them with colored egg yolk "paint."

A recipe adapted from Chez Panisse, these cookies contain dried cranberries and fresh orange peel.

Coconut buttons from Gourmet get brushed with dark chocolate.

For a great slide show of holiday cookies and recipes, see the New York Times.

A Christmas Goose is Cooked

According to the Urban Dictionary, the phrase "your goose is cooked" means you're done for, as in "You've been caught buying dope. Your goose is cooked!" (Their example, not mine). But last Sunday when my friend's husband, Pete, leaned into the living room to utter the phrase, it meant simply that the goose he'd prepared was, well, cooked.



The bird had been procured at John Dewar & Co. in Newton, MA (where specialty birds like squab, capon, pigeon, partridge, and even ostrich are also available). It was a twelve-pounder but relatively long and skinny-looking in comparison to the rounder, full-breasted turkey I'm used to seeing in a roasting pan. Pete said that when it came out of the package, it looked as though it had been slathered in Crisco. He'd stuffed it with apples and onions. The bird had required about two and a half hours to cook to a temperature of 165 degrees, and had released at least four cups of clear fat (visible in the photo to the right of the bird). Pete intended to save it for making French fries and so on.



I chose a piece of dark meat near the ribs and found it to be close to steak in consistency but with the milder flavor of poultry. Pete and Cynthia served a prune stuffing with apples and onions alongside. And for dessert, of course, there was an old-fashioned figgy pudding, tasting of molasses and well studded with figs, topped with hand-whipped cream and hard sauce made of butter and sugar. It was decorated with a sprig of holly.



And because a goose for Christmas (followed by pudding) is a tradition reflected in that most beloved of holiday tales, A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens, I leave you with an excerpt from that text and a brief scene of the Cratchit family meal, as revealed to Scrooge by the Ghost of Christmas Present:

There never was such a goose. Bob said he didn't believe there ever was such a goose cooked. Its tenderness and flavour, size and cheapness, were the themes of universal admiration. Eked out by apple-sauce and mashed potatoes, it was a sufficient dinner for the whole family; indeed, as Mrs Cratchit said with great delight (surveying one small atom of a bone upon the dish), they hadn't ate it all at last. Yet every one had had enough, and the youngest Cratchits in particular, were steeped in sage and onion to the eyebrows. But now, the plates being changed by Miss Belinda, Mrs Cratchit left the room alone -- too nervous to bear witnesses -- to take the pudding up and bring it in.

Suppose it should not be done enough? Suppose it should break in turning out? Suppose somebody should have got over the wall of the back-yard, and stolen it, while they were merry with the goose -- a supposition at which the two young Cratchits became livid? All sorts of horrors were supposed.

Hallo! A great deal of steam! The pudding was out of the copper. A smell like a washing-day. That was the cloth. A smell like an eating-house and a pastrycook's next door to each other, with a laundress's next door to that. That was the pudding. In half a minute Mrs Cratchit entered -- flushed, but smiling proudly -- with the pudding, like a speckled cannon-ball, so hard and firm, blazing in half of half-a-quartern of ignited brandy, and bedight with Christmas holly stuck into the top.

Oh, a wonderful pudding! Bob Cratchit said, and calmly too, that he regarded it as the greatest success achieved by Mrs Cratchit since their marriage.