Part Two: Dear Anna,

I told dad to answer his email I hope he did. He has a new kid he's tutoring and has had to teach himself algebra all over again. I have been thinking about your request for food stories and remembered the one my mother always told about how she outwitted me.

I would never eat cream cheese because I didn't like the name. So she tricked me into eating a cheesecake she used to make by telling me the filling was made of vanilla pudding. I remember the time when you were 3 or 4 when we had to remove you screaming and hitting from Shop and Save because we wouldn't buy you Captain Crunch.Your grandparents had no doubt been feeding it to you by the boxful.

My mother was famous for being a good cook and took a lot of pride in it, but she was equally as interested in the impression she made and how things looked, as she was in what tasted good. The thought of whether it was good for you really wasn't a concern in those days. We believed in wonder bread.

It was my father who actually taught me about good food even though I never saw him cook anything. When I was little the breadman and the milkman would come to the back door every week with a delivery. We bought something called bond bread and the delivery man was a chubby guy with curly black hair who always had a kind word for me. I loved that bread for years, probably because of the delivery man.

I remember my father, when I was a teenager, taking a slice of it and rolling it in his palms until it turned back into a ball of dough, (rather quickly actually). He had to do it over and over on several occasions until I saw the light. That's when I started to eat Pepperidge Farm or Arnold, or good bread from bakeries. He did the same to break me of the habit of watching soap operas after school as my friends did in Jr. High. He would sit and watch it with me and make such wicked fun of it that I couldn't continue doing it.

He taught me about good cheese too and frequently brought good ones home from his travels. He was a traveling salesman. Gouda or gruyere or emmanthatler. And he taught me how much better loose tea brewed was than teabags. I think he learned a lot of this on his travels to Canada. So it's funny while my mother was the famous cook, he was really the gourmet.

Anyway, all this rumination, forgive the pun, made me realize how much food and lies are intertwined. Our parents may be lying to us about what is good or bad for us, though they may mean well. The Tv and ads are always lying to us about what we should eat and why, and worse we are always lying to ourselves about why we should or shouldn't be eating or drinking something. Where does this all start?

I remember when you and Hugh were little and I was just starting being a doctor, reading a study done with toddlers, kids who were too young to have developed too many food prejudices yet. The researchers put out all types of food and let the little ones play and graze all day. They found that the toddlers actually ate a balanced diet when allowed to choose for themselves what and when they wanted to eat with out any prompting.

So how do we fall from grace to greed and compulsion and obsession, to equating everything we put in our mouths with some sort of salvation or damnation? It's too easy to blame our capitalist society for seducing our tastes. You figure it out. You write a book called "Food, Lies and Desire". You'll make a million and support me in my dotage.

Love,
Mom

(for part one please consult the winter Diner Journal)

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Coming Soon Online

MarlowandDaughters.com

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This Just In

Marlow and Daughters has a PHONE! The new and working number is 718-388-5700. Thank everyone for you inquires and patience.

Marlow and Daughters
95 Broadway
Brooklyn, NY 11211
Open 11 a.m. to 8 p.m.
718-388-5700

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Happy Halloween... I mean Holidays

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Be the Cool Kid at School

Give the gift that keeps on giving... for a year. We are offering two gift sets:

The Diner Collector's Set:
includes 4 back issues + a one year subscription for $65

And the ULTIMATE (not immaculate) Collection:
includes all 9 issues + a one year subscription for $100

Keep your loved ones in moonshine, constant bliss, ribollita and poetry for the year to come. Don't know what those things are? Start reading! To place an order please email anna@marlowandsons.com, call Hilary at 718-384-1441 or come by the shop.

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Happy Holidays: Some Packaging I Can Get Down With

I think the only effective packaging is packaging that looks like actual elves made it. Seriously, if your going to be wasteful at least have a sense of humor about it. The Purple One!

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Inspired By the Rejected European Edibles

Ugly Vegetables by Bella Foster

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TURKEY HUNTING... or Whistling?

Come sign up for your heritage breed turkeys at Marlow and Sons. They are given "the opportunity to engage in positive social interactions." And they are fed 100% vegetarian cereal. You will get one of these breeds: White Holland, Narragansett, the Bourbon Red, Black or Standard Bronze. Please order by November 1st and pick up on November 19th!

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Ode Tomato

For me, the last days of summer arrive with an onslaught of Striped Germans. These beautiful giants put in a late-season appearance at the end of August and the start of September. Like a strange and wonderful dream, they're not here for long, and when they're gone, it's hard to convince yourself or anyone else that they did once, in fact, exist.

Legend has it that the Striped German originated in, well, Germany. In a vague and misty history, they're said to have ventured across the Atlantic with early Mennonite immigrants to Virginia. Seed catalogues love to report that Striped Germans were "found" in West Virginia in the 19th century.

Despite its peripatetic history, and no doubt due in part to its excessive size, the Striped German exhibits the classic flaw of the heirloom tomato: an inherent dislike of traveling. This flaw, however, is also what makes heirloom varietals key players in our anti-industrial food movement. These colossal fruits are often 1 ½ magnificent pounds. Sometimes bigger. Caution requires that they be held with two hands. If you bring home a Striped German and inadvertently destroy him in the process, the good news is that he can be cooked. With garlic and olive oil he will make a heavenly sauce or a lip-smacking soup.

In the best of all possible worlds, you will carry your Striped German home gently and reverently and no one will bump into you. You will slice him open quickly and smile at the colors within. After you have dusted him with salt and pepper and taken your first juicy bite, you will marvel at the mysterious taste and the great mass of thick, dense tomato flesh.

You may wonder, as I have been, exactly how the tomato, which originated as a small, wild berry in South America, became the beautiful heirlooms grown today. How many people (and how many tomatoes?) did it take to give a tiny berry the hue, girth and meaty demeanor of the mammoth Striped German? How many competing versions of an elusive tomato ideal are at work in creating the Striped German's fragile and elusive perfection?

Striped Germans are perfectly ripe when the tops are a little green, the bottoms are a little red, and the part in between is a lustrous yellow or vibrant orange. Only sometimes are they striped. They have a mellow, seductive taste: fruity, earthy, almost—but not quite—mushroomy. They are not tangy. A Striped German often gives the impression that it has been soaking in a rich and buttery olive oil. The pink and yellow flesh is lusciously marbled. Kind of like a rare steak or a August sunset.

By Maya Joseph

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For Girls and, as it turns out, Everyone Else

Stand too close to the counter and you'll miss it. But stand back a bit and brush away the few lingering coffee grinds and there it is, six odd shelves of sugar, colorings and nostalgia. On the top shelf you'll find an assortment of quaint old-fashioned gum. Teaberry, Blackjack, Beachies packaging seems deliberately unchanged since our parent's parents bought them at the Five and Ten cent stores for just as much. Then there are the gummi snacks (burgers, fries, pizza), licorice wheels, Lemon Heads and Red Hots. Below that are Chimes Ginger Chews, in an attractive tin canister, Art Bars chocolate and El Bubble gum cigars in light pink or baby blue. And lest we forget, the selection of British candy bars: the Lion, Crunchie, Yorkie and Curly Whirly.

One may wonder why such a section even exists at Marlow's, a bastion of good eats and healthy ingredients. I wondered the same myself when asked to write a little something about our eclectic assortment of confections. The candy section is the equivalent of a grocery line impulse-buys, it serves as a last minute moneymaker and pacifier for unruly youngsters.

But why do we need a candy section? We certainly could do without the sugar and artificial colorings. And store sales wouldn't be too badly hurt without these last minute purchases. I've given this question a lot of thought and I've realized that aside from a sugar boost and a sweet taste in our mouths, the candy section, whether we realize it or not gives us comfort.

And I don't mean by featuring comfort food, though who can't resist a smile when biting into a Yorkie Bar or chewing on a gummi sea creature. No, the kind of comfort offered by the candy section is in the colors on the box or the name of the candy itself. They remind us of our childhood, a hometown candy shop or an aunt who always had an ample supply of a certain gum or hard candy. It's certainly not the taste of those licorice wheels that keep me coming back for more. It is the fact that they taste like the black jelly beans that I used to find in my Easter Basket as a kid. And I couldn't care less for Swedish Fish, except that their smell reminds me of riding back from Harper's, newsstand and local candy outlet, on my bike, a paper bag full of an allowance-worth of little reds in hand.

For everyone, a candy store or section reminds us where we're from. In America we have Snickers, in England, Cadbury, and so on. You know you're home when you see your country's sugary products on the shelves. Our Italian customers are delighted, even proud to find that we sell Brooklyn Chewing Gum (Italy's version of Trident), and our British patrons can never seem to get over the fact that we sell their favorite chocolate bars from the motherland, sexist as the Yorkie bar may be.

I realize that these products may be sugary, full of preservatives and likely to give you cavities, but it's a satisfying feeling to know that when a customer slaps a pack of Teaberry gum or a Lion Bar on the counter, they're going to go away with more than just a satiated sweet tooth. They're going away with a taste of their past, their identity and their home.

By Lindsay Debach

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It's four am and you need a Sparks and some calling cards...

Here in Brooklyn we are a continent of markets. Some nights it feels like Brooklyn has more bodegas than the sky has stars. That might just be light pollution but the bodega is our unpredictable borough's common denominator. Every corner has one, and everyone has a favorite. The bodega is a bootlegger, a dance floor, a grocer, a day care center, a domino hall. It is your only friend at five am when you need one more beer and a pack of smokes and your best friend at seven am when you've run out of toothpaste. New York's neon has historically been the beacon of the smutty midtown XXXs or peep shows. These days the city glows with mom and pop commerce, mostly Dominican. Dominican's own more than half a million bodegas in the five boroughs.

They live a risky business. Bodegas are often the target of violent crimes and violent economies. Today in the paper was a triumphant story about the survival of Moore Street Market. Moore Street, a kind of "house that bodegas built", is a unique community hub selling anything from haircuts to records to all Goya products under the blazing August sun. Knowing it is there has always provided me with a sense of relief even though up until today I had no idea it was in jeopardy. The vendors at Moore street will be signing a new five year lease and in and interesting turn of events new vendors will be limited to selling only food and agricultural products… What did the city want with Moore Street? To tear it down and build… Rental Apartments.

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John McCain Tries Grocery Shopping

In an "unscheduled" photo-op campaign moment last Wednesday, John McCain strode the aisles of a Pennsylvania food store - walking the walk of America's everyman. Or perhaps stumbling would be a better word.

In-between lamenting the $4 a gallon price of milk and making small talk with Republican party planted Renee Gould, a young mother who just wants to feed her family (that's actually legit), McCain read nervously from a notecard, a cameraman knocked over a lot of jars of applesauce, and the loudspeaker calling a store staff member blared through his time with reporters.

Doesn't this remind you of when, in 1992, George Bush senior went to a supermarket and "was amazed by the technology" - aka a scanner for products at checkout. The New York Times reported, "Marlin Fitzwater, the White House spokesman, assured reporters that he had seen the President in a grocery store. A year or so ago. In Kennebunkport.

Some grocery stores began using electornic scanners as early as 1976, and the devices have been in general use in American supermarkets for a decade."

And then in April 2007, when Giuliani was on the campaign trail in Alabama he told reporters, "A gallon of milk is probably about a $1.50, a loaf of bread about a $1.25, $1.30." Right. Good thing our policy makers are really clued in here.
Leah

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Before he was a Butcher he was Bitter

Bitter isn't a flavor that most people think of fondly. But bitters, well they're another story. Tom Mylan started making bitters for our bars years ago. And thanks to Josh Wiles, master blender, you can now get the handmade gold at the Marlow & Sons store. He taught our very own Peter Hale, wealth of knowledge and fiend behind the bar, who in turn talked to me about how it's done.


Essentially, making bitters involves infusing distilled spirits with herbs, bark, seeds or fruits for the desired effect. For a long, long time that effect meant curing the ills of the body as bitters were patented medicines made by local apothecaries. But the last 100 years have seen a marriage between bitters and cocktails. And we couldn't be happier about it.

A cocktail, historically, is a combination of liquor, citrus, sugar and bitters. In this potent mix "bitters are the yang to sugar's yin," explains an oddly zen Peter. You can use a variety of starter distillates, but Peter prefers over-proof vodka. The usual burnt and barky additions are cardamom, coriander and caraway. Star anise and cinnamon also appreciate a batch of bitters. In terms of aging, the woodier the flavors the longer you age, the more citrus the shorter. Sometimes Josh and Peter finish their bitters with burnt sugar. But the essential thing is extracting oils from the fruit and tannins from the herbs. All the rest is icing on the (liqueur-steeped) cake. Take today's batch: sassafras in vanilla vodka, hanging out in a 2-liter mason jar.

In the mood for juice? Try Peter's recipes. You thought you knew these classic sluggers until you tasted them with homemade bitters.

-Leah Campbell

Stir these with ice, strain, and serve up in cocktail glass.

Manhattan

dash citrus bitters
2 oz red, aka, sweet vermouth
3 oz rye whiskey


Brooklyn

3 oz bourbon
dash citrus bitters
2 oz maraschino liqueur

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This week in the news: Mark at the Market!

Sunday was a wild success on the island and in the borough. While most of my peers were selling out of ham and pickle sandwiches and helping the lovely Robert LaValva promote the New Amsterdam Market, Grant and I kept it really real with many plastic cups of Sweet Action at the UnFancy Food Show. I would like to thank Sasha Davies, Tom Mylan and Robert for again creating a thoughtful and fun way to raise awareness about food, how we consume it and who makes it. Here is an endlessly cute interview with the causal duo on gothamist and a impressive photo essay of the seaport market on eater.

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Like Ships in the Night...

An interesting blip in the cosmos has occurred. I'm not sure if everyone remembers our ex-resident sherpa and journalist extraordinaire Sasha Davies. We miss her horribly. Lucky for us she is on her way across this vast country to visit.

This past winter our dear Sasha, along with Mark, Andrew, Caroline, Travis and I stood in the sleet at the Fulton Fish Market in support of the New Amsterdam Market. What proved to be a lovely and freezing afternoon is soon to be reincarnated.

This summer issue of the Journal has an article about shell fish tags by Sasha and another on the history of the seaport by Robert LaValva who is the Director of the Market. Sunday, the 29th of June, will be a summer market featuring wild foods, fruits of the farm, milk and honey, pastured meats, local source producers, purveyors, distributors, advocates, chefs, and authors. A true meeting point for taste and intellect!

Strangely enough at that very same bat time in Brooklyn at the East River bar Sasha and Tom, our meat man, will be hosting the second annual UnFancy Food Show. The UnFancy Food Show is the imaginative, thoughtful, joyful, Sid and Nancy answer to the Fancy Food Show. This year will be bigger, better, and inevitably drunker faster! We are looking forward to all shapes and sizes, from Zippy Bee to Hot Bread Kitchen!

How will Marlow and Diner be in two places at one time? Stay tuned.

Same bat-channel.

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We Love Bees and We Love Crossdressing

Famous for many things, Richard Eagan makes great honey. No pun intended. Featured all over our menu Kay Sera Honey has charmed us. If you find yourself wandering through the store you may notice at some point that you are surrounded by honey. Jars and jars of honey. Honey combs, varietals, shades of amber. Someone here is obsessed with honey and I suppose it is contagious. When "flu season" starts you will see more than one of the staff walking around sneezing and chugging jars of the cultivated nectar. Eagan is also a striking artistic talent and a renowned karaoke diva frequently appearing at The Hope and Anchor bar in Red Hook. Sera honey is sweet. And as delightful as the colony and the QUEEN behind it.

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posted by DRUNK N SAILOR at 4:51 pm

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Cycling Toward Tortilla

While I recognize that my image of Hot Bread Kitchen Organic Lovash makes it look a little like a ghost floating through space and time, I do find it ethereal quality appropriate. We are very excited to be carrying lavash and tortillas from Hot Bread Kitchen not only because it is delicious and new to us but also because we are in love with their mission and business model. Hot Bread Kitchen is committed to enhancing the futures of immigrant women as well as preserving disappearing baking traditions. Lavash is eaten in Armenia and Iran and the tortilla, as some of you may already know, is traditionally consumed in Mexico. More intriguing is Hot Bread Kitchen's commitment to creating a space where immigrant women can hold on to their identities, build self-confidence and ultimately their own businesses. And also they have a corn grinding bicycle.

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Knives Out

Here at the store we carry Kikuichi and Sabatier Four Star Elephant Nogent Knives.

The Kikuichi family has been making blades for 700 years. Originally a samurai sword maker, they have been making high quality cutlery for over a century. These knives are made the old fashion way, by hand hammering and forging and never stamped steel. No two Kikuichi knives are the same and they also take and keep an edge far longer than most European knives. They are available in stainless steal and carbon laminate.

Sabatier, in their prime, had over seventy houses producing Nogent style carbon steel knives. Starting in the 1970s Sabatier houses started closing or being bought out by alrger producers who favored lesser quality materials and production methods. The knives we carry were all forged between thirty and sixty years ago and have been culled from the attics and basements of the original houses. They have been assembled with traditional ebony handles and fittings and are quality tools in addition to a piece of history.

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