A desert oasis

Economic hardship can only keep a foodie down for so long.

Wednesday night found me in Durham, so kind of squint at the page header and you might read "The Durham foodie." I was meeting a longlost friend who is temporarily living in the wilds of Burlington, so our halfway point was The Federal, on West Main in Durham. Well, even the thunderstorms couldn't keep the people away, so there was nowhere to sit. Alas.

Across the street in Brightleaf Square was Chamas, a Brazilian steakhouse. It was new to both of us -- and the entire concept was new to my friend -- so in we plunged.

The buffet was great; in fact, it was at least twice the size of the buffet at Rio Churrascaria, Chamas' North Raleigh equivalent. And it didn't sacrifice quality. Everything was fresh and flavorful. I particularly liked the sun-dried tomato canapes, though I kept wandering back to the cheeses, which were abundant and varied. The little brie buffet at the end of the line was a fun touch, with honey, fig jam and nuts to go with the pre-sliced bits of cheese. Also, I'm not generally a salmon-eater, but the smoked salmon with capers was both visually appealing and delicious. There was also a short hot line, with a black-bean-and-rice offering containing morsels of smoky pork and the most excellent basmati-type rice.

The meat, brought out to the table on long swords by a steady stream of servers in possibly the most dramatic maneuver most restaurants outside of TGIF see, was decent. Probably not as good as Rio's, and definitely not quite as fresh. The bacon-wrapped filet, usually a favorite of mine, was dry and lukewarm. I was told the chicken was excellent, but the initial glimpse didn't prompt me to try it. The pork was surprisingly good, though, and the lamb was perfection: steaming hot and tender, with a subtle marinadey-glaze hinted with thyme and citrus.

The whole enchilada also included dishes of mashed potatoes and fried bananas served family-style at the table -- a slightly convoluted step to an already discombobulated dining process. The potatoes were fine -- nothing to write home about. The bananas were new to me -- small rolls of the fried fruit, crusty and sweet and unrecognizable until I took a bite. The server said they were palate-cleansing. For me, they doubled as dessert.

Our server was excellent, but the steady stream of personnel coming by with meat seemed to keep her away slightly more than I would have preferred. She was, however, friendly and knowledgeable. The dining room was spacious and attractive -- and offered the quiet that can be valuable to the friends-catchin'-up process. Catch up we did, until we were so stuffed we could hardly move.

When in Rome

Going out for breakfast: the pros

+ Fabulous farm mural at the Farmers Market Restaurant
+ Good coffee
+ Hot omelet with noticeably fresh mushrooms
+ Beautiful, fluffy biscuits
+ The pleasure of companionably reading a newspaper amid the holiday din.


Going out for breakfast: the cons
- The wait
- The crowds
- The mediocre home fries. Yes, should've ordered grits.
- The waitress nearly delivered our food to the wrong table
- The silly parking/pedestrian situation

The joy of cooking...

... is finding a way to make something incredibly delicious without fat.

Yesterday, I made cranberry walnut bread from my trusty red-and-white-checked Better Homes & Gardens. Of all the bread recipes out there, it wasn't the worst -- only a quarter of a cup of oil and one egg. But I was feeling bold. How bold? Well, let's just say I substituted out both items.

But how? you may wonder. Well, I took a few bits of accumulated knowledge about vegan and healthy cooking and put them together, one plus one.

One. Grind up a tablespoon of flaxseed and add it to the liquid in place of the egg.

Plus.

One. Substitute applesauce for oil.

Equals.

A delicious, moist loaf of bread that benefited especially from the bag of cranberries I had the foresight to freeze in November. The fruit froze well. The substitutions took NOTHING away from the end product. And now I'll head off to yoga with a clean conscience.

Do you like sugar, or are you sweet enough?

Potato chips: You just can't eat one, right? Well, the cliche doesn't quite get to how fully I fantasized about about eating them yesterday as I made the three-hour drive home from Virginia. I knew there was a bag of Archer Farms baked chips with sea salt and black pepper sitting on the fridge. I could imagine the tang of salt and the subtle burn of the pepper. I knew I would walk in the door and make a beeline to the kitchen to sink my teeth into a chip. Or 50.

Well, the fantasy didn't quite play out the way I had hoped. Because I share a bed, and thus a dwelling and a grocery supply, the bag was nearly empty. I had to content myself with dredging the bottom of the bag -- still good, but not nearly as satisfying.

Lucky for me, we had taken advantage of the 2 for $5 deal and picked up a bag of spicy potato chips, same brand. These were quite good, though not baked. (My one complaint with Archer Farms is the labeling. What you think might be tortilla chips might be dill potato if you aren't careful.) So I got in my crunching quotient...

...and immediately got the most persistent case of heartburn known to humanity.

I'm a stubborn heartburn patient. I don't take Tums, or at least not right away. I eat ice cream. So in an effort to chase the burn, I ended up at the Dunkin' Donuts on Hillsborough Street -- a newer tenant of the strip famous for its high turnover (and frankly, boring street life).

Oh, I tried to be good. I looked at the mango and berry smoothies. Then I did what any good girl with PMS does. I ordered the Oreo Jamoca shake.

This wasn't just a shake. I think it was aiming for religious experience. It missed the mark and simply made me feel guilty. Perhaps it's a Catholic shake? Anyways, picture this: A coffee-chocolate ice cream blend with Oreo bits*, slightly thicker than drinkable, topped with whipped cream and the coup de grace: a half-inch layer of caramel on the bottom of the cup. So every sip threatens a diabetic coma.

It tasted fantastic. It also made me, very much a nonCatholic, consider a trip to confession, and it helped fuel a terrific case of gut rot to accompany my hearburn. Which did not go away, by the way.

At 2:30 a.m., I finally caved and munched on some Tums. They tasted like crap. I immediately felt better.

Lesson of the day: I should think about eating some veggies.

Eating well, even in poverty

Harris Teeter is my savior.

Where else can I get a cheap bottle of white (I recommend the Barefoot wines, but only the whites; their reds taste like donkeynuts), a tub of baba ghanouj, a bag of pita and the ever-necessary Slice o' Cake? That right there is a decadent feast for about $15.

There are many other ways to indulge on a budget. Of course, many of them involve birthday candles and Taco Bell -- but rest assured, if you are unemployed and desperately in need of a little something special, you can make it happen.

Those of us under 35 need to remember, in these pitiful economic times, that eating at home isn't the antichrist. No, really. We may be tempted by payday and the pile of dishes in the sink to head out to indulge that new craving (ahi tuna! chocolate mousse! margaritas!) -- but the fact is that wages aren't even nearly aligning with cost-of-living increases. Which means that mebbe, just mebbe, we should actually cook. Or at least have an HT picnic on the living-room floor. Just try it. You might even find it romantic. And doesn't it feel goooood not to have to leave a $20 tip at the end of the night? I thought so.

And speaking of trying times...

Lilly's Pizza has a selection called the Corporate Greed. I ordered it with some coworkers a few weeks back. It's one of their better pies, particularly in light of how unpalatable their traditional tomato-based pizza sauce is (though I highly recommend the pesto). The chicken is well-marinated, the artichokes fresh-tasting and not the least bit woody. The overall combination of flavors -- enhanced by a really good olive oil -- is a delight. In fact, these words could actually be heard in the office: "Corporate greed is good!" and "We have a bit more Corporate Greed over here, if anyone wants any."

It's one of those pizzas that begs you to order it, pour a tall mug of pizza-appropriate beer and curse Gary Pruitt in witheringly articulate language.

Eating out in trying times

Things have been slow foodwise, folks.

I blame the economy. It has made me feel guilty about every penny I spend beyond the necessities. (I'm still psyching myself for the $60 haircut, not including color, that I've talked myself into for later this month.) So there really aren't any more random, wine-soaked $120 dinners at Bogart's anymore.

Which is why we recently ended up at IHOP. Yes, IHOP.

Now, if you know me, you know that I know that there's better breakfast out there. In fact, we were but a mile and change from the unparalleled Big Ed's. Why didn't we go there, you ask? Well, let me tell ya: We wanted pancakes. We were too lazy to make them. We were only willing to spend $20.

For the record, it was actually a fairly good IHOP experience. The server, a jolly man in his 40s, was cheerful and fairly efficient. He didn't appear to be strung out on anything -- an important consideration at IHOP. We didn't get panhandled in the parking lot. The food was hot.

Was it my ideal breakfast? No. But in this wintry economic climate, sometimes we have to settle for less than the best, yo. And until I can figure out how to get a meal at a four-star restaurant without taking out a mortgage or becoming a dishwasher, this is the new normal.

Or at least it is until the guilt fades, and I say screw it and slap down the Visa.