Description:
The Hart Sisters are an intrepid pair of performing artists who moonlight as food sleuths, adventurers, warriors and diarists. No anecdote too small, no memory too heartbreaking to exclude snacks.
Contents:
Blame it on the Berry
 Please forgive the photos in this post. I was under the influence. But let me explain.
Dear Boo,
Lemme tell you about the party I went to a couple weeks ago. Fun bar, nice people, cheap drinks. The food, though, was a little strange: a vast and colorful mixture of raw kale, piles of strawberries, a tub of sour cream, bottles of hot sauce, jars of pickles, watermelon, and raw garlic cloves. But even stranger than the menu was the fact that the guests, myself included, were piling their plates high, happily stuffing their faces, and exclaiming excitedly as they sucked on slices of limes. Blame it on the a-a-a-a-a-alcohollll, you say? Oh no, Jamie. Not this time.
Blame it on the magic berries.
 Yes, that's right. At our friend DaveRed's birthday party, I entered the world of Jack and the Beanstalk. Some time ago, the Times published an article about these tiny miracle fruits and the trend they've produced of "Taste-tripping parties". The basic story with these berries is that they alter your sense of taste for anywhere from 15 minutes to 2 hours, during which sour foods taste remarkably sweet and one generally experiences a major mindf$#@k. Yes, that's a technical term. Since reading about them, DaveRed had been dying to try it and thought his birthday would be the perfect occasion. So, ever the organizer, he ordered a batch of berries from some guy in a faraway magical land, found a bar that wouldn't mind if we took over a few tables, covered them with a random (and slightly revolting) assortment of food which we had been assigned to bring, and then drank the collective kool-aid, so to speak.
 The spread.
I read extensively on the subject and found that while miracle berries are not approved by the FDA, they do contain something called miraculin (no joke) which was at one time sold in pill form as an artificial sweetener. They're also sometimes used by cancer patients undergoing chemo to combat the metallic taste produced by treatment. Armed with this information, a good dose of peer pressure, and a confidence-boosting cocktail, I decided to go for it.
So, you're wondering, how did it taste?
The berry itself was sort of tart and sweet, and we were instructed to suck on it until it mostly dissolved and we could spit out the seed (I never did find out what happens if you eat that part. I suspect something terrible.)
I first realized it had hit me when I took a sip of my vodka soda with lime and found it tasted like someone had splashed it with Sprite. I yelped and grabbed a slice of lime which I stuck in my mouth. It tasted like it had been dipped in sugar--like a very intense limeade. Next I grabbed a grapefruit which was delicious as well--like the ripest, most flavorful citrus with an intense sweetness and none of the bite. I ran around the table, following other people's oohs and ahhs and consuming a slightly dangerous combination of acidic foods only a pregnant woman or a house pet would otherwise consider.
The results?
Sour cream: Amazing, like smooth, creamy cheesecake.
Raspberries: Sweeter than normal, like the ripest, most perfect berry.
Sour cream and raspberries: a deadly and delicious combination, eaten unabashedly in heaping spoonfuls by all present.
 Broccoli sprinkled with lemon juice: All the deliciousness with none of the woody, raw, bitter or sour flavors
Salt and Vinegar chips: Tasty as always. But since I particularly like the painful sourness and acidity, I found them a bit lacking in edge.
Mustard: Tasted like it had been mixed with honey. But, since the berry doesn't do anything for your sense of smell, it was kind of gross to eat by the spoonful.
Sour pickles: Weird. Just....weird.
Unsweetened Chocolate: Just as disgusting as it was pre-berry.
Kale: All the bright, green, beautiful flavor, without any of the bitterness.
Cherry Tomatoes: What I imagine a tomato would taste like were I to pluck it off the vine in a sun-dappled field in the Italian countryside. Yes, that good.
Lettuce: Tasted like lettuce.
After about an hour and a half, the effects had worn off entirely. Was it fun? Yes! Would I do it again? Sure! Will this be the gateway to a world full of mind-altering hallucinogens? Probably not. About 15 minutes into the trip, I began panicking that the berry was losing its edge, and with a wild, hungry look in my eye, I turned to my friend and said, "I think it's gone! Should I eat another one?? I think I need another one!! SOMEONE GIVE ME ANOTHER ONE!" She pried my hands off her collar and handed me a spoonful of hot sauce. "I think you've had plenty," she said.
Love,
The Mouse
Keep Shucking That Chicken*
Dear Mouse,
I can't remember the Canadian National Anthem. I'm pretty sure that it doesn't start out “O, Canada, How Are You...?”, but that's how it goes in my mind. ( I could totally look it up right now, but I'm not going to, because I prefer my version.)
Why, you might ask, am I feeling the urge to sing the praises of our Neighbors to the North? Oh, sure, there was that whole Olympics thing. The actor house did spend a good few hours watching them clog in mohawks and spout slam poetry from atop a glacier (oh, and kick ass at winter sports). We've also ravenously devoured all three seasons of the divine Canadian theatre-geek series "Slings and Arrows" in the past month (I am saving myself for Jeffrey Tennant; so what if he's fictional. And insane.) But the real gold medal for Canada, if you will, for me, came in this form:
Behold: the Raspberry Point Oyster, from Prince Edward Island (home of Anne of Green Gables! Oh its all too much)
This is one of those moments that tests my mettle as a food blogger. I make a delicious, unbelievably affordable, stylish, blogworthy food discovery and ... do I share it in this forum and risk losing, say, any chance of getting a seat at the bar ever again? Or do I simply keep my mouth shut about the HALF PRICE RAW BAR at Old Ebbitts Grill in DC after 11PM on Thursday? Damn! Well, I've never been any good at keeping secrets.
(As it happens, a local DC friend informed me tonight that it is a big ol tourist destination, so the cat was never in the bag to begin with. But for ME it was a big discovery. Read on.)
I don't care if it's touristy. I could go on and on. I remember saying that all it needed was a stage set up for me to perform and there would be pretty much everything I need in life. First off, the lighting is perfect. Almost nothing from above; all warm, amber lamplight everywhere, everyone looks gorgeous. You enter into a vast, seemingly endless labyrinth of rooms, tables, bars, antique paintings... you're immediately lost, but don't mind.The great, classic rock songs playing continuously ( a big plus for me) are at the perfect volume - loud enough to notice, soft enough to hold audible conversation about AC/DC. The snappy-dressed, striped-shirt-and-bowtie-bartenders (ask for Larry), who asked us what theatre we were from (!). And the DRINKS! Two words: pitch-perfect, ice-cold, three-olive dirty vodka martini (ok, I had more than one). The ruby-violet pomegranate martini ordered by my companions: also no slouch. The bold, built-for-two, gorgeous desserts like peanut butter pie and pear crumble.
And, bien sur:  “#3 Walrus Platter” Clockwise in a spiral: Raspberry Point and Saint-Simon oysters, clams, fat shrimp cocktail, cocktail sauce with horseradish, vinegar and lemon wedge, oyster crackers. Cost during Half Price? $21.
I shared the above with the SM, but I watched Orestes go it alone. Thinking about the relative absence of usual demons - fat, calories, chemical additives - I asked, “What does happen to you if you eat too many raw oysters?Anything?” He looked at me over the cocktail sauce, shell in hand, and said, “You have an orgasm.”
Now, for the uninitiated: I do not consider myself an oyster expert. I'm not going to be able to cover all the history, traditions, etiquette, and superstition in this blog post, and I wouldn't try. I'm not equipped, and there are plenty of other places you can read that stuff. I'm also not going to necessarily try to describe the experience. There are some things, like, oh, say, sex, or whiffleball, that are simply ineffable. When you have not yet been through it yourself, the practice seems bizarre and perhaps even revolting, but ...
I seriously have been trying for 20 minutes to insert a decent "shucking" joke in here, and now I have to get to the matinee. Please feel free to submit your own.
I will say this, for your consideration: Oysters 'respond to irritation' by producing pearls. (Oh, if we all did so!) Their gender is indistinguishable from the outside, and they can change their sex one or more times during their life. And, considering the Oyster Shooter, can be consumed as either a snack or a cocktail. O, sweet mystery of life....! And, if and when you decide you're ready, allow me to give a few guidelines. Dress for the occasion. Heels, maybe. Definitely jewelry. It IS a performance. A dance, if you will. Not just a snack. I'm telling you this not to intimidate you but to get the idea across that it's a gorgeous, privileged, activity performed for yourself, not an audience, if that makes sense. All of the hoo-hah contributes to the taste sensation. Really. Eat dinner beforehand. I know it sounds counter intuitive, and I'm not suggesting you go stuffed and completely anti-food, but oysters should not be eaten for the wrong reason (ie, out of something as base and coarse as hunger.) They are subtle creatures, and , yes, small. If you're starving, you'll scarf them down and miss the whole point. They're also not that filling, and god knows how many you'll have to eat to feel full (and I refer you to the potentially embarrassing result of overindulgence suggested above). And now... Take the tiny adorable silver fork in hand, and the beautiful scalloped shell in the other. Savor the sensation that you are, oh, Brooke Astor, or Marie Antoinette, for a moment. Sit up straight in your imaginary corset (holding a full martini glass is good practice for this) so as not to spill any of the oyster “liquor” . Spear the slippery little thing on the fork, dip it into the vinegar and get it back in the shell. Dont panic if you drop it in, but get it back for the love of god. Give the cocktail sauce & horseradish a good stir to mix them up and place a small drop (to taste) atop your oyster. Put the shell to your lips, tilt your head back.
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