An Underground Secret Question

Within the long time frame of my absence from my readers, there has been a life-changing transition that has sent me into spirals of excitement, confusion, and novelty. Southern gentility has officially greeted the Wild West. A few months ago, I relocated from Birmingham, Alabama, to Albuquerque, New Mexico, to work at the Center for Integrated Nanotechnologies at Sandia National Laboratories. This move has been different to say the least, but one of the things that keeps me turning the page in anticipation are the new gastronomic experiences that await on my days off from work.

Since my arrival, I have found myself even more loaded down with research than I was in Birmingham, often trapped in the cold, empty laboratory patiently waiting on data to apply towards my thesis project. However, I occasionally am able to catch a breath of air and steal away to enjoy precious moments in the paradise of freedom.

Even though the Thanksgiving festivities are over, the memories linger. My best friend Moriah was gracious enough to travel all the way to Albuquerque this year to see me close to the holiday since I was resigned to be separated from my family on the day of feasting. At first, she suggested driving from Mississippi to New Mexico and back over a three-day window - insane, I know - but finally I convinced her to take the flights, despite the large amount of holiday traffic.

I wanted to dress up to go out. And by dress up, I mean in the rarely used banquet style dresses that hung in my closet like lonely spinsters. Why not, I asked Moriah. Who cares if we stood out? Why not let the world be your runway? So, with many nervous giggles, she acquiesced, much to the pleasure of her best friend.

She wore a deep blue, strapless dress that emphasized her porcelain shoulders and flaxen hair, while I donned a sparkling bright, red dress that perfectly matched the passion I felt for the evening. To satiate my readers' curiosity as well as confirm how radical I can in fact be, I have shared some photos that she and I captured in front of my newly decorated Christmas tree before leaving for dinner.

Vernon's Speakeasy in Albuquerque, NM

Taken from the restaurant Facebook profile

Where do I even begin? How do I start when the very essence of this restaurant is a secret? A secret I now share with my readers. 

When Moriah and I arrived late that evening, we looked around us. Nowhere was there to be found a sign, a postage, a hint for direction. Vernon's is themed to glimpse into history during the Prohibition Era when young men and women of different races sneaked away to the underground world where they could enjoy their taste of liquor. From what I have heard, the more restricted the access, the more eager people were to indulge. Though I do not care for the alcoholic beverage myself, this culinary experience brought much of the same feeling for me. The more I searched for this place and its hidden treasure, the more I could not wait to find it. 

Finally, she and I found the door under a bright red light. We knocked. We waited. A shutter in the door opened, and the man inside proceeded to ask for the password. Having been already given the password when I made the reservation, I proceeded to say "Fake Lou Artist." After confirming that we were indeed not members of any police force, the door opened. Once we were led inside, we stood in a small room and were given a spiel about the rules and regulations of the place. Subsequently affirming that we would in fact follow the rules, a door behind a bookcase was opened, and we were ushered into the candle-lit dining room where a warm fire burned in a fireplace in the corner.

Oh, this was such a delightful evening! I glanced over the menu and desperately struggled with my final decision. Everything on the list looked absolutely divine. How could I choose? For appetizer, I finally settled with the warm duck salad with spinach and arugula leaves drenched in a roasted shallot dressing. Not only was the duck meat as tender and juicy as any duck I had ever tasted in my life, but it was perfectly complimented with bacon bits, firm grape tomato halves, and whipped goat cheese. I do not know if I will ever again taste such luxury from this waterbird. With tears starting to well up in my eyes from such a grand burst of flavor, I looked over at Moriah who was enjoying her garden salad. One of the things I love about Moriah is her love sometimes for the most simple things of life. I did not quite understand why she would come to a place like this and settle for a dish she could find anywhere, but as her little lips pressed so cutely together to chew her spring vegetable mix and then shifted into a smile, I did not question. She was happy.

We then moved to the main course, where Moriah ordered the wild Canadian salmon bruschetta. She let me sample her dish, and it was delicious. I was a little confused by the pesto and goat cheese risotto cake that rested under the salmon, for it tasted a bit of crab. To this day, I am left confused but in the end all that matters is that it provided a tasteful encounter. That it did. Ironically, despite everything on the plate, Moriah's eyes lit up when she found herself most pleased with the balsamic reduction that was drizzled over the bruschetta toasts. It was the vinegar. Simple things. 

I gave her such a hard time during the meal, bless her heart, as she worried so much about embarrassing herself in using her utensils correctly. I tried to contain my teasing laughter when she would jump in her chair the minute her fork and knife would clank against the plate. She proceeded to explain how she felt more comfortable when her boyfriend took her to their local Taco Bell, a location to this day that I will not step foot in. So, for my sake, I thanked her for joining me on this formal adventure. I had ordered the 14 oz. boneless ribeye with the sides of parmesan crusted asparagus and whipped mashed potatoes, and I was enjoying it immensely. I took great pleasure in the flavors of my food, of the elegance of my table, and the romantic nature of my surroundings. It was a dream world in which I wanted to stay. 

Continuing to speak in low tones and laughing about memories from the past and memories that will be formed in the future, Moriah and I moved to dessert. To make sure Moriah got the most out of the evening, I let her pick dessert for us to share and she wisely landed on the chocolate decadence cake that was topped with a Bavarian creme. I enjoyed letting it settle with a side of decaf coffee. Chocolate was a perfect way to cover the after taste of the steak, and I am sure equally served its purpose in pairing with the salmon. 

It was a lovely evening. As Moriah and I drove home, she was breathing her sighs of relief from her release from the formality of it all (all of which I will never forget she endured for the sake of her best friend), and I kept thinking back to those last few flavors, those last tender feelings I embraced in that dimly lit room. Which is better? To live in the world always at ease, never disappointed with your circumstances? Or to live your life waiting and anticipating the high, treasuring those moments of emotion on a deeper level that some will never grasp? It has been the question of the age. I will leave it for my readers to decide.

Elegant Solitude of Style

I was in that mood. That mood to be alone.  I get hungry for moments of solitude, time to think about that week's events and replay all my fond memories of friendship. Ironic, isn't it? Begging for time alone to think about time with others. After work, I got home and freshened up. I slipped on a long, ankle-length black dress, one that hung loosely on my shoulders with thin straps. After brushing through my newly cut hair, angling the edges around the curve of my face, I adorned some small diamond earrings and painted a smooth layer of deep red lipstick across my lips. My black, 4-inch heels waited for me on the way out. With a slight twist to my lips, I grabbed my little black and gold clutch. And with a last glance into the body-length mirror hanging on the doorway wall, I thought to myself, "It's been a while."

I had made a reservation a bit earlier in the afternoon. It took a little over half an hour to arrive at the restaurant, so on the way I played the music of my beloved Michael Bublé, humming along to his version of "Feeling Good" from his 2005 album It's Time. The night was approaching. The sun was creeping its way down to the horizon by the time I pulled in for valet parking. What an interesting evening this would be!

Café Dupont - Birmingham, Al

Logo taken from restaurant Twitter account

The space was elegant. I walked in and already could tell there was structure in this dimly lit room, almost a sense of rigidity. They seated me at my small table next to the wall and quickly proceeded to provide the menu. I took a few moments deciding how adventurous I wanted to be. Choosing an appetizer and entree is not only a hard decision in that one must consider the blending of flavors between dishes, but one also does not want to overdo the eclecticism of style. Too much adventure is too rushed, too forced. To try something new with a small taste or to savor for only a brief moment allows for reflection and permits one to brand the memory.

I settled for something novel in my appetizer, choosing the cast iron-seared foie gras. I had never had liver before of any sort, so to try this fattened duck liver was stepping out on a limb. The foie gras was set on top of this pastry shell that contained a goat cheese spread and some wine-poached pears. The side of the plate was lined with a currant and caper relish, with a couple of blackberries to maintain a bit of sweetness. I fully appreciated this dish as it burst with flavor. It was served at a perfect temperature, and the firmness of the pears with the slick texture of the seared liver was a beautiful combination.

For my entree, I decided on a more familiar farm to table vegetable plate. Serving a plate full of only vegetables though is an art form in and of itself. Sometimes, I find cooking meat to be an easier task than preparing the perfect vegetable. Like any other food, they have to be cooked in such a way not only to retain their flavor but to preserve their texture. This plate was full of all different kinds: carrots, potatoes, beets, okra, corn, field peas, cherry tomatoes, asparagus, squash, green tomatoes, and turnips. When I sampled a first bite of this plate, I felt that I had actually met summer with my palette. This turned out to be my favorite dish of the evening, because each vegetable was uniquely prepared, and the flavor only magnified as I headed deeper into the dish. 

After my plate was taken away, I ended up waiting about fifteen to twenty minutes for my waitress to return. I am not sure why it took so long, but I was patient as I knew one person among many brought less attention. During this time I looked around and watched the staff work on preparing the tables, and I watched the visitors as they conversed with their friends and family over food. The restaurant's decadence was phenomenal! 

As I mentioned before though, there was a stiffness about the place that distracted me. I watched as waiters and waitresses walked by and handled dishes with routine, draping a white cloth over dirty glassware and plates before returning them to the kitchen. I watched as many visitors filed in and refused to look at their servers who took care of their needs, forgetting perhaps that it was truly their privilege to be there. Honestly, it saddened me a bit, for as good as the food was, there seemed to be a lack of passion in the atmosphere. Almost as if all that was enclosed within these doors was a part of a ritual and no longer an art.

There was one moment during the evening when I caught one of the waiters in a bit of conversation. He stiffly had walked up to my table to serve me some decaf drip coffee that I had ordered with dessert, and I paused for a moment to look at him and ask if he enjoyed working there. At first, he did not hear me and routinely turned to inquire again after what I had asked. After repeating my question, for the first moment of the evening, I watched his shoulders relax as he heaved a small sigh. "It's okay," he said. He went on to describe how it was his first job and that he enjoyed the service duties. His voice trailed off as if he had more to say, but for the sake of the restaurant's reputation withheld his tongue. I never did get his name, but this young man liberated this visit for me as it was the first genuine look and smile I received that evening, however brief though that it was. 

To finish off the dinner, I had the Meyer's lemon creme brulee with a thick butter cookie and some blueberries and blackberries. This sour lemon bite with the bitter drop of coffee wrapped up my evening. It brought everything to a savoring close. It was elegant, but even in the heat of summer, I could feel the chill of the restaurant's structure. Two and half hours later after walking out of the doors of Café Dupont, I realized I honestly could have not asked to have felt more alone. My outfit was fitting. The dark night outside greeted me with the same chill I had felt enclosed within the walls. The food had been outstanding, and I knew the memory would last. But which memory would it be? The stark contrast of decadent flavor on my plate or the haunting voice of my servers asking, "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

A Whisper of Freedom

It has taken a bit for me to get my hectic schedule under control. As the new year rolled around, I could never have imagined how much busier life could become. Within the first four months of the year, I have ventured on another research trip to the National High Magnetic Field Laboratory, worked on a grant application, met with my PhD committee for the first time, and on and on and on. As a stressed individual in a graduate physics program, I need those moments to take a step back to breathe. So, with an apology to my readers, who have been patient to wait for the latest culinary scoop, I would like to venture down memory lane for a moment and reminisce about my most recent Tallahassee trip back in February.

Those research trips to the handle of Florida are horrendous to say the least. Little sleep, a semi-decent 2-week hotel stay, clothes that desperately need a good cleaning, endless hours adjusting mirrors and other optical equipment around a magnet - that about sums up the trip. Just now and then, though, there is a moment of fresh air. My colleague Tracy and I decided to go somewhere nice to eat before we took the big plunge into work. The event was satisfying, its memory existing as a free haven for us over the next couple of weeks.

Liberty Bar and Restaurant - Tallahassee, FL

At first, Tracy and I truly did not know what to expect. A restaurant paired with a bar experience can go a number of different ways. As we walked in though, I still anticipated being impressed since I had taken a peek at the online menu. The atmosphere was not necessarily the most inviting as it was one giant open room with bare walls and dim lighting. To me, it almost felt like an old warehouse, echoing with the voices of her visitors.

But my dear readers, the food was far from disappointing! Tracy and I started off by splitting an appetizer of prosciutto wrapped dates. These medjool dates burst with sharp flavor and blended so well with the creamy nuttiness of the goat cheese and bold sting of the balsamic vinegar drizzle. There were also pungent leaves of arugula and sweet pecan crumbles that decorated the plate. Every single ingredient was so precisely chosen to enhance the overall quality of this dish. This by far was our favorite order of the night, leaving a sweet flavor in our mouths as we finished off the next two plates.


In order to get the most out of the experience, Tracy and I both decided to share our entree portions. We asked for the small plate of duck confit mac-n-cheese and the larger plate of veal shortrib stroganoff. The mac-n-cheese had shredded house cured duck mixed in with the creamy white noodles. There was a hint of smokiness to the bowl and of course an added top layer of crunch from the pork cracklin'. Delicious! It was truly large and filling enough for an average sized meal. The veal stroganoff was one of Tracy's favorites, although he fit in a conscious-stricken comment about the nature of preparing veal. As he postponed the feelings of guilt, I watched his pleased expression as he let the buttery fat of the meat scooped up with a spoon of creme fraiche just melt in his mouth. Since then, he has taken advantage of multiple opportunities to let people back at UAB know of the special cuisine Tallahassee has to offer.


The research trip, in and of itself, left much to be desired. But life is full of so many good and bad experiences that shape who we are, that I do not want to miss out on any one of them. Blended in with the chaotic events of this trip stands this little visit with freedom, a memory I would never want to replace.

The Song of the Bird

How could a day get any better? After finishing up work on Friday, I headed over to get my first full body massage. The long, deep strokes. The gentle sounds of nature. The warm blanket of the sheets around my skin. Okay, okay... I will spare my reader who is here for the scoop on my culinary life from all the details of my relaxation hour on steroids. But needless to say, as I prepared for my dinner, I embodied the definition of stress free living.

A couple months ago, I had found a new foodie comrade at a Bible study group I was visiting, and I was determined that she and I would have a night out on the town. I picked a place that I had done much research on since I had previously visited the other of Chef Chris Hasting's restaurants in Birmingham which is Hot and Hot Fish Club. So, on that frigid night, we found ourselves enjoying the glow of a local restaurant that pulled from the traditions of Spain, Portugal, Uruguay, Argentina, and most importantly the superior southern states of America.

Ovenbird - Birmingham, AL

How fitting that the ovenbird inhabits the forests of the mid-Atlantic states and areas of British Columbia calling out the song "teacher-teacher-teacher," for I surely did learn a lot on this cozy evening. As soon as I walked up to the restaurant, I felt at home. Fires burning in the outdoor pit. Brick walls. Wooden tabletops. Candles that provoked a tempting atmosphere. Rustic, mountain art. It was terribly inviting. Most importantly, from the minute we sat down to the moment we left Paul, our waiter, was there to make sure we got the most enjoyment out of the evening. 

One of the coolest features about this place is their choice of small plates and their encouragement to share. My friend Nia and I decided before hand that we wanted to make the most of the opportunity while we were there and to split everything we ordered. So yes, we were those people. Not only that, but Nia blessed me in bringing her professional camera for the occasion so that I could better share the memories from the night with my readers. 

We started off by ordering the jamon serrano which consisted of grilled bread topped with some thin slices of prosciutto, a spread of jam and shavings of what I believe was parmigiano reggiano cheese. It was delicious. The sweetness of the jam with the nuttiness of the cheese was a beautiful combination. I will admit, the dish was relatively simple and not overly creative, but sometimes there is a delicacy in something elementary and familiar. 

Next, we tried the spit roasted duck, which is a dish Nia and I felt very comfortable ordering since we were well acquainted with the ingredients. The duck had been cooking for eleven hours and was so tender since it had been soaking in its own fat for that long duration. It was ever so slightly crispy on the outside edges with little cocoa nibs and pumpkin seed crumbs sprinkled for added texture. The charred flavor of the duck blended so well with the smokiness of the butternut squash puree and the clean flavor of the lentils. This was actually both Nia and my favorite dish out of all the plates we sampled. It is also the dish that made me feel most at home. 

Our third dish was an adventure since it was something neither Nia nor I had ever experimented with before. We ordered quail! It was actually a completely different flavor than I was expecting, especially since it tasted nothing like any other poultry I had ever eaten. It had a bit more of wild layer of flavor than chicken but was of course not as heavy as other meat varieties. The quail was nestled on top of braised Brussels sprout halves and a creamy beet sauce. The Brussels sprouts were cooked to perfection, deeply enough that they were soft on the outside but still a bit crunchy beneath the leaves.  

And last but not least, Nia and I were ready for something sweet to close off the evening meal. We ordered the beignets which were cooked in a lemon peppercorn glaze and was served with a side of buttermilk cream cheese gelato set on top of a bed of brown sugar sprinkles. And was that hint of coffee in the gelato something I imagined? It was divine. The beignets were different as they tasted more like donuts instead of the New Orleans style beignets I have sampled on the streets of Louisiana, but combined with the gelato it was tasty. 

"But wait, there's more!" Our surprise came after this. Because he knew we had a professional camera with us to take pictures for my blog, Paul wanted to give us a quick glimpse into some of the little tricks they pull back there in the kitchen. He brought out the burnt pumpkin cream with its side of sweet candied pecans and vanilla shortbread and served it to us on the house. It was watching him burn the top of the pumpkin cream with a smoking hot rod of iron that was the star of the evening. Essentially, it tasted like a creme brulee, and I will have to say, they could not have given me too much of it. 

This experience was so much fun and would not have been the same without Paul as our server. I enjoyed every minute of the evening down to the last when I signed the receipt with a pen tied to a bird feather. Nia and I had a great opportunity to catch up as we ladies do while enjoying the luxury of tasty food. I look forward to more adventures with her as we traipse across Birmingham in search for culinary secrets, and I very much look in anticipation to the day I visit Ovenbird once more.