Do you remember that stuff? Powdered butter...who would have thought. It gets me thinking about possible staples that I could powder-fy, tack my name on and make millions with, but so far all I can come up with is peanut butter. Other than sprinkling that on top of jelly-ed toast, I can't think actually think of any other use for it. Not to mention the fact that my name's already been taken in butter product market. I should really collect royalties.
Point of this post isn't to discuss future forms of food items, but to tell you of another butter related experience. This time, however, it wasn't my fault.
Begin experiment. This recipe comes from some swanky NYC restaurant called The Harrison, and looks just mouthwatering. Perhaps because of my unconditional love of mac'n'cheese (I've been known to consume an entire box of Kraft's cheesiest and trust me, there were no blue box blues going on), my latest and oddest infatuation with green veggies or my intrigue with truffles...a delicacy I found quite prevalent in Munich this fall. Whatever it is, it fit the bill as a (not so) healthy companion for my tried-but-true stove-top chicken - a 7x weekly request of KC's. Little did I know, the challenge had nothing to do with following a recipe which was a breeze. No, my friends, the real challenge lie in locating truffle ANYTHING in Plymouth, county Devon, England, UK.
I don't know what gave me the impression I'd be able to find truffle butter (what the recipe called for) or truffle oil in a land where the most revered indulgence is a pasty - phonetically pah-stee and NOT pay-stee as I confidently mispronounced in my first few weeks in the Queen-Motherland. Story is, pasties were logically crafted as lunch for miners down in the depths of Earth. Plastered in dirt and who knows what, they'd eat all but the crust which acted as a simple handlebar for the carbtastic deliciousness. My intentions are NOT to mock the pasty - promise. Like I say, it's uncomplicated, logical, and downright tasty. I'm merely creating the backdrop for my unsuccessful truffle hunt here in dear Plymouth. And hunt I did.On a blistery Thursay, I set out with determination and a solid pair of flats on...not knowing what mean streets of Plymouth I'd traverse. Fortunately for story's sake, I managed to cross 6 "stores" off of a nonexistent list in a vain effort to create a posh dish.
Stop #1 was the infallible Marks & Spencer. I've referenced M&S before as it's a daily stop of mine and our closest Target comparison. I gathered all of the necessary ingredients save orzo and truffle butter/oil as I knew they'd require polite inquiry. I found a charming brunette lady - the type that looks like she works in a food mart for no greater reason than to stock her already brimming cupboard with even more discounted baking goods. The interaction went something like this:
Me: Hi there, do you happen to know if or where I can find truffle oil here?
Lady: I'm terribly sorry, my love, but we don't have any at the moment. You're actually the second person who's asked me today - I wonder if it's the same recipe? (she then walks me to the oils where it would be) Making something nice, are you love? We actually used to have small bottles, they were right here - see? We haven't had it in ages though, I would know, I do the ordering. I'm truly sorry. Can I help you with anything else?
Me: Oh well, I knew it'd be a long shot. My recipe is from an American magazine, so I'm not sure if it would be the same. It's a truffled orzo with asparagus - you wouldn't by chance know where the orzo is?
Lady: I'm terribly sorry, my love, I've never heard of it. I'm not sure what orzo is - my apologies. What exactly is it?
Me: It's a pasta but it looks like rice. That's ok though...can you point me toward the garlic?
(she then marches me through the store, pointing the way, making sure to stop passing foot traffic for me, only to find the last bulb of garlic in the box which was browning and squishy)
Lady: Oh my goodness, I'm so very sorry, my love, it appears this is the last of the garlic. It's been a busy day. Goodness, I haven't been much help have I.
Me: No, I promise, you've been great - no worries, I'll find the things I need. Do you know of a place that may carry truffle products?
Lady: Well first you my try Julian Graves, just across the street. Then, you might also try Holland & Barrett, also just across the way from that, over on Cornwall Street. Now I'm not sure if they'll have them, but they might be your best option.
Me: Thanks so much, you've been quite helpful.
In true British fashion, she called me every sweet name in the book, apologized for what wasn't her fault, was genuinely embarassed that she couldn't properly help me, and gave me loads of suggestions/ vague directions in such a manner that all I could do was smile and think, despite it's lack of anything I needed, that M&S was the greatest place on Earth. That is customer service. On to stop #2.
Julian Graves. This must be some sort of fancy nut store. I saw a few food storage items, loads of nuts and seeds, and 2 older ladies gabbing behind the small counter with a cup of tea. I didn't even bother to have a look for myself, and asked straight away for the coveted truffle oil. Of course they didn't have it, but were happy to pause from their cuppa to kindly provide the bad news, cast doubt on whether their competitors, Holland & Barrett, would carry it, and helpfully suggest two ethnic markets further down the block. Understanding the vagueness naturally accompanying British directions, I attempted to get a more specific location only to be told that I would surely be able to smell them. Perfect, of course.
Because I had the time, I gladly shuffled over to stop #3 Holland & Barrett, just to be sure. The only oils they had in there were of the cod-liver variety. On to the ethnic parts.
The international shop I was "smelling" for was called Continental Market. Now the ladies in Julian Graves said it was literally just down the way. I saw a large sign that said Market and thought, that must be it! Heading in, I realize it was a legit market hall vending everything from pickles and pies to bootleg DVDs and lace trim. Somehow, with a greater supply of curtain panels than fruit in the fruit stand, I ascertained that this was not the Continental Market for which I was searching.
Clearly, I didn't follow my nose. Exiting the market hall (I guess stop #4), I wandered aimlessly for a few minutes. Frustrated, confused, and wanting to ask someone, I did a bit of a figure eight on the street I thought it was on. Crossing back and forth a few times, I was nearing defeat until it happened. I smelled it. Sure enough, under a sign fainter than my feet in the thick British fog, was stop #5: the Continental Market. It was a jewel box...if I'd been looking for rubies and sapphires in the form of curry powders and rice noodles. They even had real, Canadian Maple Syrup. Almost over it, with the image of waffles now flashing in my mind, I nearly scrapped the stupid truffle pasta and contentedly left, Syrup in hand. I soldiered on, though, suggesting to the clerk that maybe truffle oil would be a nice thing to carry and complimenting her on the lovely smell emanating her shop.
Having winded myself down some street I didn't know, I gave up on Plymouth's back alleys and headed for the city center again. Forunately, not 4 doors up the street was another small international grocer, stop #6. International was somewhere in the name, but the inside provided nothing but Asian characters plastered everywhere, about 10 Asians, and large adverts for international calling cards - the only thing I could read.
After regaining strength in the world of retail I headed home to attempt the above recipe without the truffle or the orzo. Here's what I got:
It was basically just home-made mac'n'cheese with asparagus. No truffle, no orzo, but damn good. What can I say, I'm a mac'n'cheese girl at heart. It made breakfast the next morning too...Full recipe is here.
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