Florida, pt 2: The Lucky Dill

While in Florida, I got to eat* at one of my old favorite spots when I lived there: The Lucky Dill. A New York style deli right in Palm Harbor of all places.

Inside, they have photos of various famous places in NY smothering the walls, while the customers are jammed in just a couple feet from one another...sitting asshole to elbow is truly reminiscent of New York, at least to me. There is a bakery in house, and the case you see just as you walk in is filled with enticing treats: several varieties of cheesecakes, cannolis, cookies, brownies, and more. And at 5pm, as we found, the restaurant is completely filled with old people; an absolute sea of white hair. As an old friend would say, "it smells like death in here!"

I think my only complaint, other than lack of ambiance, is that they have far too many menus. Upon seating, you receive no less than 3: a special menu, breakfast menu, and regular menu. All of them are oversized and cumbersome at the little tables. But no matter, at that point you usually see a waitress walk by with a sandwich containing what can't be less than a pound of amazing looking deli meat, and you forget about how awkward all the menus are.

Not for the caloric conscious, when you order a drink and sandwich, a cup of soup and a slice of cheesecake are free. My father decided to indulge (congrats, dad! minus 105lbs and counting!), the free soup of the day was a delicious matzo ball, while I had one of the best tomato bisques I think I've ever had. Topped with scallions, it had a kick to it that seemed to come from fire roasted tomatoes and possibly the addition of cayenne as well. Yum. My father got the reuben sandwich, which made me wish I was hungry enough to get a sandwich too: piles of corned beef around a layer of sauerkraut, all between two slices of buttered and toasted rye bread. It looked like it was roughly the size of my head. Now that is a sandwich.

Not to be outdone, the cheesecake with raspberry sauce we shared stood on its own: excellent texture and flavor, and great crust that had a little bit of toasted coconut on the outside. A million times better than the cheesecake at my school (what the hell kind of culinary school chooses to do cheesecake without a graham cracker crust, just a thin layer of vanilla sponge cake?? and then pile every type of fruit onto it, even grapes??).

Come to think of it, I went to high school with the son of the owners of The Lucky Dill and he was in the process of learning how to run it. The family owned one other restaurant nearby, called Molly Goodheads. I went there once and vaguely remember really good crapcakes. Kudos to them for putting out good food for what is hopefully many years to come.

*To be honest, we tried to go to our old truly favorite place, called McCabe's Cafe. It saddens me to say that they are no longer in business.

Florida, Pt. 1: Boiled Peanuts

I recently returned from a trip to Florida to visit my father for my spring break. Land of lizards, beaches, old people, and amusement parks.

After enjoying a fishing area, we came across a roadside stand on the way home: a hand-written sign reading "Boiled Peanuts ahead." Now, I've heard about boiled peanuts. A friend of mine, native of Florida, absolutely loves them, while my sister claims they are nasty little mushy peanuts. I figured it was time to find out for myself.

I did a little research on them to find out how they came about, and came upon this site which had great information. It is believed that they started back in the Civil War, with peanuts acting as a much-needed nutrient source (lots of fat and protein) for soldiers. They began boiling them in salt, and the salt worked as a preservative while the boiling killed the bacteria. Soldiers found they could keep the peanuts in their packs for several days without going bad. This eventually led to boiled peanuts being a southern tradition.

Most recipes seem to agree that green (freshly harvested) peanuts are the only ones to use, while the amount of salt in the water seems up for debate. Some say you can boil them for a few hours, while others say it takes at least 2 days to get them to the right softness. Traditionally of course, you would use nothing more than salt and water to boil them in, but some people add in things like Cajun seasoning, chile peppers, ham hocks, or beer to spice things up a bit.

We pulled off the road to where an older guy with a great white beard sat on a lawn chair. A few feet across from him was nothing more than a table with a sleeve of styrofoam cups and notebook next to a little propane set up for a large stockpot of peanuts. I watched as he slowly got up and walked to his notebook where he tallied my visit: twenty-two people so far for the day. Four bucks bought me a giant cup of the steamy, salty boiled peanuts. And they were malodorous, mushy, foul little peanuts. Hey, I tried to keep an open mind. They had a nice peanut flavor. But that musty smell that surrounded them, and the mushy texture...I just couldn't get past it. I think I'll let the southerners keep that tradition of theirs. We gave them to a friend of my father's. We haven't heard from her since.