Spicy Prices

From time to time, I shift my shopping allegiances. While it's normally the upper middle class Harris Teeter, dowdier Food Lion occasionally gets the nod. Less often, it's independent Earth Fare or the healthier-than-thou and publicly-traded Whole Foods.

Last night I went shopping in preparation for a Halloween pumpkin carve. While I was startled to have to visit three stores to find pumpkin beer, the spice prices were even spookier. I try to avoid writing about food costs because it can be a tad boring. But get this--an identical cannister of McCormick cinnamon sticks was twice as expensive at Harris Teeter than Food Lion. That's right, why pay $3 when you can spend $6!

I had a vague recollection that spices were one of the many things Food Lion sells cheaper. But that 100 percent markup, or spiceup, was a shocker. I don't have any other specific examples of spiceups, but I've experienced them before (in less extreme examples).

While we're talking about prices, I have one more observation (that I'll share): what gives with granola bar prices? The Spoonstress is quite fond of the Kashi's TLC bars that are decidely less sugary than the usual Quaker ones. And what premium does one pay for subtracting corn syrup from the ingredient list? A near 100 percent markup. [In the Spoonstress' defense, she isn't fussy and only requests a couple items per week. And the Kashi bars are pretty good.]

I can now see the logic of the 'you get what you pay for' school of shopping, but I've read enough of Marion Nestle's superb What to Eat (which you can find via the Amazon link at right) to know that it's nowhere near that simple. And at close to $1 per granola bar, that's getting to be a bit much. I did notice the other day that rolled oats in bulk cost less than $1 per pound. Hmm...

If you know me, you can see it coming: I'm either going to make a 5-pound granola bar for the heck of it or I'll try to make healthy granola bars at a reasonable price. Either way, wish me luck.

Market Melts Hearts

This weekend, the Spoonstress and I were lucky enough to have visitors. Papa Fork and Mama Spoon, also known as my dad and mom, flew South.

As part of our plans, the Spoonstress devised a delicious idea--buy fresh veggies, cheese and bread from the local farmer's market and fry up, excuse me, sauté a nice lunch.

Papa Fork and I were in charge of the meal, selecting ingredients by that time-tested tradition: seeing what looked best. We settled on a kind of vegetable melt. On the produce side, we came home with Japanese eggplant, green tomatoes, summer squash and bok choy. The master stroke, though, was getting a smoked mozzarella that melted nicely.

After procuring a round, seeded loaf from the lefty food co-op, we were in the sandwich business.

Mama Spoon was given the afternoon off in deference to her decades of food prep love language. Papa Fork and I got down to it: Labor was divided. Produce was stir-fried. Bread was "griddled." Cheese was gloriously melted.

I whipped up what's turning out to be our staple side dish--roasted sweet potatoes and onions with green beans and rosemary. The timing of the stir-frying, bread toasting and side dishing worked surprisingly well.

I was a bit worried about the confluence of all these strange ingredients. Would they play nice? Were green tomatoes supposed to taste this tart? Was bok choy even sandwich fare? Were green tomatoes even edible?

It all came together.

The sandwiches, which I'll call Farmer's Market Fun Melts, were surprisingly tasty. The Spoonstress, as usual, hit the nail on the head: "None of these vegetables are my favorite, but this sandwich sure is."

So what gives? Sometimes the sum is greater than the parts. Sometimes food just tastes better with great company.

Oreo Pizza Review

At least it was free. That's about the best thing I can say for the Oreo Pizza.

My first impression was that the dessert looked pretty gruesome. The Spoonstress noted that Domino's should be doing some kind of Halloween promotion, because it looks like an edible spider web.

My next thought was, 'How am I supposed to hold this?' While the ad clearly showed a normal layer of crust, this one was dressed to the edge. While that's better than the opposite, it made for some sticky fingers.

I should note that I'm not a fan of thin crust pizza as done by the chains. In other words, I don't like pizza on matzah. I can now say that I also don't like dessert pizzas on matzah, which accurately describes the Oreo Pizza.

The pudding sauce was the part for which I had the highest hopes. Turns out it doesn't taste like pudding. It's reminiscent of Hershey's syrup, whereas I was hoping for something more Cosby-like. Forkquarters neighbor Peter was disappointed there was only a thin layer of chocolate. "You'd think with all the sauce they put on their pizza...," Peter said, referring to an earlier conversation we'd had about how Domino's abundant saucing often squirts out from behind the cheese.

Another down note was that the dessert pizza somehow managed to subtract the Oreo flavor. "I don't really think it tastes like Oreos," Peter said. "I get that it's cookies, but Oreo specific? I'd say no."

You're probably better off just heating up a few O-R-E-O's. At least that way, you can still dunk the treat in milk.

While Peter and I were disappointed by the Oreo Pizza experience, the Spoonstress was into it. Her positivity had a practical basis. "I probably just ate four Oreos, but I can call it one slice of pizza," the Spoonstress said. "That's what I like."

She also enjoyed the novelty and the combination of tastes. That makes sense, considering that she likes Hershey's syrup and chocolate sauce, whereas I lean towards hot fudge. "It's like a little package of artificial goodness," the Spoonstress said. "If you like a Pop Tart, you might like this pizza."

Note the word 'might.'

Oreo Pizza Night

Domino's, you had me at chocolate pudding.

Bowing to popular demand, I've arranged to have one Oreo Dessert Pizza (with chocolate pudding as the pizza's sauce) delivered tonight. After I explained to the good folks at Domino's that I wanted to sample their new creation for my food column, they graciously agreed to supply a complementary pie.

As "inquiring mind in chapel hill" commented, I have a duty to my readers to review this "cookie pizza experience" with firsthand knowledge. Never one to shirk responsibility, I accept this task with open mouth.

This arrangement neatly solves my dilemma--how to assess Domino's new creation without supporting it financially. It does raise the question of remaining objective while receiving freebies. Rest assured, I feel no compulsion to write anything but my actual impression of the obesity increaser, er...Oreo Pizza.

If you live near the Forkquarters, drop by around 8 p.m. For all else, expect a full report tomorrow on this site.

Sweet Pizza

So have you seen Domino's has a new Oreo Dessert Pizza? 'Fraid I'm not making this up.

(Not sure I even need to say this, but...) Does this thing really need to exist? Domino's rocked my innocent, cookie pizza-free world last week by sending a graphic flyer in the mail. Oreo meet pizza. Pizza meet Oreo. Finger meet throat.

My first reaction to this Oreo concoction was the same as my second and third: Disgusting. My next cogitation was that it's a symptom of American excess and a surefire source of obesity. Then I thought, I'd sure like to try one.

Alas, for the good of the country, I've resisted ordering it. Since there's no trace of the Oreo pizza on Domino's Web site, I'd guess they're not committed to it. Heck, even Domino's brownies get prominent Web real estate complete with a mascot, Fudgems.

Since I refuse to get one (college age and twenty-something readers, please report your findings here), I made a little research call to my local Domino's. The helpful employee informed me that the dessert is a 1o-inch, thin crust pizza base topped with chocolate pudding, real Oreos and white icing. But, he warned, "It's very, very sweet. If you can't stand sweet stuff, then stay away from it. It's good, but I can't eat it because I've got bad teeth. " So can you, for just $4.99!

The idea of a dessert atop regular pizza dough is unappealing, but not surprising. Apparently having side orders like Cheezy Bread, Cinna Stix and Breadsticks just didn't cut it for Domino's. In addition to further harpooning Americans' terminally ill speling (<--a joke), the Michigan-based company feels we need another bread-based calorie source.

But this Oreo dessert is likely to work, as Americans are certainly pizza crazy. Then again, so's the rest of the globe. Let's just hope the Oreo Pizza doesn't become our latest export--we owe the world that much.

As I'm writing this--on Sunday, with a football game broadcast in the background--the Oreo Pizza commercial just came on. Still disgusted. (Put down the phone, JB! Hold firm.)

More Kiwi

As some of you may have read in the recent comments to the ongoing Cute Fruit adventure, a little birdie told me that Trader Joe's is finally opening a store near me in Cary, N.C. That means that in addition to gorging on the great Joe-Joe's cookies that our friend Kath introduced us to, I'll be able to try the mini kiwis I've heard so much about.

Now--I have no idea whether they have even broken ground on said Trader Joe's. This masked blogger writes that it could open this fall. Regardless, I wouldn't hold your breath for a first person 'Cute Kiwi' post. As Raleigh's The News & Observer reports:

If Trader Joe's signs a lease soon for the Cary spot, the store could open this fall.

That's a pretty big 'if.'

I've also heard some wild rumors that Whole Foods carries baby kiwis, too. Either way, this is going to happen. Mini kiwis--you can run, you can try to shrink down to invisibility, but you can't elude me forever.

Cute Kiwi

Fork & Spoon Mid-Atlantic correspondent Mackenzie reported an exciting cute fruit sighting from Annapolis, Md.: mini kiwi. Mackenzie, a sixth grader and kiwi expert, first saw the grape-sized treats when her mom, the griddle-giving Andrea, bought them at Trader Joe's.

In addition to being bite-size, these teeny kiwi don't have that trademark fuzzy brown skin. Result: you can pop 'em in your mouth without peeling. But can we even call them kiwi without the namesake bird's fur?

Nomenclature aside, the baby kiwis taste just like their elders. "The skin looked a little different, but the inside was just like a kiwi," Mackenzie said. "They're really good."

Fork & Spoon has learned that the baby kiwi tasted so good, the entire box was consumed before the shoppers returned home.

Since Trader Joe's hasn't made its way to North Carolina, I'll have to take Mackenzie at her word. Meanwhile, I have seen some pretty miniscule golden kiwis lately. But that's a bird of a different feather.

Cute Fruit

Note: This column appeared in The Chapel Hill News and is reproduced here for blog readers because the newspaper does not maintain its links.

As someone who spends an inordinate amount of time in supermarkets -- I'm the guy squeezing for the softest loaf of bread -- I tend to notice changes in the store. Some are subtle, and others are less so.

Well, folks, today's produce section is all out of whack. It's disorienting. There are watermelon-sized apples and apple-sized watermelons. You've got tomatoes modeled after a plethora of fruits -- cherry, grape and strawberry. And then there are the Lucky Charms-like varieties: purple peppers, yellow kiwifruit and orange cauliflower.

Size wise, bananas seem to be approaching wiffleball bat length, while it's hard to find carrots that haven't been shaved down to an unnatural infancy. Walking through the aisles, I alternate between feeling like the Incredible Shrinking Woman and the Jolly Green Giant.

The latter feeling is more common. Among the packaged greens alone, there's baby spinach, baby arugula and baby lettuce. I'm not sure whether to make a salad or warm up a bottle.

Some of these cute fruits occur naturally, but others, like the aforementioned baby carrots, are created. To help you wade through this new era of produce, I thought I'd try three kinds of mini fruit.

These crops aren't new to the world, just to my world. All the items were purchased at Harris Teeter, but they're not exclusive to that chain. And now, on to the fruit:

Mini Bananas ($1.49 for a 12 oz. bag)

Sold as Chiquita Minis, they're also known as finger or lady finger bananas. They do look kind of finger-like, which, to me, isn't all that appetizing. The fruit companies have only themselves to blame for this marketing mishap, though. Dole's web site writes that baby bananas "resemble the hands of small children -- plump and short." Mmm, who's hungry?

If you can get past the image of eating a finger, these bitsy bananas are great. They're noticeably sweeter than regular ones. For that reason, they play nicely with yogurt or on their own as an after dinner snack. I found mini bananas a bit too sugary for cereal, although that may owe more to my choice of Grape-Nuts. They were a little better with a non-cardboard-based cereal.

Surprisingly, these pony bananas seemed to last longer than regular-sized ones. That bodes well, considering they're sold as large bunches wrapped in a bag. Oddly, they peel from the bottom, which only compounds the strange sight of a banana that fits in your palm. On the plus side, you can get in touch with your gorilla side.

Once you get past the weirdness of four-bite bananas, there are real advantages to their compactness. They're handy when feeding kids. And for bigger kids, it's nice to open a banana without biting off more than you want to chew.

The Verdict: Cute Fruit.


Munchkins Grapes ($3.99 for a 1 lb. box)

Officially, this minute fruit goes by either Black Corinth or Zante Currant grapes. In marketing terms, they are Champagne Grapes -- which I think is pushing it -- or Munchkins. As anyone who's ever been to a Dunkin' Donuts can attest, Munchkins are donut holes, not a miniature fruit. And these tiny grapes are no match for those glazed and jelly-filled globes. Then again, what is?

These mini grapes look like rounder, unwrinkled raisins, which, given their relationship, makes sense. Less sensible is just how small they are. At maybe a quarter the size of a regular red grape, they're a bit of a novelty act. Each tiny grape is like a mini M&M -- just small enough that you can't really get the full flavor.

Fortunately, it is a flavor worth finding. Munchkins definitely taste different than red or green table grapes. They're a little sharper, and they're tarter. But, thankfully, they have nothing to do with tartar sauce.

Even cooler, there's a fun way to access that flavor. You can -- brace yourselves -- chomp into a bunch of mini grapes and eat the stems. Now I have been known to enjoy unpeeled kiwis and peanuts in their shell, but this one's legit. The stems are fully edible and barely noticeable, setting up the grape sellers' slogan, "You can eat a whole bunch!"

That said, I don't subscribe to their other motto, "Little grapes...big fun." While they're neat the first time, I can't see buying them again. My life's OK with normal sized grapes.

The Verdict: Too Cute Fruit.


South African Baby Pineapple ($2.99 each)

The cutest of all three cute fruit, these minis are also known as Queen Victoria pineapples. About the size of a baseball, they certainly can't be called Queen Latifah pineapples.

By any name, this fruit's minuteness is an improvement. These more personal pineapples are perfect for one or two people. While it's strange to think of a pineapple as an individual serving, it is unquestionably so. It's as if someone removed the pine and left the apple.

Despite their lunch box size, puny pineapples aren't brown bag friendly because they still have that characteristic tough outer layer. On the plus side, you don't have to core them.

Inside that reptilian skin, these pint-sized pineapples taste about the same as the originals. That's no knock, as I'd place pineapples near the top of the fruit pile. There's a reason they have crowns.

With their indistinguishable taste, the main benefit of these petite pineapples is their puniness. But as I've learned, size is important.

The Verdict: Cute Fruit

Happy Reading

The new Fork & Spoon newspaper column, Cute Fruit, ran in today's Chapel Hill News. For nonsubscribers, you can find it here.

As always, your feedback is appreciated. Has anyone else tried these minute fruits?

Bottoms Up?

The idea of peeling bananas from the bottom intrigued brother-in-law and F & S subscriber Tim. In his response to a recent Baby Bananas post, he pondered the merits of peeling a banana from the top or bottom, as Chiquita recommends you do with baby bananas. In a great article from 2002, Slate considered this very question.

It seems that monkeys are on the bottoms up team. Although, to steal a line from the Slate piece, maybe what we call the bottom is really the top. At left, you'll see that bananas grow upward from their stems. Those decorating a bar can emphasize this point with these bar stools.

As we can see in the picture at right, there is visual evidence to support that monkeys open their bananas from the bottom. Photographic proof to the contrary seems tainted by human involvement. As for celebrity monkeys, the evidence remains vague.

The Breakfast Club

A quick update: The Cute Fruit column, where I assess three tiny fruits, is slated to run Wednesday in the venerable Chapel Hill News. Of course, that doesn't mean that it's definite, but...I'll keep you posted.

Now a story: Today definitely felt like an eggs morning--i.e., it was the weekend and we had eggs. I didn't feel like any kind of foodster or food blogger, just like a sleepy, hungry guy. Anyway, after a flurry of action (see left), I ended up with a plate that looked like this (see right).

I'd never tried less to make a nice looking omelette and, naturally, never had one turn out looking so restauranty. It was the Spoonstress' idea to get out the camera (she also gets the photo credit here).

On a lark, I decided to forego toast from a not-so-fresh loaf in favor of some pita. I hadn't tried that magical Middle Eastern bread for breakfast before, but figured it's never done me wrong. Aesthetics weren't on my mind, but when I saw a half of pita already cut, I knew my breakfast was destined to look kinda pretty. Sometimes the forks and spoons are aligned.

Conceptually, it brought back fond memories of the black and white cookie, and more importantly, it tasted as good as it looked.